Light My Way

“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 💕

Peace. That's what this getaway was about, taking you somewhere the two of you could live as a young couple, un-disturbed. It was about the only thing that had gotten Robby through the last tough weeks of work. All the blood and death and bathroom breaks of locking himself in stools to silently cry was all so he could come home to you and his family in one piece.

Now, he could shred every responsibility that didn't include being your husband and that wasn't a responsibility. More an honour.

Robby looked down at you with a smile, expecting to see one back. Instead, you were looking down at your phone. “Sweetheart, what are you doing?”

“I'm just checking in with the kids.”

He groaned and grabbed your phone, throwing it ahead into the cabin. It landed somewhere soft on the rug. “They'll be fine, they're what? Twenty something?”

You laughed and stepped closer into his circle of heat, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and drawing yourself closer. “Look at you, pretending not to know your kids ages.”

Robby dropped the bags, snapping his arms around your waist and holding you up. “What can I say? I'm loving... attentive...”

His beard scratched up and down your neck as he littered slow kisses there.

“Should I carry you through the doorway? Like when we were married?” Robby wasn't exactly encouraged by the idea with your laughter shaking in your chest.

“I don't think your back can handle that, old man.”

His brows rose up, tongue poking the inside of his cheek and you bit back a smirk. He couldn't help but think how sexy you looked, even after kids and marriage you never failed to stop looking beautiful.

And Robby had never found being called old sexier.

“Well,” he grunted, lifting you further till your toes were scraping the floor. “How about you go up to that bedroom and I show you just what this old man can do?”

“Dad's gonna kill me... Dad's gonna kill me.”

Noah watched his brother, John, pace the small hospital room. For such a tiny pace he was making good job at trekking miles. “Relax, at least we're in a hospital,” he said. “That way they can shock you back to life.”

“So he can kill me all over again!” John hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, the smack bouncing around the walls.

Their sister, Casey, laughed on the bed.

She was taking all this surprisingly well considering it was her arm broken and limply lying in her lap.

The brothers looked to her as if remembering she was there. Like she wasn't the reason they were there. Well- technically it was John's fault. Because he was older and he was supposed to be looking after Casey. He should have been the one watching her on the trampoline. Should have seen how she fell on her arm and a sickening crack followed.

To her credit, Casey didn't cry.

Instead she let out a string of curse words that would make a sailor shudder.

Noah didn't know which is dad would hate more: the cast she'll inevitably be put in or the words she'd some how picked up.

“How're you feeling?” John asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Hungry,” she said, pulling out the puppy dog eyes and pout that only a six year old could do effectively.

“Can't eat I'm afraid, not till we've got that arm looked at.”

“Will I need stitches?”

Noah let out one loud, ha! “Worse!”

Casey shrieked.

“Noah!” John lectured.

“What? I'm being honest! Honestly is the best policy.”

“Not when it scares her!”

“I'm not scared,” said Casey, momentarily misplacing her broken arm as she tried to flail them around only to end up teary eyed at the pain.

John shuffled closer to her side in panic, throwing an arm around her shoulder and comforting her. “It's okay, oh, it's okay.”

“I want daddy!”

John and Noah looked at each other, gulping.

It had been a total of four hours. Four hours they'd been gone and already things had gone wrong! The drive up to their cabin alone was five so they'd maybe only had three hours of relaxation. That was enough, right?

For months their dad had drilled it into them he was taking their mother away for an anniversary he had to work three months ago. This was the only time off together your schedules could work out. After all, PCMT didn't run steady without the attending and nurse.

We'll be gone three days, their dad told them, sitting the two brothers a year apart down. Carter will be busy at Presby so I need you two to look after Casey, alright? John you're eighteen, you're in charge.

Noah had never been happier to be younger.

It was all amusing to him really, besides the fact his sister was hurt- obviously.

“I want daddy too,” Noah laughed.

John paled.

Suddenly the door flew open and just when Noah thought it might have been a doctor they'd never seen, or Abbot or Dana, it only got worse.

Carter rushed in, white lab coat billowing a second behind him. Their dad thought it was tacky and dumb (med students haven't worn them since the 90s, he'd said) but their mom thought Carter looked handsome so- the doting mommy's boy he was- Carter always wore it.

Noah rolled his eyes.

“Hey, hey, what's going on here?” he rushed over to Casey, pressing a kiss to her forehead and petting down her hair. “You okay? She okay?”

“She's fine,” said John, standing from the bed.

“My arm hurts,” whined Casey.

“I'll give you ten bucks to say nothing,” said John.

Casey made a dramatic move in holding in her words.

John should have done it for five.

Carter looked around the room like he was wholly confused even if he was in his second year of med school in Presby and was accustom to the look of a hospital room. “Where's her chart? Has she been looked at? Has Dana been in?”

“No, I got us in on the down low,” said Noah, standing from his chair.

Carter hovered over the computer, trying to find a way to log in that didn't mean hacking into the system. “The down low?”

John reached his other side. “I bribed Donnie to get us a room.”

“Why would you do that?”

“So they don't call mom and dad!”

“They're not here?” Carter asked, a furrow between his brows.

“No, they're up at the cabin,” said John.

“Their romantic getaway, you remember that?” asked Noah.

Carter's expression dropped. “That was today?”

“Yeah that was today, where have you been living?” said Noah, knowing his brother lived in the second biggest room of the house and had been pretty much vacant from it with his studies. Noah had took to invading the room at any chance.

John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “We called you cause... you know, you're a doctor.”

“Well, no, I'm a med student,” said Carter, though briefly the word 'doctor' had gone to his head. And ego.

“But you're so good at it,” encouraged Noah, thumping their eldest brother on the chest and fixing his crooked stethoscope. “What better time will you have to put your skills to good use then to help our sister?”

The three looked back to Casey who was watching them, blinking.

“How's your pain on a scale of one to ten, Casey? One being no pain at all, ten being horrible, terrible, worst pain of your life?” asked Carter, keeping his voice as light and brotherly as possible.

Casey looked to John.

He sighed. “You can talk, Casey.”

She thought about it for a second. “A seven?”

Carter cursed under his breath.

John and Noah shared a look, knowing who to blame Casey's exclamations on. “You can order labs,” said John.

“Yeah, get her a scan or something,” added Noah.

Carter laughed them off. “I can't, I don't work here!”

John put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Of course you can, you're a Robinavitch.”

“Hey,” said Santos, approaching the nurses station as if in a daze. “I'm like totally not crazy and I totally don't miss the guy or anything but I swear I just saw a younger version of Robby walk in here.”

“What?” Javadi laughed.

Whitaker nodded along, as if he'd expected it. “You must really miss the guy, huh?”

Santos rolled her eyes. “No, Jesus that's not it. I just mean Robby's literal doppelganger just walked in, white lab coat and all.”

Dana didn't make it a habit to listen into gossip... sometimes she couldn't help it. She lingered at the nurses counter, listening with one ear to everything else around her in case there was an actual emergency.

“Really, where?” Javadi asked.

“Hey! You three!” Dana called, snapping her fingers as she approached the three, peering at them over her glasses. “We got beds to empty, people to see, let's move it!”

The three were resigned to do their job, as so many usually were, but Dana watched them go, ensuring they were all going to three separate locations but not before she caught Trinity leaning into Javadi, whispering in her ear an exam room where this mysterious young Robby was hid in.

Dana wondered but not for long as she found the room with not one, not two but four Robinavitch children inside.

A grin formed. It was always good to see them, especially since she'd been seeing them since they were babies, having held each one of them in her arms and held each of their hands as they started to walk. Sometimes they still needed the hand.

Carter, John and Noah's backs were to the door, the three standing over the bed in clear thought if their folded arms and tense backs were anything to go by, so like their father they were.

Casey Robinavitch, the youngest of the set, was first to spot her, smiling wide. “D! D!”

“Well look what the cat dragged in!” she celebrated.

Casey did what she could to move but Dana was there at her side, embracing her and helping her back down onto the bed.

The boys were less enthusaticaly.

“Hey, Dana,” John said quietly.

Carter was by far his father's son in looks. The same sloped nose and brown eyes. Dressed up as a doctor he looked even more the part. It freaked Dana sometimes, like having the ghost of young and cocky Michael Robinavitch hovering around the place.

John and Carter- still alike their father- had a bit more of you in them. In their smile and eyes. Casey too.

“What the hell's going on here, you miss me that much you invaded the place, huh?” she asked though she could tell by all three of the boys looking worried and Casey sitting still that there was some reason to have been here.

“It looks like Casey broke her arm,” said Carter, brushing back his hair. “A simple Distal Radius fracture.”

“You got all that without a scan? Presby must be teaching you something,” she teased.

Carter blushed.

Dana cast her gaze to the quiet John and Noah. “Which one of you supposed to be looking after my girl here anyway?”

They both pointed at each other.

Dana shook her head and rolled her eyes before focusing ahead to Casey. “Okay, honey, you hungry? I keep a stash of candy in my draw, you want a piece?”

She nodded enthusaticaly.

“But she'll need surgery for her arm, she can't eat,” said Carter.

“Even I knew that,” added John.

“Yeah well the OR's a little backed up,” said Dana with a pat to Casey's knee. She stood up and drew the curtain around them, closing them in. “We had an accident and there's a long que.”

She didn't want to get in the specifics of crash that involved all the OR's time but Carter approached her.

“Anything I can do?” he asked.

Dana smiled. She had to say, it was good to see the kids that were made from her favourite attending and nurse. “No, kid. You stay here with your family, I'll handle everything.”

“What's with the curtain?” asked Noah.

“Are we grounded?”

“You're all a bit of a celebrity around here, the new residents and med students don't know you guys exist, heck they only realised your parents were married after Huckleberry caught them in the lounge.”

“Ew,” said John.

“Caught them what?” asked Casey, full of child like innocence.

The boys looked to Dana in amusement.

“Doing things adults shouldn't do at work,” she said.

Casey wasn't satisfied. “Like what?”

“You can ask them when they get here.”

“You're not gonna call them, are you?” asked John, adam's apple moving in his swallow.

“Have to kid, sorry! I'll get Princess to take you to X-ray, sound good?” she asked Casey, knowing Princess was her favourite (other than herself of course) because she was better at braiding than both her parents.

John fell into his seat, hunched over. In comfort, Carter clamped a hand on his shoulder.

Dana left the family, shaking her head and trying to hide her smile. She'd pushed you and Robby to go away, trusting that the three boys you held in such high esteem would handle looking over one small girl who really wasn't that much trouble.

She hated to be proved wrong.

Hated even more she had to interrupt the two of you after she'd had to watch the sultry looks passed between the two of you and stop the two of you from disappearing together into rare empty beds and store rooms.

Dana called you first, shaking her head while she did.

“Robby!”

He groaned into your neck, his arms caging in your head as he moved in and out of you with a rapid pace. Sweat covered both your bodies from the long-awaited sex he planned to drag out. “My god,” he groaned.

Your nails scratched down his back leaving angry welts in your place. He licked lazily at your neck, moaning and groaning at the taste.

The both of you were as loud as you liked, without kids barging in to say they couldn't find the remote or wanting to know what was for dinner. The cabin stood alone with only trees as its companion so you could be as loud as you liked.

He'd had you coming on his mouth and fingers- then once more for luck- before he finally found himself home in you and that was how it felt, coming home.

Your back arched into him as his hips met yours. “Michael... Michael...”

You could feel him grin into your neck. “Gonna come again? Come on my cock, jus how I like.”

Robby found your lips and kissed you openly, all teeth and tongue. His breathing was laboured, his lips a hungry mess. His hips drove in more and more, his groaning louder, face scrunched in concentration to last.

“Please, Michael, please,” you whined against his lips.

Robby licked at your lips, nodding-

Suddenly there was a loud ringing and vibration against the wood off the bedside table where you'd left your phone.

Robby groaned but not in pleasure. As his lips pulled away from yours you turned to look at your phone. “Ignore it, ignore it,” he begged, cupping your cheek to move you to look at him again.

You let him kiss you, let him distract you with his tongue as he drove his cock in and out quicker, desperate to chase your high.

“Oh god, hurgh, fuck!”

Your phone still rung and his grip hardened on your face.

“Could be... could be the kids...” you uttered.

“They're fine, they're fine-”

But you couldn't help but stretch, under the feign of pleasure you arched up and grabbed your phone, turning it face up.

“Jesus-” Robby grunted but stilled inside of you, impossibly close.

Hospital. Work. Calling.

“Jesus-” he chuckled dryly. “Hasn't even been a day.”

Before you could even think about answering it Robby snatched it from your hand and threw it half way across the room.

“Robby!” you laughed.

Your arms wrapped back around him and drew him in, legs going around his waist as his cock continued his work.

“Jack, thank god!” Dana gasped when she spotted the night attending making his way in. He greeted her with a bag already over his shoulder, giving her a brief hug.

“Hey, got your message, what's going on?” he asked, brows knitted together in worry.

It was a last ditch attempt. Dana had called you a handful of times from the hospital phone and her own. She'd tried Robby and been sent straight to voice mail. Nothing. She couldn't exactly blame the two of you, it was supposed to be a holiday.

None of the kids were willing to be the one to make the call and other than tackle them to get a phone Jack was the last result.

“Got a family situation, the parents won't pick up,” she explained.

“What kind of family-”

Dana led him into the exam room.

Casey was sitting in the bed, her arm up in a sling with a pizza box in her lap. Next to her Noah was cosied on the bed while John and Carter were on each side of the bed, chairs pulled him and pizza slices in hands.

“Uncle Jack!” Casey cheered.

The boys at least looked happier to see him than they had Dana. They knew if Jack was here it meant they couldn't get in contact with either you or their dead.

“What's this? A pizza party and I wasn't invited?” he said, setting down his bag and heading for Casey, checking in on her first.

“What's this? Where's the pizza come from?” asked Dana.

“They were hungry, I ordered,” said Carter.

“And surgery for her arm?”

Carter chocked down the last of his pizza. His doctors coat was still sat on his shoulders but his tie was lose around his neck and several pens were missing from his pocket. “The OR's backed up, you said that, you gave her a lollipop!”

Dana tried her best efforts to be mad on behalf of Robby but it didn't work. Robby could maybe be mad at the boys if he had the right too but Casey he could never seem find to be angry with. A daddy's girl through and through.

“Hey, Carter, how's Presby?” asked Jack, all the while testing the pain with Casey.

“Good, it's er, it's good,” he said. “I told them there was a family emergency.”

There was only one reason Carter had gone to Presby and that was to keep work and home away from each other. He couldn't be a student under his dad and mom.

“So you er-” Noah started. “Couldn't get through to mom or dad, huh?”

There was an un-denying gleam of joy at that.

“No, we couldn't,” said Dana. “But we're gonna keep trying.”

Carter crossed his arms over his chest as if he were the concerned doctor and not the worried older brother. “We need their permission for the surgery, what happens to her arm if it's not put right soon?”

“Well good news is I can pull weight in the OR, though we'll have to wait for the pizza to go down,” said Jack, taking a bite from the slice Casey held in hand. She laughed. “What colour we thinking? Pink? Red? Black?”

“Can I have three colours?” she asked.

Jack shrugged. “I'll put the request in.”

“Why aren't they answering? Maybe they're asleep?” said John.

Noah smirked. “Or maybe they're enjoying their free time.”

Jack shot him an unamused look.

“I meant playing games!” he defended.

“Like twister?” asked Casey.

Carter looked away, scratching the back of his head as Dana hid her smirk along with him.

“Yeah, twister.”

You'd managed to escape the clutch's of Robby, managing to throw his shirt on and get to the kitchen for a glass of water. Your legs had been shaky in the sort of delicious way you'd missed.

It was dark out, the small orange glow of the lights around the cabin lighting your way as you downed half your drink.

The wooden floor creaked behind you. The curve of Robby's belly met your back.

His hands wound under his shirt on your body, fondling your hips. “I thought the point of a get away was no clothes allowed.”

You bit your lip, gently setting down your glass of water. “And if I turn around are you going to be following that rule?”

Robby chuckled into your skin. His lips found your neck again, kissing over the bruises he'd left from before. It started slow, the sort that reminded you of your first time before his teeth met your skin and nipped. His hands got further up your skin, running over the curves of your body. “Why don't you look and find out?”

The idea of Robby in all his beauty had you salivating at the mouth and lower parts when a vibration alerted the two of you.

Robby groaned again, the both of you finding his phone left in his pants pocket crumpled on the floor.

It seemed you'd been in a hurry to get them off.

“The thing keeps going!”

Robby was naked, and it distracted you all through the walk to get his pants, fishing for his phone. Not that he cared, he only finished your glass of water.

Your hormones were going crazy, begging you to climb your husband like a tree but you still managed to answer the phone. “Michael's phone.”

“Jesus what's it take to get you to pick up a phone!” Dana said in a way of greeting.

“Oh, hi Dana, how are you? Sorry, we were... busy.”

“Yeah busy my ass, listen you guys need to come back.”

“Why, what's happening?”

Robby heard the worry in your voice and turned to look over his shoulder.

“Your kids are here, Casey's hurt.”

“So let me get this straight: You're letting Jack sign your cast first, then Carter, then John, then me!” gasped Noah.

The family had made themselves at home at in the small room, Casey in the bed like the queen of the castle though even queens needed sleep.

Carter was watching his sister come in and out of sleep while John stayed close to her side, stroking back her hair. They'd put her in the list for the OR, it was backed up enough that by the time she got in her eating wouldn't have been a problem. In three more hours he'd have to get back to Presby and carry on a shift. He should've used the time for napping but found the hospital chairs not so comfy.

Casey nodded, as if proud.

“It's John's fault and he gets to sign it before me!”

“He didn't steal my favourite crayons!” she said.

Jack raised his brows at Noah. “Crayons?”

Noah stuttered with all the eyes on him. “I was taking notes.”

“In crayons?” asked Jack.

“Colour helps you retain information! Look it up!”

There was a gang of laughter before the doors burst open.

Robby was first into the scene and you were close behind.

“Dad!” said Casey.

“Hey, sweetie,” he greeted, by-passing everyone else in the room to press a kiss to her forehead, keeping a hand on her fine arm. “What the hell happened?” he asked to the room.

John and Noah fell into your side, trying to be safe there away from the wrath of their father. “She- she was on the trampoline and she fell, broke her wrist.”

“Distal fracture,” corrected Carter.

“Why weren't you looking out for her?” Robby asked as he took Jack's stethoscope from around his neck, pressing it to her chest as if there could be something wrong and as if they hadn't already checked.

“I-I turned my back for a second,” said John.

“It's okay,” you said, stroking back John's air just a little.

You walked past the boys, greeting Carter quickly before you set on the edge of Casey's bed. Your daughter had your eyes. “Hey honey, how are you feeling?”

Robby gave her another kiss on the forehead before stepping away and letting Jack- the closest thing the kids had to an uncle- take his place. There was a small wave of his hand and the boys- even Carter- fell into step. “So tell me why not even five hours into the trip with your mother we're called back in because you let your sister get hurt?”

“He didn't let her get hurt, dad,” Noah defended. “It could've happened whether or not John was watching her.”

Robby's hands ran up and over his face, pulling at the lines of age and worry. Deep down he knew that was true and the boys knew he knew that. It didn't change that Casey had been hurt and ended up in the hospital. If it had been one of them- Carter, John or Noah- Robby and you would have drove with the same speed.

“Okay, okay,” Robby nodded. “And who let her have pizza when she's in line for the OR?”

John and Noah turned to Carter.

Robby frowned. “Are they teaching you anything at Presby?”

“Dana said the OR was backed up!”

“Don't drag me into this kid!” called Dana from the open door and over the crowd that had formed.

On second look Robby spotted Whitaker, Javadi, King and Santos at the door with Samira- all of who knew you and Robby well, knew you had a flirty thing going on yet had no idea the life you'd shared and continued to create behind the scene.

Next to them stood Langdon, the one holding the door open for them all to see. The one that did know and had even played a hand in Casey's birth.

“Holy shit,” said Whitaker.

“You have kids?” asked Javadi. “Like actual, real-life off springs?”

Carter frowned, looking from the crowd to you. “Why do they seem so surprised at that?”

You smiled, leaning your head on Casey's as she babbled about the accident and everyone she wanted to sign her cast (including barbie herself). “Well, we didn't really mention the whole kids part.”

“So nobody knew we existed?” asked Noah, offended. “What happened to pride and joy?”

“What happened to pain in my ass?” said Robby, lovingly. At least, Carter thought it came off that way. “Okay- yes, yes,” he said addressing the crowd. “We have kids, we didn't say anything because well frankly it was none of your buisness-”

“I knew I saw a younger Robby!” said Santos. Her phone was in hand and clicking with the sound of a picture of the room- specifically Carter-before anyone could stop her.

“It's not like I don't have my hands full with you lot already,” Robby mumbled, rubbing at his temples. “But yes, we have four beautiful children, anything else?”

There was a clear of a throat. Surprisingly not from the crowd of doctors but from behind him. From you.

“What?” asked Robby.

You gave him a pointed look.

He'd said four kids. Had he got it wrong? Somewhere along the lines it did get hard to keep track of them all. Who had exams when, who was in line to follow in their footsteps in practising medicine, who wanted a dog for christmas, etc.

Just in case, Robby did a head count, counting his kids off on his fingers: Casey, Noah, John, Carter. Casey, Noah-

It wasn't till he looked at you and saw your hand lingering over your stomach that he realised.

He thought back to the wine you'd declined at dinner last week, to the morning sickness you'd tried to hide from him, to the way you said there were things to talk about when you had a chance alone. After four, Robby should have been good at spotting the signs.

Five children it would appear.

“Congratulations, brother,” Jack was first to say, smiling in amusement that you'd caught your husband so off guard. Again.

John and Noah were next in clapping him on the back before attending to you in the same celebrations.

Robby took it all red in the cheeks as Santos started to clap behind him, Whitaker following un-sure a beat behind her.

“Jesus, dad, can you keep it in your pants for once,” joked Carter, standing at his full height next to him.

Robby shrugged, arms folding over his chest. “Takes two.”

Noah frowned. “Ew.”

Casey, the poor girl with the broken wrist, wasn't sure what was going on. “Takes two to what?”

The room fell silent. You pursed your lips, looking to Robby for some explanation.

Carter patted his dad on the back, slipping out of the room.

John smirked. “Yeah, dad, takes two to what?”

1. The Rings

Robby didn’t wear a ring.

His left hand was left completely barren during the duration of his shift.

He dodged questions about his love life left and right, especially from the older patients who learned of his last name origins and wanted his whole life story.

Never denied having a wife, just danced around the topic.

Even Abbot who was widowed still wore his wedding ring

Naturally, those who saw his left hand (including those who worked at PMTC), all assumed he was unmarried.

The Emergency Room today is scarily quiet. Not quiet necessarily, just not the typical rush of screaming patients and understaffing issues.

Robby stands by Dana at the central hub, typing away at the tablet to update charting information. Dana works by him silently, clearly savoring the moment of calm before the inevitable storm.

And then the peace is broken by two paramedics bursting through the ambulance bay doors.

Robby discards his tablet immediately and slings his stethoscope back around his neck.

“What do we got?”

“42 year old male. Experiencing chest pains and shortness of breath. Likely a stemi. EKG has been applied.”

“Whitaker! Jesse! You’re with me,” Robby demands.

The two men follow him right into Trauma 2, gloving up immediately and awaiting further instructions.

They know the procedure at this point. Stabilize the patient, call surgery, don’t lose the heartbeat.

Of course that last one is a lot harder to ensure.

But when they lose the heartbeat, Robby immediately springs into action. He rambles off something about the proper number of compressions.

Robby places his hands on the patient’s chest and began the familiar rhythm of CPR.

Whitaker takes over securing the airway while Jesse preps the defibrillator.

They’ve seen many stemi’s in Trauma 1 and 2 but each time it’s a stressful race against the clock.

Robby pauses his compressions, waiting on his internal clock before he starts again.

Still no pulse.

He places his hands once more, applying slightly more pressure as he begins his second wave.

Whitaker stands on deck, fully ready for Robby’s next set of instructions. The endotracheal tube was successfully inserted into the trachea. All he could do now was wait.

And even something catches his attention.

A shiny piece of gold slips out of Robby’s shirt, hitting his chest as it’s stopped by the chain it’s connected to.

Whitaker probably wouldn’t have noticed if the ring hadn’t caught the fluorescent emergency room lights. And then it hits him. Robby has a wedding ring around his neck.

“Whitaker!”

The resident doesn’t respond immediately. He’s too focused on the newest gossip point he may have just uncovered.

“Whitaker!” Robby yells again.

“Right! Sorry!” He rushes out before rambling off the patient’s vitals.

And then…..

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Robby removes his hands, a sigh escaping his lips as he allows the others to take over with the proper procedures.

Whitaker watches as he reaches for his exposed necklace. The attending runs his finger around the band before tucking it securely under his scrubs.

Like wearing a wedding band was nothing at all.

Whitaker doesn’t wanna ask. It isn’t the time, place, or status to question if Robby was married. Just morbid curiosity.

He’ll have to mention it to Santos if he remembers.

Robby shoots two thumbs up as the stemi patient is moved out by surgery.

“Good work everyone,” he announces before slipping out to see where he’s needed.

Huh.

Maybe Dr. Robby is secretly married.

2. Stitches

You don’t expect to end up at the Pitt, truthfully you never had.

Frankly, if you had a choice you would rather head to Westbridge. Okay, maybe that was a stretch but something about going to the Pitt felt like teetering in your husband's territory.

But now your hand is bleeding bad and if you were able to look past the blood, you swear you could see bone. You cursed yourself out for causing such a disastrous scene from simply trying to cook dinner.

You were incredibly grateful your daughter was being watched by your parents for the night.

You drive to PTMC in a haze. Your hand is throbbing and the blood has already started seeping through the thick towel you wrapped around. Should you be driving? Maybe not. But calling an ambulance for a deep wound wasn’t realistic.

In your dazed state, you don’t even think about texting Robby.

It must be your lucky day when you walk into the emergency department and there’s actually empty chairs available. Robby had come home many nights complaining of being understaffed and overrun.

Check-in went smoothly and when the triage nurse saw your hand, she called right for a nurse to bring you back.

You didn’t see Dana at the nurses station and you knew Jack wasn’t due in for another hour or so. Robby also seemed MIA, probably back with a patient.

Instead, a nurse named Sam shows you to your room. “You can have a seat on the bed. Someone should be with you momentarily.”

The pain in your hand continued to increase. Maybe it was the blood loss or the adrenaline fading but you let your eyes shut until there’s a knock on the door and the curtain slides open.

You're greeted shortly after being shown to North 14 by a dark haired doctor.

You squint your eyes to read her badge. Doctor Trinity Santos.

Ah. So that was Santos.

Robby subtly talked about almost all of his coworkers at home. You knew Whitaker was resilient, Javadi was young but highly gifted, Mel was brilliant, and lastly you knew that Santos, begrudgingly, was a lot like Robby.

“I’m Doctor Santos and I’ll be taking care of you today,” she starts. “What’s going on?”

You lift your band up weakly to show the blood stained towel. Despite all, you manage to force out a laugh.

“Kitchen accident. Knife slipped right down my palm.”

Santos sits in a stool and slides over to the edge of the bed.

“Mind if I take a look?”

You nod, only wincing slightly as she unwraps the towel.

“Yeah you got a nasty cut here. I’ll clean it up and we’ll probably need to do a few stitches. How’s the pain?”

“Not great.”

Santos stands up. “I’ll get you something to numb your hand. You should be in and out.”

You give her a warm smile. “Thank you Dr. Santos.”

She’s gone for another few moments before entering the room with the proper supplies. You swing your legs over the bed and rest your hand on the table and bring it over.

Robby is taking a lap around the floor when he double takes at one of the hospital's newest admitants.

Santos is at your bedside, saline flush in hand as she works to clean out the blood from your wound.

“Doctor Santos? What do we have here?” An all familiar voice enters the room.

Your eyes shoot up. Busted.

“Uh,” Santos starts. “Just a deep hand laceration. Kitchen accident. I gave a low dosage to numb the area. Should be good after I finish cleaning and stitch it up.”

The young doctor doesn’t seem to notice the intense eye contact between you and Robby. There’s a silent conversation between you and him. Something between an are you okay? and a why didn’t you ask for me?

“I’d like to take over here if you don’t mind Dr. Santos.”

There’s a long pause of silence in the room.

“Are you sure?” Trinity draws out each word.

“Yeah, I got it,” Robby starts. “Haven’t done some stitching in awhile. Need the practice.”

“I watched you stitch up someone this morning.”

You stifle a laugh, though clearly not well enough for Robby and Santos to not hear.

Santos stands. “But she is all yours. I’ll be back to discharge her when she’s ready.”

Once Santos leaves, you finally have the courage to look your husband in the eye.

“Michael-“ you start.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. I was just being stupid in the kitchen.”

Robby sighs. “Accidents happen. I just wish you called me. Or texted.”

The saline continues to clean your hand as silence overtakes you.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you mumble after a moment.

“Bother me?” Robby quietly laughs. “Honey, I'm your husband. You’re allowed to bother me when you're hurt. I’d actually prefer it if you did.”

It feels stupid to you now. You were married with a child for god's sake and you still felt guilty asking for help when you had a huge gash down your hand.

“I was trying to make you dinner,” you winced as Robby began his stitches. “Since my parents are watching Bug I wanted us to have a romantic night.”

Robby laughs. Not in a mean way but simply at your kindness.

“We can still have a romantic night. Just gotta be careful of these stitches.”

“Yeah without dinner I guess.”

“I’ll grab something on my way home,” Robby responds to your quip without missing a beat.

He says it so casually too that you can’t help but smile.

“I like seeing you in your scrubs.”

“Oh yeah?”

You loll your head to the side so it’s resting on your arm. “Sorry, I just find my husband looks too good taking care of me.”

“Careful,” he warns.

“Always am.”

Robby’s mind is still in doctor mode. You managing to flirt with him despite your hand was a good sign.

You grimace one final time as Robby makes the final knot.

Your hand already looks miles better.

“Once I wrap it up for you you’ll be all set.”

Robby turns your hand over and wraps his fingers gently around yours. Still careful of your pulsing wound, he brings your hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss.

His lips linger for a moment, just long enough for Santos to go wide-eyed as she walks past the room. Despite Robby taking over your stitching, you were still technically her patient.

Now, instead of entering your room, she turned on her heel and made a mad dash for where Whitaker sat charting.

“Huckleberry,” Santos sharply whispers.

The boy looks up at her. “What’s up?”

Santos looks behind her back, clearly afraid that her attending could sneak up and hear her gossiping about his personal life.

“My patient in North 14, the one that Robby hijacked?”

Whitaker’s brows furrow in confusion. “Yeah?”

“I swear Robby just kissed her.”

This immediately grabbed Whitaker’s attention. Chart now forgotten, he peers over Santos’ shoulder to see if he can catch a glimpse of the room. No luck.

“What? There’s no way.”

Santos pushes her stray hairs back. “I am so beyond serious you have no idea.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.”

They’re both silent for a moment before Whitaker speaks up. “You know maybe that’s just his girlfriend?”

“No,” Santos shakes her head. “She had wedding rings on. A massive one too.”

Whitaker finally scoffs. “Huh. Maybe Robby does have a secret double life. You know he wears a necklace with a ring on it?”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t think it mattered until now!” He defends himself.

“So you’re saying I may have just taken Robby’s wife as my patient,” Santos starts.

“Yup.”

“Oh wow. Huh.”

Silence once more. Santos stays deep in thought as Whitaker goes back to charting. She can’t help it, she’s behind nosy.

“Do you think I should just ask?”

“Absolutely not,” Whitaker replies immediately.

Santos rolls her eyes. Curse her roommate for always being the voice of reason.

After checking up on her kid with severe road burn and an older man with chest pains, Santos decides it’s time to check in on you. That is until she sees Robby by the hand sanitizer station.

“Hey Dr. Robby!” Santos calls after her attending.

Robby promptly stops in his tracks and spins around.

“I’m about to go discharge North 14 and then I’ll need a consult in South 6,” Santos explains.

“No need, I already took care of discharge.”

Oh. Robby discharged her patient. Her patient. While Santos was getting better, she still struggled with when to stand up for herself or step down.

“You discharged my patient?”

“Is there a problem Dr. Santos?” Robby inquires.

Oh shit. Santos knows immediately that’s his tone of voice saying are you questioning my authority?

She backtracks immediately. “No, not at all. You are the boss.”

“Good. I’ll meet you at South 6 in a few.”

Santos stays glued to her spot for a moment after Robby walks away.

“Huh,” she thinks to herself. “Maybe I did just stitch up Mrs. Robinavitch.”

3. Little Bug

Jack Abbot walking in the E.R. is an immediate sign that shift change had begun and day shift was finally off the hook.

Jack Abbot walking in with a child on his hip, however, was a totally different story.

Plus, the Paw Patrol backpack he had strung across his shoulder.

Santos, Whitaker, and Javadi sit around their desks. All three are frantically typing away at their charts, desperate to get out of the hospital at a seemingly normal time.

It’s Javadi that spots the scene first.

“Holy shit,” she starts. “Is Abbot holding a kid?”

It felt like the entire E.R. at that moment noticed the attending.

It’s a silent game of if anyone needs to react or not. On one hand, a child in an emergency room is a clear red flag. On the other hand, that kid was with Dr. Jack Abbot.

Jack is unbothered by the wandering eyes.

He heads right to the central hub. Dana spotted them minutes ago and already circled around to greet the pair.

“Day-Nuh!” Bug annunciates both syllables in the nurse's name when she spots the charge nurse.

“Hi Jellybean,” Dana beams, accepting the transfer from Jack and fixing the girl to sit on her hip.

Bug’s hands grasp at Dana’s stethoscope.

For your daughter's birthday, you and Robby had gifted her a play doctor set. She was familiar with the basics and was clearly interested in the real-life thing.

“You have fun with Uncle Jack today? Dana asks.

The girl nods.

“Pirate Jack,” Bug corrects as she points down.

“Pirate huh?” Dana chuckles.

“She learned about my leg a few weeks ago. Started calling me a pirate once she stopped crying,” Jack spoke.

Dana boops the girl on her nose. “Well aren’t you the cutest.”

The attending and charge nurse chat for a few minutes as Bug grabs at everything in her reach: Dana’s badge, her cross necklace, and even the pen that’s clipped to her pocket. Dana, of course, doesn’t mind in the slightest.

Bug quickly gets distracted and wiggles out of Dana’s arms the second she spots Robby in her sightline.

“Da-da!” Bug exclaims. It takes Robby only two quick strides to get to her.

God knows he doesn’t want his daughter running around this place.

Robby, as if he had already sensed his daughter's presence in the E.R., had gathered his things from his locker.

“Oof. Hi Bug,” Robby grunts as he’s hit full force in the legs by the toddler.

The second he picks her up, it’s like his entire demeanor changes. The tension in his shoulders eases and for the first time all day, he doesn’t look steps away from a breakdown.

Robby takes note of his daughter’s outfit that was certainly not the one he dressed her in this morning.

A jersey meant only one thing.

“You took her to a Pirates game?” Robby questions his friend.

Jack nods. “Yeah. They won.”

Robby slides a hand down his face. “So let me get this straight. You took my daughter to a 1:35 start game and are now here to work a 12 hour shift.”

Jack nods again like this isn’t difficult to comprehend. “I’m a shoe-in for uncle of the year.”

That gains a laugh from Robby.

“You’re insane,” he begins. “I’m assuming the jersey was a new addition.”

“Of course. Her cleaned ice cream helmet and hat are in her backpack.”

Javadi turns to their little group who has long abandoned their charting to watch the two men interact.

“You think that’s Robby and Abbot’s love child?’ Javadi inquiries.

That elicits a laugh. The new sound causes Bug to immediately lose her attention on her dad and look over towards the three doctors. Her little hands grasp at the hems of Robby’s scrubs as she focuses mostly on Javadi.

“Looks like she chose you,” Santos says quietly.

Javadi raises her hand tentatively to wave, clearly not wanting to overstep any boundaries with the dynamic most of the emergency department just learned about.

Bug shows a toothy grin as she waves back.

Robby feels Bug shifting around and turns to face the group who suddenly look like deer in headlights. Like Bug when she gets caught pulling puppy dog eyes on Dana for another cookie.

To the pittlings shock, Robby laughs.

“You guys are allowed to say hi.”

Robby points to Santos first. “That’s Trinity.”

“Trin-ty!” Bug repeats.

“Dennis.”

“Dennis!”

“And Victoria.”

Bug’s face scrunches up in concentration. More than two syllables were rough. “Vic-tora!”

Robby shrugs. “Eh close enough, Bug.” He then turns his attention away from the girl. “We’re working on phonics right now.”

Santos holds her hands up. “Alright I’ll bite. You have a kid? And it’s not yours and Abbot’s?”

Dana bumps Jack with her shoulder. “Told ya people would say something.”

Robby glares at the two before turning back to Santos.

“Yes, I have a kid. Yes, I am married. Yes, Jack has been helping me while my wife is out of town. Any other questions?”

Whitaker clocks Santos’ look immediately. So their suspicions were correct.

“Was your wife my patient that you stitched up?” Santos bursts out. She can’t help it. The curiosity has been eating her up.

“Yes it was. She didn’t want to bother me for help.”

“Aw. No wonder you two get along.”

Bug is growing not just tired, but restless too. A bad combination for a toddler.

“When does the missus get back?” Dana asks.

“Tomorrow night,” Robby starts. “Can’t thank you guys enough for everything.”

To everyone in the room, this made perfect sense. Two of Robbie’s close support systems helping him out with his daughter.

“But this little one seems pretty tired from romping around with Uncle Jack. Can you say thank you, Bug?”

Bug turns her head to her uncle. “Thank you pirate Jack!”

Dana squeezes the young girls cheek and with a final wave goodbye, Robby is out the door. Probably the earliest he has ever left PTMC.

Safe to say he left the Pittlings in shock.

+1. Meeting

Your hand takes a bit to heal. Given how deep the cut was, you were fully expecting a long road to recovery.

Robby checked over the wound almost daily. He explained in simple terms to Bug that “mommy’s left hand was hurt right now” and that “she needed to be extra careful.”

Of course Bug was determined to kiss it better. Just like her dad had done to you.

Robby insists that you set up a 3-week checkup.

He told you that the surface skin should be healed by three weeks (sometimes longer with it being such a utilized area), but there would be a road ahead for deep tissue recovery.

Your phone pings as you’re packing your purse.

What time are you coming in?

About to leave! Need anything?

All good. I let the triage nurses know you’re coming so you should be able to come right back. See you soon. Love you

Love you too!

After your initial incident, PTMC didn’t feel as scary. Also probably given the fact that you and your husband had a long conversation about it being okay to ask for help.

The irony was there best believe it.

You’re waved through once you enter the waiting room. This time, thankfully, you spotted Dana immediately at the central hub.

“Well look who’s back!” Dana exclaims.

You hold your wrapped hand up. “Michael insisted I come for a checkup.”

Dana rounds the hub and wraps you in a greeting hug. “Sounds like him.”

She pauses to notice there is no toddler trotting in with you. “No Bug?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “You know I do have a life outside of my daughter.”

“Eh. Debatable.”

You glance around the bustling emergency room. No signs of Robby. “Is my husband around?”

“Let me page him.”

Robby appears just moments after being paged. He looks tired and worn. You can’t imagine what the day has already thrown at him.

But when he sees you, he slaps on a tired smile and walks like the day hasn’t beat him down.

“Hi honey,” Robby greets you, shocking even you as he places a soft kiss to your forehead.

You know he prefers private displays of affection. Can’t live without it actually. In public, however, holding your hand suffices for both of you.

“I can get you set up in a room so we can look at that hand. In and out promise.”

You wave him off. “Take your time. I know you’re busy.”

Dana scoffs and laughs. “When is he not.”

“Tell me about it.”

Robby shoots both of his hands up in the air as an ‘i’m innocent!’

“South 10’s open.”

You’re so close to stealing your husband away to do your checkup when the phone rings and Dana’s face falls.

“Car pileup on 376. Incoming in 5 minutes.”

Robby slides a hand down his face. You squeeze his arm.

“It’s okay Mike. I can wait.”

Robby shakes his head as his eyes dart around the emergency room.

“Santos!” Robby calls. The young resident’s head snaps up, eyes immediately locking on you. “You free?”

She stands up. “I can be.”

“Mind doing a three week checkup? Since I hijacked it last time.”

You chuckle. “Don’t worry, I chewed him out for it.”

You and Robby can both tell Santos is treading in uncharted waters.

“I’m assuming this is your wife?” Santos asks.

You stick your uninjured hand out for her to shake. “Yes I am and Y/N is fine.”

Oh she can’t wait to tell Whitaker.

“Sorry about last time,” you apologize.

Santos shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. Nice to meet you.”

Dana looks at the group and repeats. “South 10.”

“Right,” Santos presses her lips together.

You can sense that Robby is on edge about the incoming trauma. “I’ll be okay Mike. It’s just a checkup. Besides, based on what you’ve told me I’m in good hands.”

Santos tries not to glow with pride.

“Okay okay. I’ll swing by when I can.”

Santos guides you to South 10. You take a seat in the chair before she slowly unwraps your bandage. While Robby’s stitches were flawless, it was still a nasty injury to heal from.

“I’m gonna do another cleaning and then test your movement,” Santos explains. “Just gotta grab the stuff and I’ll be back.”

True to her word, Santos is back but this time she’s accompanied by Robby.

“Thought you had an incoming trauma?” you inquire.

“Got re-routed to Westbridge.”

You nod, winching only slightly as Santos begins poking the area for tenderness. Safe to say she found it!

“Do you want to remove your rings?” Santos asks

You nod before sliding the two bands off. “Don’t want them in the way for either of us.”

Robby steps forward and opens his palm. You drop them down as he unclips his necklace chain and slides them on. They hit his respective wedding band with a satisfying clink.

“Want me to stay?” Robby offers.

“Not if you’re going to terrorize Santos,” you fire back.

Santos is enjoying this a bit too much.

“I will go see if someone else needs help then. Please call if you need anything.”

The young resident works in silence. Despite Robby not being in the room, his presence lingers over. If she fucked up working on his wife, she was screwed.

But surprisingly, you’re the one to break the silence.

“Robby told me you’re interested in general surgery,” you speak.

Once again, Santos is taken aback. Robby doesn’t just talk about her outside of work but he talks highly of her outside of work.

“Yeah I think so. I’m still figuring it out.”

“Eh you have time. Don’t tell him I told you this but he thinks you’ll be a great fit.”

Santos smiles. “I think I’m just in shock to be treating you now that I know who you are. And your daughter too.”

“Don’t worry about me. I have no problems telling Robby off,” You laugh. “Just didn’t want to make a big deal last time.”

“I get it. How long have you to been together?” Santos asks and then immediately freezes. “Oh I’m so sorry I don’t mean to interrogate.”

What has Robby been doing to these poor residents to make them so scared?

“We’ve known each other for 10, married for 8, and we’ve had Bug for three years now.”

“She’s adorable. She waved to us when Dr. Abbot brought her in.”

“Yeah she likes Jack more than me sometimes,” you grin.

Your checkup doesn’t take much longer after that. Santos wraps your hand up once more and goes through aftercare instructions. “But I’ll let Dr. Robby know as well,” she finishes out.

You walk back to the central hub as you make small talk with Santos. She tells you about how she used to be an athlete and how she’s fluent in Tagalog. You, in turn, tell her about your own work and all the details that come with that.

Robby strategically positioned himself to be waiting with Dana when you’re done.

“Dr. Santos is fantastic,” you praise when you find him. “Everything looks a-okay.”

Santos slides past you to sit down at her desk with Whitaker and Javadi.

“Just treated Mrs. Robinavitch,” she whispers. The other resident and student doctor lean in close. “She’s so nice. Like scary nice. And smart too.”

And just like the pittlings feared, Robby appears behind them to interrupt their gossip session.

“Well I’m glad you find my wife nice and smart,” Robby muses.

Then you’re popping up right behind them. “Cut them some slack, Mike. They’re just curious.”

It’s like you have him under a spell with the way he relaxes at your touch.

“Wanna walk me out?” you offer.

Robby points at the group of three. “Any of you need anything?”

It’s amusing so see how quickly they shake their heads no.

“Alright, I’ll be back soon.”

As Robby turns to leave, you grab his arm to stop him.

“It was nice to meet you guys! Thank you again Dr. Santos for all your help.”

Dana laughs loudly at their shocked expression. It was definitely weird to see their strict attending doctor be so relaxed around his wife.

“So you do have a wedding ring,” Whitaker points out.

Robby reaches under his scrub top to pull out the chain. “Eight years.”

“And a child together,” Javadi jumps in.

“Three years,” Robby adds.

“I’ll have to bring her back sometime. She’s been asking about you guys non-stop,” You laugh.

Your phone pings. It’s daycare sending you and Robby Bug’s report of what she did today.

“Well duty calls. See you guys!”

Robby wraps his arm around your shoulder as he steers you out of the emergency room.

Santos, ready as ever to pounce on an opportunity to hype herself up, looks at Whitaker.

“Y/N told me that Robby thinks I’d thrive in surgery.”

She pushes away from her desk, laughing loudly and ready to go check up on her next.

Whitaker and Havadi follow immediately, a chorus of “What!” and “Did she say anything about me!” fall from their lips.

Santos gloats.

“You’ll just have to find her next time.”

And just like that she escapes, still riding on the high of Robby’s praise.

The first date was a restaurant. It was lovely and exactly what you'd expected. You'd gone home that night with a warm feeling in your chest and the taste of pasta, thinking that this was nice and exactly what dating Jack Abbot would be like.

The second date, he took you to the fair, like you were teenagers. He took you on the Ferris wheel and everything. You'd looked out over the lights spread and felt like you were fifteen again.

You'd accidentally let it slip during that first restaurant date that the restaurant date had been your first date ever. You'd spent your entire adolescence and young adulthood with your nose buried in books, skipping parties to study, missing social milestones because there was always another exam.

He hadn't reacted much at the time, while you'd been mortified, certain you'd just revealed yourself to be hopelessly inexperienced and naive, but he'd simply talked about his first very awkward date and the moment had passed.

But the fair came next and you wondered, watching him win you a stuffed animal, if he was deliberately giving you the experiences you'd missed.

On your third date he took you to play Mini golf. You were approximately ninety percent sure he only chose it so he could get close to you. He'd asked you a couple days beforehand if you'd ever golfed before, and you'd shaken your head no, and he'd seemed delighted.

And he did teach you. Oh, he taught you thoroughly. He got all close to you, standing behind you to adjust your grip on the club, his chest pressing against your back, his hands warm over yours as he guided your swing. You were approximately ninety percent sure he knew exactly what he was doing. The other ten percent was just you being generous.

After the golf, he'd gotten you ice cream from a little stand near the park, and you'd walked together. Your shoulder kept bumping against his arm as you walked, and neither of you made any effort to create more space between you. It made you feel giddy to see him.

Giddy. A word you hadn't used to describe your emotional state since you were a child.

And you couldn't help but appreciate him and his thoughtfulness so much.

You'd been in a lull for so long. Years and years of studying, studying, studying, all your life really, missing out on everything and now you were finally a resident.

And you still had nothing.

Well, not nothing. You had your job and your career, but in terms of relationships and romance there was nothing until Jack.

You'd flirted with him, then and there, but you hadn't thought much of it at first. You didn't think much of the instances where he'd complimented your hairstyles or your glittery pens. Really anything that made you you, he seemed to notice and appreciate.

And now here you were in his apartment standing in his kitchen with flour dusted across your forearms and dough in front of you.

"I can't get the dough flat," you complained, looking down at your sad lump of flour and water. He grinned, but made absolutely no move to help you. You looked at his perfect dough and you sighed. "Why are you good at everything?"

His grin widened, a comment ready on the tip of his tongue and you got flustered immediately. "Oh, shut up," you mumbled, turning your attention very deliberately back to your dough so you wouldn't have to look at his smug face anymore.

"Didn't say anything," he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice even without seeing it.

Before you knew it, he'd left his pizza abandoned, coming around to help you with yours. You moved aside and he took your place in front of your sad little lump of dough.

"You have to add lots of flour so it won't stick to the counter," he explained, sounding like the teacher he usually was in the ER.

You were absolutely not listening to a single word he said.

You were straight up staring at his face watching him with so much fondness that would have been embarrassing if you'd had any self awareness left to be embarrassed. His silver hair flopped a bit as he pressed the dough back onto the counter and it looked so endlessly soft. You really, really wanted to touch it and find out if it was as soft as it looked or if it was coarser than you expected.

It was so curly too. You liked curly hair or maybe you just liked his curly hair. You weren't entirely sure anymore where the general preference ended and the Jack specific obsession began.

And his stubble. You wondered how scratchy it was. If you ran your fingers across it, would it hurt you? Would it be rough and abrasive against your skin? And if it was, if it left your fingertips tingling and sensitive, would he kiss it better?

You were officially going insane. You needed to be studied. You needed to be written up in a medical journal as a case study in acute romantic fixation.

There were light freckles across his face too. They had probably been darker when he was younger and had faded over the years.

You wanted to lean in and count every single freckle. You wondered where else he had freckles. If his shoulders were dusted with them. If his back was full of them. You wondered if any of them were traceable, if you could drag your fingertip from one to the next connecting them like stars in the sky. Orion on his shoulder blade. The Big Dipper across his collarbone. Cassiopeia scattered down his spine.

Would he like that? If you traced his freckles like constellations? Would he lie still for you? Would he hum gently if you did it and lean into your hands?

You wondered a lot of things, frankly an alarming number of things for someone who was supposed to be learning how to flatten pizza dough from their date ( slash boss ).

And you didn't hear anything. Your auditory processing had apparently been completely hijacked by your visual processing, which was currently fully occupied with memorizing every single detail of Jack's face.

His head tilted gently as he looked at you. "Sweetheart?"

He looked concerned and you figured you hadn't given him lots of opportunities to see what you looked like lovesick.

You weren't like Shen, who had a date every other weekend and always came back to the hospital on Monday morning bragging about how amazing his girlfriend was. Everyone knew lovesick Shen. It was practically his default setting at this point. The other residents teased him about it relentlessly, and he took it with good humor because he was too happy to be embarrassed.

But you'd never ever been in love. The only thing you dreamed about on a regular basis was your bed and tiramisu sometimes.

It felt like you were falling, just as long as Alice did in Alice in Wonderland when she went down the rabbit hole. And People did say you had an Alice in Wonderland quality about you, a different way of thinking when it came to approaching patients. It was sweet when they said it and it made you feel special.

"Yeah?" you asked, as if you hadn't just taken an extended mental vacation to a fantasy land where you were tracing constellations on his bare skin.

"Kinda just spaced out there," he said softly. His eyes swept over your face, checking to see if you were okay. "Everything good?" he asked, and you watched him resist the urge to touch you because his hands were covered in dough and flour.

"Yeah," your voice coming out a bit shaky despite your best efforts. "Sorry. I think I kinda just suck at this."

You attributed your mental absence to disappointment in yourself rather than the actual cause. It was believable. Jack knew you were the type of person who sometimes fell apart whenever she was disappointed in herself. He'd seen you pick apart everything you'd done wrong while ignoring everything you'd done right at work.

"You don't suck at this," he said gently. He moved away then, stepping back to give you space to work again. "I've done this a hundred times and it's your first time," he said, wiping his flour covered hands on a kitchen towel. "It's okay to not be good on your first try," he added softly, and there was something in the way he said it that made you think he wasn't just talking about pizza dough anymore.

"And," he continued, and his voice took on a lighter tone, " it gives us a chance to do this many, many times."

Your lips lifted into a smile. "Guess so," you said softly, and you couldn't quite keep the pleased little lilt out of your voice.

Jack smiled back at you, seemingly relieved that you were excited about spending time together as much as he was.

The date continued with lots of giggles and chattering. You got so caught up in talking that you completely forgot about the pizzas. They were just laying out on the counter, instead of being in the oven where they belonged.

You were leaning on one side of the counter, your elbows propped on the surface in a way that would have made your mother tell you to stand up straight, and he was on the other side. You sipped on your drink, the glass cool against your fingers. Both of you had chosen not to drink any alcoholic beverages.

You'd never had this before and you wanted to feel every single nerve wracking and heart pounding feeling about being in the same kitchen as the guy you liked. You wanted to remember every single detail.

And so did he. He wanted to remember everything about you and your sweet and shy demeanor.

You giggled as he recounted what had happened in his math class once, your hand came up to cover your mouth and he wanted to hear that sound for the rest of his life.

After a while, you glanced at the pizzas. "I think we were supposed to put those in the oven," you smiled as you set your soda aside on the counter. The condensation from the glass left a wet ring on the surface, and you wiped it away with your sleeve.

Jack glanced at the pizzas, following your gaze to the forgotten food, and smiled. He'd hoped it would take you longer to notice that you hadn't put them in the oven. The longer you didn't notice, the longer he got to spend time with you.

He grabbed them and slid them into the oven. He set the timer because you'd both probably forget about them again if he didn't.

Once he did, he led you to his couch. You settled down shyly at the edge. Your posture was stiff, your hands folded in your lap, your feet planted firmly on the floor.

"So," Jack murmured, settling down next to you on the couch but keeping his distance. "D'you have any embarrassing high school memories?" he angled his body slightly toward you, one arm draped across the back of the couch.

"All of it?" you smiled at him. Your socked feet moved restlessly on his carpet.

"Anything specific?" he pressed gently. He wanted to know everything and anything about you.

He could never get enough of you. Every day he looked forward to seeing you, excited to discover something new about you. It was one of the great pleasures of his life now. Whether it was a small detail about how you'd treat an injured child or how you'd hold your pen. Everything about you was interesting to him.

You thought about his question, sifting through your memories of high school, trying to find something worth sharing. You'd been so focused on your studies that moments that seemed to define other people's teenage years had mostly passed you by or maybe they'd happened and you just hadn't noticed, too buried in textbooks to realize you were supposed to be mortified.

"Don't think so," you said, embarrassment flickering across your face before you looked down at your hands in your lap. You felt guilty for not being interesting enough for him.

But he shook his head. "Lucky you."

And just like that, he made you comfortable immediately again. It was a gift he had, this ability to smooth over your awkwardness without making you feel self conscious about having been awkward in the first place.

You knew this sucked. You knew, on some level, that you were being quiet and not at all the kind of fun date that someone like Jack deserved. You were young, but wasn't this supposed to be the time to have a bunch of things to tell? Weren't you supposed to have stories? Weren't you supposed to rave about the things you planned on doing and the crazy things you'd experienced?

It felt weird to tell Jack how boring you'd been all your life. How you'd spent your weekends in libraries. How your biggest adventure in college had been pulling an all nighter to finish a research paper. It made you feel inadequate, like you were letting him down by being exactly who you were.

And it was hard to make up for it in the moment. You couldn't suddenly become interesting just because you wanted to be.

You wanted to apologize for it, but then again, you thought you might just make it worse if you pointed out how shy you were being. Maybe it was better to pretend you were totally relaxed and not at all spiraling about whether you were interesting enough for him.

You couldn't possibly know how much he was adoring your shy demeanor. You couldn't see inside his head, couldn't witness the way his heart swelled every time you ducked your head or stumbled over your words or smiled that embarrassed little smile. You had no idea that he was sitting there thanking the universe that he was able to provoke a reaction from you, that your shyness wasn't indifference but the exact opposite, proof that you cared enough to be nervous.

But then he got something. He asked you about your favorite class and your eyes lit up. You started talking about your English teacher and you went on and on.

You wouldn't stop raving about her. It was so endearing and he didn't see that happen often. At the ER, you were careful. Every word that came out of your mouth always seemed so thoughtfully considered.

He enjoyed it so much that he took the chance to scoot closer on the couch until his knee was almost touching yours.

And you barely noticed. Instead, you turned more toward him, your knees lifting onto the couch cushion and then your knee was pressing against his thigh. His eyelashes fluttered slightly at that, delighted to finally receive your sweet touch.

He admired you with a smile, asking a couple questions here and there that kept you talking without interrupting your flow. He was so gentle about it so careful to not interrupt you.

After a while, you stopped rambling and smiled at him and it seemed like you'd finally relaxed.

Every day it always took him a bit to open you up again. It was like an eggshell that you built around yourself every week and he always had to break it again. You'd arrive at work slightly distant, and he'd spend the first part of the shift chipping away at your shell with small talk and gentle teasing. To his luck, the shell got thinner every week. What used to take an entire shift now took an hour. What used to take an hour now took minutes.

And now, tonight, it seemed he had it all open. Shell pieces scattered across the floor of his living room.

You smiled at him, and he smiled back, and for a moment neither of you said anything at all.

He saw your eyes flicker down to his lips and he saw the way you seemed almost embarrassed for doing it in the first place and he knew that you knew that he'd noticed.

He figured he'd help out. He'd kiss you and spare you the agonizing decision of whether or not to kiss him. His eyes flickered down to your lips. Your lips were still glossy despite having drunk your soda. He'd noticed your lip gloss earlier and had spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about it during work. It made your lips look soft. It made him wonder what they'd feel like against his.

His eyes flickered back up, meeting yours, and he held your gaze for a long moment and then he leaned in. One arm braced against the side of the couch as he closed the space between you inch by inch. You could probably feel his breath on your face now.

It was a testament to your shyness truly that it took you ages to do anything.

Jack had his nose touch yours before you pulled back, your eyes going wide with something that looked an awful lot like panic. He pulled back as well. His hands came up and he created as much distance as he could without actually leaving the couch.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, letting you know he wasn't upset, because he knew it would be your first thought. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

He felt a sensation in his chest he hadn't felt in decades, not since he was oh so young and still learning that love sometimes meant getting hurt.

God, he'd been so certain that you wanted this too, but maybe he'd misread everything. Maybe he was just an old man making a fool of himself over a girl who was too polite to tell him she wasn't interested.

"No, you're fine," you said quietly.

"I'm sorry," he said again, because he didn't know what else to say. "You don't have to stay if I made you uncomfortable." He tried to catch your gaze as you looked away, tried to find some sign in your expression that would tell him what you were feeling.

But you shook your head, biting your lip, your teeth pressing into the soft flesh until it hurt. "No, it's fine," you whispered.

Jack stared at you and the way you avoided his eyes. He watched the way your gaze skittered around the room. You were pulling back into yourself, the shell reconstructing itself around you.

"Sweetheart," he said softly, his voice carrying all the tenderness he felt and all the regret he couldn't quite express, "it really would be fine if you left. I won't be upset."

He was worried your shyness was preventing you from telling him the truth, that you were too polite to admit that he'd made you uncomfortable in his home.

You met his eyes finally and it just came out of you. "Please don't judge me."

"I'm not judging you for anything, sweetheart," Jack said softly. "If you want, we'll just ignore everything that happened in the last five minutes."

As he spoke, he reached out very carefully. His fingers found your hand, where you had been biting your nails and guided it away from your mouth. You dropped your hand into your lap, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment and then you blurted it out.

"I've never kissed anyone before."

And Jack didn't say "it's fine" as if your inexperience was some mistake that needed forgiving. Instead he just smiled softly.

"Makes me crowding you like this a bit worse," he grinned, gesturing vaguely at the space between you.

You stared at him for a second, startled by his casual reaction, but then you smiled . "No, you're fine," you said absolutely delighted.

You traced a finger across your thigh for a second, back and forth, back and forth and then you looked up again. You couldn't imagine the last time he'd been told by his date that she had no experience dating whatsoever, but his reaction was perfect. He was watching you with a careful expression, clearly still concerned for you.

You finally made the decision to speak and he smiled gently as if saying go ahead.

"I'm fine with you kissing me," you said quietly. "I just wanted to let you know in case—" you stuttered for a second. "In case I'm not as good. But I don't mind if you want to kiss me," you added softly, and even as the words left your mouth you felt regret creeping into your voice.

You were terrified that this would erase his entire urge to ever want to press his lips against your pretty ones.

You were dead wrong.

He still wanted you like before. He didn't think anything of your confession besides maybe that he should be gentler with you when approaching everything touching.

"I want to kiss you," he said softly. "But I won't do that until you're ready."

And then he reached out, fingers brushing against your temple, and he pushed your hair behind your ear which made you smile. He let his thumb rest on your cheekbone for a second, then he dropped his hand, letting it fall back to his lap.

"I am ready. I want it to be you." And then, because you knew him you added, "I've thought about it before." You knew he'd want to make absolutely certain that this wasn't a spur of the moment decision and that you weren't just saying what you thought he wanted to hear, because you felt bad.

"You've thought about it?" he asked and a grin spread across his face.

"Very funny," you mumbled, looking down at your lap, but you couldn't keep the smile off your face.

"No, no, I'm flattered," he grinned, clearly happy to finally be teasing you gently again.

You shot him a look. "Don't act like you haven't either."

His eyebrows shot up, surprised at your bold reply, but it made him laugh. "No, you're right. I have."

Once you both stopped smiling like two lovesick idiots you asked the question. "So? Will you?"

He stared at you for a while, his head tilted slightly to one side. And you let him, in fact, you appreciated it a lot. It was nice to know that he wasn't just rushing to it and that your first kiss was just as important to him as it was to you.

"You're sure?" he asked once again, eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation.

You shot him a look, that said you'd made your decision and you needed him to trust that you knew your own mind.

"Okay, okay," he smiled, a lopsided smile that tugged up one corner of his mouth more than the other.

You saw his eyes flicker away for a second and it was a sweet realization to recognize what it meant. He was nervous about kissing you.

"You'll have to guide me through it." you said softly.

"I can do that," he said. He had guided you through so many procedures and so many difficult conversations with patients. You knew his teaching would be the best and you knew he would take care of you through this too.

"Can I sit in your lap? I think that's most ideal for me."

Your eyebrows were furrowed slightly as you spoke as if this was a medical procedure you were planning out. He assumed that's why you weren't as shy about asking. To you this was like the ER, something that needed to happen in the most perfect way possible.

Jack stared at you. He wanted to say something about how you were supposed to relax and how you shouldn't approach it the way you were right now, but he figured that if this way of thinking relaxed you, who was he to stop it?

"Make yourself comfortable," he said instead, and he laid back against the couch back, his shoulders settling against the cushions, his arms resting loosely at his sides.

You swung one leg over his body and then the other, settling down with your thighs on either side of his hips, your knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of him.

"Okay?" you asked quietly.

"More than okay," he said, and the absolute happiness in his voice made you laugh.

He sat up a bit, careful not to have you fall off. His hands hovered near your hips and he looked at you for a second, and you could see the effort it took for him to focus on your face and not on the fact that you were in his lap.

"First," he said softly, and his voice took on that teacher tone you knew so well. "If you feel uncomfortable at any point, you just get off my lap and stop everything." His eyes were serious now. "No matter what's happening, you're allowed to push me off." He paused, making sure you understood. "Got it?"

You nodded, but he didn't accept it.

"I prefer words, sweetheart," he said softly.

You shot him a look, a little flash of exasperation mixed with affection, but he was serious. He knew you were a shy person and he wasn't going to just take your expression for an answer. He needed to know that you could use your voice and that your shyness wouldn't prevent you from speaking up if something felt wrong.

"Got it," you added, once you realized why he wanted words.

"Okay, good," he said gently. "Second," he continued, and his voice lightened, took on a gentler quality that made your shoulders drop slightly from where they'd been tensed up near your ears, "this is supposed to be fun."

He allowed himself to touch you now, finally. He reached up and brushed hair out of your face. His fingers were warm against your temple and you tilted your head further down, silently asking for more. And he happily complied, both hands coming up to your face now, his fingers threading through your hair, brushing it back completely from your face.

You got closer to him on his lap as he worked. You smelled nice. Vanilla perfume and it made him want to lean in closer and breathe deeper. He wondered if your lip gloss was vanilla too. Guess he was about to find out.

"Is it fun?" you whispered quietly. Your heart was pounding and your palms were sweating and fun felt like a very distant concept. "I'm scared."

"That's okay. I was too." he said gently.

But you shook your head as you glanced down at his lap, and your fingers found his button up shirt. You started picking at one of the buttons, flicking it open and closed open and closed.

"You were a kid then, probably," your eyes still fixed on the button. "I'm an adult. I'm not supposed to be this nervous. I'm not even supposed to be in this position." There they were. Your insecurities all out in the open.

He shook his head, his hands wandering up to your waist, and he brushed up and down your sides. "You're allowed to be nervous and so what?" He shrugged. "So you've never kissed anyone before. No big deal."

He said it with such a convincing tone that you couldn't help but smile. He made it sound so simple and you really really liked that.

"No big deal," you repeated and he squeezed your waist in agreement.

"Now what?" you asked softly, and despite the nerves still fluttering in your stomach, there was eagerness in your voice now too.

"The big moment," he said, sitting up more properly, straightening his spine against the couch back. He emphasized the words in such a silly tone that it made you giggle. Exactly his goal.

He lifted his hand and tilted your head lightly, his palm warm against your jaw as his thumb came to rest on your cheekbone. "So we don't bump noses," he mumbled. You smiled nervously, your lips curving up despite the butterflies doing acrobatics in your stomach.

He stared at you gently, his hazel eyes searching your face one last time, giving you one final chance to change your mind. "You're sure?" he whispered. You nodded, and this time he accepted it because he'd already established that you could use your words if you needed to.

"Very," you said softly, and your eyes glanced down at his lips.

"You want me to lean in, or d'you wanna take the first step?" he asked softly, his thumb still resting gently against your cheekbone.

He'd never had to guide anyone through a kiss before. He wasn't sure how much exactly to guide, how much instruction was helpful versus overwhelming or how much space to give you versus how much to lead.

"Can you?" you whispered.

"Yeah, of course," his voice coming out a little rougher. "You can put your hands on my neck," he said quietly. He reached forward gently, his fingers encircling your wrists with the lightest touch, and guided your hands up to the sides of his neck. He placed them there himself, positioning your palms against the warm skin just above his collar. His heart was racing and you felt it.

"You're warm," you blurted out. It was such a random thing to say, of course he was warm, he was a living breathing human being with blood circulating through his body.

He laughed and it made his shoulders shake slightly beneath your hands. "Not warm, just blushing, honey," he mumbled and the butterflies in your stomach multiplied.

You let out a sound between a scoff and a laugh, because the idea of Jack Abbot blushing because of you was both ridiculous and wonderful.

"I've got the prettiest girl in my lap and she wants to kiss me," he said, aware you didn't believe he was flustered. "I've got more than enough reasons to be blushing."

The words made you smile again. It was like your body was incapable of not being full of joy when you were near him.

You brushed gently under his jaw and his eyelashes fluttered at the touch and then your hand wandered to the back of his head, your fingers threading into his hair. His hair was just as soft as you thought it would be.

"Soft," you whispered.

He gave you a shy smile. "Reminds me of someone," he mumbled, and the comparison was so random that it made you smile again.

"I'm going to kiss you now, yeah?" he whispered, and it wasn't really a question anymore.

You nodded, your hands still tangled in his hair, your heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. His breath hit your lips first and he waited, pausing with his lips just a breath away from yours, looking at you with those hazel eyes. Do you still want this?

He saw you nod softly and then he pressed his lips against yours. It was softer than you'd imagined. His mouth was really warm and gentle. You immediately tightened your hands in his locks, because the feeling of his mouth on yours was making your head spin and your thoughts scatter. He squeezed your waist gently in response.

You weren't sure what to do. The mechanics of kissing had always seemed straightforward in theory, but now that you were actually doing it, you found yourself second guessing everything. Were you supposed to move your lips? How much pressure was too much? You decided to just press back a bit, because you were supposed to do that, right?

And based on his hum, it seemed you were right.

His hands traveled up from your waist, sliding slowly up your back until they reached your neck. His fingers pressed against the back of it, pulling you closer.

It didn't last long and then he pulled back, just far enough to look at you, his nose still almost brushing yours.

His hand came up to brush the hair that had fallen down back in your face away from your face. His fingers were gentle as they swept across your forehead, tucking strands behind your ear.

"How was that?" he asked softly, and his voice was a little rougher around the edges. He seemed nervous and worried. He was hoping he'd made it good for you.

Your eyes, which had been staring at his lips the entire time he was talking, finally lifted to meet his. It took effort to drag your gaze away from his mouth that had just been pressed against yours.

"Nice," you whispered, and the word felt inadequate for what you were actually feeling. "Really nice." You paused, and then a disbelieving sound escaped your lips. "I just had my first kiss."

You pressed your fingers to your own lips and a smile spread across your face.

He smiled back, and the relief that flooded his veins was visible. He'd given you your first kiss and he hadn't somehow ruined it or made it weird or disappointed you.

"Yeah, you did," he said and he watched you press your fingers to your lips with an expression of pure adoration. "Did you like it?"

You nodded, your fingers still resting against your mouth. "Yeah."

And then you looked at him, hesitating for just a moment. "Did you?" you asked nervously.

"Very much so, sweetheart," he mumbled, and the words came out slightly slurred with affection. He was already staring back at your lips. He couldn't help it. One kiss had not been nearly enough for him.

You were already thinking the same thing.

"Can we kiss more?" you asked, and your fingers were brushing through the curls at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft silver strands, making his eyelids droop with pleasure.

"Please," he mumbled, and he didn't bother to hide his desperation whatsoever.

He kissed you again, but this time when his mouth met yours, his lips captured your bottom one, drawing it gently between his own in a way that was decidedly more than the soft press of lips you'd experienced the first time. It was a proper kiss.

You pulled back, your eyes going wide. You stared at him, and he stared back at you with heavy lidded eyes, his lips still slightly parted from where they'd just been pressed against yours.

"You can do the same," he mumbled quietly, almost too lovesick to explain it further in detail.

You leaned back in, pressing your mouth to his, and this time you were the one who captured his bottom lip. It was a little clumsy, your inexperience showing in the way you fumbled slightly with the angle. But it was easy once you started doing it and nice. His lip was soft between yours and the way he responded to your effort made your stomach flip.

He hummed again. It was sweet to know that Jack Abbot hummed during kisses.

That went on for ages or maybe it just felt like ages. What you knew for certain was that you spent a long time in his lap, exchanging kisses that ranged from soft and sweet to something a little deeper. He tried to stop you for a second, pulling back just far enough to check in, but you shook your head.

You were having fun. He was right. He'd told you this was supposed to be fun, and he'd been right all along. Kissing Jack Abbot was the most fun you'd ever had in your entire life.

You pulled back after a while, absolutely shining. Your eyes were bright and your lips slightly swollen. You were undeniably happy and that made Jack's heart squeeze with happiness.

Jack was more dazed as he stared at you. His breathing was uneven and his hair was chaotic from where your fingers had been tangling in it, but he looked just as happy as you.

"You taste like vanilla," he mumbled as he licked his lips.

"My lip gloss is vanilla," you smiled, confirming the suspicion he'd had earlier when he'd first caught the scent of your perfume. Vanilla perfume and vanilla lip gloss. You were vanilla all the way through, sweet and warm and comforting, and he couldn't get enough of it.

"Tasty," he mumbled and that made you laugh. He looked pleased with himself at the sound.

Your hands let the soft strands of his hair slip through your fingers one more time, before moving around to the front. Your fingertips traced along his jawline, feeling his stubble. You brushed across his cheeks softly that was as soothing for you as it was for him.

Jack simply adored you with his big hazel eyes. His eyes tracked your face with love. Being adored by you was the best feeling he'd experienced in longer than he could remember.

You kept going for ages, but eventually he wrapped his fingers around yours and pulled them away from his face. "Careful," he mumbled. "You're about to get beard burn."

He glanced down at your fingertips, and sure enough, they were slightly red from all the attention you'd been giving his stubble. He shot you a disappointed look, as if it was your fault his beard was razor sharp.

But then he pressed a kiss to your fingers anyway. The gesture was so romantic, that it made you want to cry. He kissed each fingertip and you smiled the entire time.

It didn't stop you, though. The moment he dropped your fingers, you reached up again. You found his light freckles and started connecting them like constellations.