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moonlessnight14 · 35 minutes ago

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You Know Where You Are 2/3

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Musician!Reader Angst/Established Relationship Part I | Part III

The Pitt Playlist located here The Pitt Masterlist

Synopsis: Dr. Robby's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning bleeds into an Even Worse Afternoon. Word Count: 3,579 Content Warning: Reader is in her 30's; mass shooting; death; blood; gunshot injuries; angst - if I've missed any, please let me know. A/N: Just know my rubbing my lil fly hands together nefariously. Thank you for all of the love on the first part!

Robby was relatively good at schooling his emotions at work, locking them away so as to not let them cloud his judgement when dealing with patients. They deserved his full attention, no matter who they were. The med students and residents deserved to learn from him in an appropriate setting. That’s not to say that Dana didn’t clock the black cloud that clung to him the second he walked into the ED, because that’s exactly what she did. That and she knew Robby like the back of her hand.

“Good morning. Surprised to see you today,” Dana greeted, a knowing smile gracing her features. Robby just grunted his greeting, confirming her suspicions. “Hate to make your questionable morning worse, but Gloria is looking for you.”

He couldn’t wait for this day to end.

The cold water from the bathroom sink hit Robby’s face with a jolt. He brought another handful up to follow the first for good measure. This day just kept derailing in one way or another -more than an ED usually derails in a day. He dried his face and pulled his phone out.

He sent you a text just after Jake came to pick up the backstage passes from him and sighed when he saw the ‘Read 11:26 AM’ under his message, then looked at the clock -12:51 PM. You were busy, he told himself. He was lying to himself, but with the day that he already had, it was the only thing allowing him to tread water.

Between the fight with you, the anniversary of losing Adamson, the patients lost, and the hysterical families he’s dealt with today -add on the possibility of a future school shooter on the loose, Robby was heavily regretting his stupid decision to ask for this shift.

And it was only one in the afternoon.

This was his punishment from the universe.

“You good?” Dana had asked as Robby stopped across from her at the nurses station and set down a tablet. He had pushed his glasses up to squeeze the bridge of his nose, scrunching his eyes closed. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the migraine that was edging at the corners of his eyes. Robby let out the deepest sigh before letting his glasses fall back down.

“Define good.” His face was still pinched as he looked down to Dana.

“That bad?”

“You don’t know half of it.” Dana walked around the station and gently grabbed Robby’s arm to lead him to the breakroom.

“Perlah, can you handle this for a few? I’ll be right back.” Perlah nodded as Princess tried not to obviously crane her neck behind Perlah to listen in as well.

“I don’t know what he did, but I’m on her side.” Princess said to Perlah in Tagalong, referring to you. Perlah nodded with an “mhm” before going back to her computer.

“This have anything to do with why you’re here and not at PittFest?” Dana asked with an eyebrow raised as they got to the breakroom. She closed the door as Robby leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and guarded. Dana came to stand next to him, busying herself with making two cups of coffee to give him room. He’d open up if she did this right, otherwise she’d be adding to the natural disaster of a cloud that followed him during their shift and that’s the opposite of what she wanted to do. They still had four hours of their left before they could call it quits and he needed to let some of that steam out before whatever was inside boiled over.

The last time you spoke to Dana over coffee, you told her how excited you were to get Mike out of the house -out of the hospital. She couldn’t agree with you more that the man needed a break. Robby needed to experience things that weren’t the ED and anything within a five block radius of the hospital. Sure you got him out of the house on the occasion that he was up for going somewhere further, but he needed joy, and hanging with you and Jake outside in the sun, fresh air, music and food would do just that. That was the plan, anyway. Dana just needed to piece together where the plan that was set in stone went sideways.

Robby pins Dana with a look and she knows she’s at least hit that nail on the head.

“What happened?” She asked softly, leaving the question open so Robby could respond in a way that didn’t corner him. Placing the cup of coffee she made for him on the counter, she held hers nestled between both of her hands.

“I happened.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “I didn’t tell her I wasn’t going until this morning.”

“Robby!” Dana whispered the exclamation, eyes wide. He held up a hand.

“I know, believe me, I know. It was stupid.”

“Stupid is an understatement, doc. Listen, I know why you did it. I get it. Today is heavy -emotionally and mentally. You need to stay busy and any downtime leaves room for too much thinking. Working does that for you.”

“Yeah.” Robby sighed, tapping his fingers on the counter. At least his arms had left their defensive position crossed over his chest. That was a win in Dana’s book.

“But that doesn't mean it’s right. You can’t hide yourself away here when you’re going through something, Robby, not when you have someone who is willing to shoulder that burden with you.” Dana corrected him gently, placing her hand over his bicep. The worst part about this conversation was that Robby knew Dana was right. He knew he went about this the wrong way entirely, but he can’t seem to get out of his own goddamn way sometimes. You would’ve understood, even encouraged him to do what he needed to- “Communication is important, you know this. It’s nothing I haven’t said to you before.” Dana finished softly. Goddamn communication. If only it was that easy, that simple.

“God, you’d think I’d understand that by now.” He chuckled sardonically.

“There’s always time to learn.” She encouraged Robby. “She loves you -I know that for a fact. Reach out, leave the ball in her court. Let her know you understand.” He was already ahead of her on that suggestion, and it felt like he was stranded at sea with a single life preserver and no rescue ship in sight.

“No luck?” Dana asked when she saw Robby looking down at his cell in the few spare minutes he had just after a particularly unruly patient in South 15. He shook his head and pocketed it, departing to meet Langdon so Dana couldn’t dig further. She meant well, but it was starting to grate on his nerves and the last thing he wanted to do was snap at Dana. Because that would be the last thing he ever did once she got through with him.

Robby had been off and everyone who worked with him on the daily took notice -outside of Dana who clocked him the second he came through the doors. The glances from the residents and nurses said as much. The new interns and residents didn’t know anything was off until Whitaker overheard Langdon talking to Mohan about it. Gossip spread like the wildfire in the ED. The second it was out, there was no reeling it back in.

Robby knew he was cutting it close, that your band’s set was scheduled for a 5 PM start, but he texts you again around 4 PM to ask you to please call him when you had a few minutes -that he loved you and just needed to talk. You replied with a simple ‘busy’ and that was somehow worse than no response at all. Robby knew he was in the doghouse when they both got home -if you even decided to come back to his place that night. “You know what, Mike…probably not” Robby winced at the memory and carried on with his neverending shift.

The exasperation that laced your voice and the frustration that shined in your eyes this morning made Robby bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself present. He would apologize, genuinely -profusely-, when you decided to speak to him again. He would listen. He would communicate. He couldn’t risk this driving a wedge between you like it had in his past relationships. He’d fix this. This was fixable, he told himself. He didn’t want to think of the alternative. That was the last thing he needed after the day he had, but he knew he was an asshole and you were generally too understanding of him and his quirks -today notwithstanding.

At the 5:15 PM mark, he got a facetime call from Jake. Excusing himself from South 10, leaving the patient in Mohan’s hands, he quickly stepped into a more quiet hallway to answer. A smile lifted his lips for the first time all day when Jake’s beaming face came onto the screen.

“Robby!” Jake shouted over the festival noise.

“Hey, bud!” All of Robby’s emotions nearly broke through the dam he crafted at the beginning of the shift.

“Me and Leah just wanted to say thank you for the passes!” The phone panned down to a young blonde next to Jake. She beamed up at him, then down to the phone.

“Thank you so much, Robby! This is incredible!” The phone twisted back up to Jake’s face.

“You’re coming with us next time, Robby! This is insane! Look at this view,” Jake flipped the camera to capture what he saw from the back lens. Jake was backstage facing the crowd. You were the first thing Robby saw. He recognized the song and could hear the crowd singing along to it as you moved across the stage.

Robby’s heart clenched. Seeing you in your element was mesmerizing no matter how many times he had seen it before. He met you well after your career was established, but he still felt pride nonetheless. You were successful, humble, and grateful above all else to do what you loved -and to make a generous living on top of it.

You toured the world, saw everything there was to see, and sometimes Robby felt like an anchor in the worst way. It felt almost like an insecurity that he wouldn’t be the person to experience those things with you, but he had been warned before you both decided to try your unorthodox relationship out -just as you had been warned about his profession and what that entailed.

This was the first time in Robby’s life that he had ever been in a relationship with someone who had an equally, if not more demanding job when it came to sacrificing time at home. It worked for you both so far, to the surprise of everyone.

Your band had taken this year off from touring to write and record a new album, and you had a tour across North America scheduled for the following spring once the album was released in February of next year. The thought of not seeing you for months at a time was anxiety inducing, he would admit. The last time you left was on a 3 month tour through Europe and Asia, and Robby didn’t realize he could miss someone as much as he missed you.

On the flipside, you hadn’t ever had a partner who wasn’t in the industry, so leaving him behind was brutal in its own way knowing he couldn’t just hop on a plane to meet you for a few stops. You got homesick when you never got homesick before meeting Robby. He had become your home in the last three years and it was a welcomed adjustment.

This year was a nice cushion of time to relax and play solitary shows at local festivals or secret shows in smaller venues around Pittsburgh and occasionally Philly. Sometimes Robby made it to them, sometimes he didn’t. Some of Robby’s coworkers that you had met would show after you’d extended an invitation to any of your home shows. Dana and her husband, surprisingly, were the first to take up the offer. No one in the ED would believe you when you said she was wild on a night out, her husband encouraging her to let loose. After that, you and Dana had been two peas in a pod. Langdon still could not believe that Robby was dating an actual rockstar and was a little starstruck every time you showed up.

That being said, you had been home more often than Robby was as of recent (whether you both landed at your place or his) and you never complained about anything really. You were just happy with the time you got with Robby and you spent every second you were afforded with him together. You rolled with whatever each day brought you and it was a breath of fresh air for Robby. He didn’t have to walk on eggshells when things didn’t go as planned and maybe he had gotten too comfortable with that.

Robby was going to be sick -physically, viscerally, all-consumingly ill. There’s an active shooter at PittFest -Robby could have collapsed in that ambulance bay the second those words left Dana’s mouth as his work phone beeped in unison with hers. He wasn’t afforded even a second to panic before he had to shift to Dr. Robby and get all hands on deck to prep the ED for what was sure to be a mass casualty event.

Robby called Jake, then texted Jake, then called him again, then moved on to calling and texting you, begging both of you to contact him in any way you could to make sure you Jake was okay -that you were okay.

5:46 PM, you were supposed to be on stage until 6 -Robby made a mental note. He prayed to whoever was listening -if anyone was listening- that the three of you got to safety. He nearly loses it when he sees Jack walk through the doors with his backpack in tow, ready to take on whatever this event brought through their doors.

Dana was on a rotating call between your phone and Jake’s to try to get through to either of you as she prepped the nurses, and every time Robby asked her if she had gotten through, it broke a piece of her soul when she had to shake her head.

You were fine. Jake was fine. Those were the words repeating in his brain over and over as triaged patients started to flood the ED. These people needed him and they needed him present, so he shut himself down emotionally and did what he knew how to do -he gave the best possible care under the current circumstances.

It was a lull in between songs while you were talking to the crowd when you saw an unusual scatter of patrons in the back cluster of people on the east side of the festival. You pulled out your ear monitors and heard screaming -blood curdling screaming, not the type of screaming from a normal crowd. In a split second, Nick -your guitarist and lifelong friend- collapsed to the floor of the stage, the guitar emitting a horrific feedback over the amps. Gasps and screams erupted from the crowd and mass panic set in. People started trampling each other as shots started ringing out.

Your first instinct was to drop the mic and run over to Nick and that’s exactly what you did. The people stuck at the barricade were horrified and scared beyond belief because they were pinned in the crowd with nowhere to go as people dropped like flies. Blood pooled around Nick where he lay crumpled when you reached him.

Then you felt it. The sheer power was enough to knock you off your feet and you heard your name as you tried to crawl to safety. Fire radiated through your torso as you tried to lift yourself enough to move, but when you tried to pull yourself forward, your hand slipped in the blood on the stage that was leaking from somewhere on your body. Every instinct in your brain shut off with the exception of fleeing. Your brain screamed at you, begged you to go, go, go somewhere, anywhere, but your brain and your body could not connect so you simply lay there on your stomach, your eyes catching the crowd dispersing in mass pandemonium, blood pooling around you just as it had with Nick with your last coherent thought being that of Jake. Was he safe? Losing Jake would kill Robby and you couldn’t protect him.

Your hands were noticeably cold, your body shivering regardless of the end of summer heat. The warmth of your blood pooled against the side of your face that was resting against the stage felt warm, warmer than you did and it was oddly comforting. Buzzing from your back pocket kept you present, awake, and aware, but you couldn’t move -you could barely breathe.

“Leah, stay!” Jake’s panicked voice cracked as he flipped you onto your back and grabbed one of your feet to try to pull you to the side of the stage.

“I have her other leg, just pull-” Another shot and you heard someone drop.

“Leah!” Matt, your bassist, and a couple of the roadies put themselves in danger to help Jake drag you and Leah off the stage while Casey, your drummer, pulled Nick off to the side.

“Pressure! Put pressure on them!” You screamed incoherently when someone pushed something onto your stomach -at least you thought it was your stomach- and pain radiated through every limb and up your neck shooting blinding white light through your brain. It was enough to leave you breathless, wheezing, and falling in and out of consciousness.

“Help pick her up on my three -one, two, three,” Someone lifted you into their arms and you were moving. You didn’t recognize them, possibly one of the roadies who didn’t work with your band or possibly just a good samaritan, but his face blurred every time you tried to look at him. “Hey, hey, don’t close your eyes.” He said as he kept looking down between you and where he was going. “We’re getting you out of here, alright? Stay with me.” He tried to coax you, shaking you in his arms to keep you awake. You didn’t even realize your eyes had closed. Your head tilted back, resting against his arm as he ran with you.

The sky was clear, you noticed, clearer than it had been in the past couple of weeks. The periwinkles of dusk were settling into the violets of night and you were getting colder by the minute.

“Jake,” You wheezed out, the teen coming to the forefront of your mind. You tried to move in the man’s arms, but he held tight. “Leah,” Your voice slurred.

“The kid is alright.” He reassured you, only half answering -not that you were coherent enough to notice. “Just hold on, alright?” The next thing you knew, you were pulled into the bed of a pickup truck. “We’re gonna sit you up, alright?” You grunted as your back hit the cab of the truck. “We need you up so you can keep track of Jake, right Jake? He needs you to talk to him, alright? Talk to him about anything, you hear me? Don’t stop talking. Keep pressure here,” Not questioning him, you nodded and held someone’s balled up shirt to your torso with the stranger’s help. You grasped his bloody hands with one of yours to stop him before he could take off.

“Thank…you.” He looked at you, an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint flooded into his eyes, and he nodded as he squeezed your hand.

“Mac, ma’am. Wished we met under better circumstances.” You chuckled groggily. You gave him your name. “You got ‘em?” Mac asked Jake. Jake nodded and Mac smacked the side of the truck to let the driver know to get the hell out of there and to the nearest hospital.

Once the truck got moving, things got incredibly fuzzy while it tore out of the lot of the backstage area. Jake called your name and your eyes refocused on him and Leah. He was covered in blood and holding another shirt over the wound on her chest.

“I’m fine, Jake,” You wheezed out. “Focus on Leah. Is she talking? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, she’s talking,” His eyes danced between you and Leah. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” You nodded sloppily, “Good. Focus on her. I’m alright,” You tried to reassure the kid, but you could see that he did not believe you. You blinked and felt someone hitting your foot.

“Keep your eyes open,” Jake demanded. Your eyes felt like they were filled with sand, weights pulling each one down further and further. Your skin was losing its color, the tone turning gray as each minute ticked by.

“Just blinking, kid.” Your eyes were closed much longer than a blink and Leah’s speech was starting to slur as she looked up at him. He finally let his tears fall, his lips quivering in pure helplessness as it engulfed him when your head started to nod to the left. Jake’s voice sounded like it was under a tidal wave when he said your name again before you were out.

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moonlessnight14 · 1 hour ago

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Damn, right out the gate! Robby, you are in trouble

You Know Where You Are 1/3

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Musician!Reader Angst/Established Relationship Part II | Part III

The Pitt Playlist located here The Pitt Masterlist

Synopsis: Dr. Robby's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day started before he even made it to PTMC. He was supposed to go to Pittfest to support his girlfriend's band with Jake, but decided to flake and give his ticket to Jake's girlfriend. You are less than thrilled with his lack of communication. Word Count: 965 Content Warning: Arguing; Reader is in her 30's A/N: This will be a three-parter.

“Why is an alarm going off?” You grumbled into Robby’s warm chest as the jingle from his phone repeated itself. Robby groaned as he reached over to the nightstand to turn it off. He was silent for a few beats, his other hand coming up to rub your back gently. “Mikey?”

“I’m goin’ in today.” He mumbled into the crown of your head.

“You’re what?” Sitting up in a hurry, you pushed yourself off him, but kept your eyes pinpointed on his. Michael was looking anywhere else in the room but at you. “No. No, Mike! You said you weren’t going to do this.”

“I know.” He responded gently, his eyes breaking from yours.

“You know.” Scoffing, you started to get off the bed, but was stopped by his hand gently grabbing your thigh, squeezing it in a way that told you he did not want this to get blown into an argument. Not today. “What about Jake? You can’t just ditch him.”

“Giving him my pass for his girlfriend. They’ll have a blast and apparently she’s a huge fan of you guys.” He tried to soften the blow. All it did was build the irritation that was growing inside of you.

“And me?” Your question hung in the air.

“I’m sorry.”

“Absolutely not.” Gently prying his hand off your leg, you stood and threw on some random clothes he had in the second drawer that housed various t-shirts, jeans and leggings that you’d left over time. “Genuinely don’t know what I was expecting.” You muttered under your breath as you pulled a t-shirt over your head.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He had the nerve to sound indignant.

“It means that I am a very reasonable person who rolls with the punches when it comes to you, but god forbid something on my end -pre planned well in advance, mind you- is important to me and it gets thrown by the wayside.”

“Today is-” You held up your hand to stop him.

“-I know what today is.” Your voice took on a somber tone. “And I am so incredibly sorry that you have to carry this with you, Mike. I am. I love you and I support you wholeheartedly, but you obviously knew you were going to do this well before this morning and you chose not to tell me. A heads up is all that I’m asking for here.”

“Had I known missing this set was going to be a huge deal-”

“It’s not about the set!” Your voice rose. “I don’t care about the set, Mike! My life is set after set. I cared about spending time with you and Jake. The set is an hour out of my day. Both of us are stupidly busy people with demanding careers who don’t get to see a whole lot of each other outside of some quick takeout and going to bed -if we’re even in the same state!” It wasn’t meant to be a jab, but Robby felt it all the same.

“You’ve never had a problem with me having to cancel for work.” His voice was starting to get an irritated tone to it, one that you knew he knew he was wrong, but was doubling down.

“That’s not what this is!” You snapped, “I’m not mad because you get called in to work, Mike! You did this on purpose. They didn’t call you in, you are choosing to go in on a day that you already arranged to have off for no other reason than you won’t communicate!” He winced -you don’t communicate was repeated like a broken record through just about every failed relationship he had. “I don’t understand how you don’t see why I’m frustrated with this and, quite frankly, it’s pissing me off even more than I was to begin with because I can’t tell if you know what you’re doing or if this is just a defensive reflex!”

Grabbing your phone off the nightstand on your side, you sighed when you saw how early it actually was. Deciding that removing yourself from Mike’s townhouse was the best option so you could cool off without figuratively ripping his head from his body, you grabbed your purse off his dresser.

“Where are you going?” Mike stood from the bed, pajama pants hanging low in his hips. There was clear panic in his eyes, but he couldn’t navigate himself out of the hole he had dug himself.

“Back to my place.” You didn’t bother to untie your sneakers as you shoved your feet into them, pulling roughly until they popped on.

“Come on,” He said your name softly, “-please just get back into bed-”

“Why?” You snapped, “You’re getting ready for work and I don’t have a reason to be here right now.” Mike winced, then inhaled deeply before nodding -not to agree with you, but to process the words that you just said to him.

“You don’t need a reason to be here.” He was nearly begging. You bit your bottom lip to keep yourself from going off the deep end.

“Fine, I don’t want to be here.” You ground out. And truthfully, you didn’t. Anger was a rarity coming from you -life happens- but this wasn’t “life happens”. This was “Robby happens” and when Robby happens...you shook your head.

“You coming back here tonight?” He knew it was a long shot, but he asked anyway.

“You know, Mike…” You shrugged, exasperated, arms swinging out from your sides, “-probably not.” Done with the conversation you left the bedroom, angry that this was how the day -a day that was supposed to be fun and a distraction from the shit Mike deals with- started in a fiery blaze.

“Don’t-” Not bothering to hear his response as you fled through the townhouse, you let the door slam closed behind you.

Part II

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moonlessnight14 · 2 hours ago

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Residuals Pt. 5

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: This chapter was so long, and I apologize because it also drove me absolutely crazy, lol and I've edited this into near extinction. I will say that I slightly rearranged two events to make this chapter work going into episode 4, and it's between Dana’s smoke break and Robby’s breakdown. I’m paranoid about this chapter, but I’ve done the best I can. But also, things are not as they appear. As always, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Thank you for the continuing support of me and my fic, and for being here. It means a lot. Much Love, Jenn. Also, shout out to @viridian-dagger for always being my hype man and talking me off the edge of deleting this chapter all together. ILY.

Warnings: Mentions of death, language, soft mention of infant death, sensitive material

Words: 15.6 +

Previous I Next

9:00 AM to 10:00 AM

There were a lot of memories that played like the greatest hits of his life on repeat in his head. Sometimes, they weren’t always pleasant to recall, but the ones that were worth remembering, worth the solace they offered his drowning mind, were a lifeboat in a sea of bad.

The first time you said his name was number one on that list. It was simple, but that evening, when you’d said it, it had changed everything between you. It’d been right after shift change, sitting in the designated spot the two of you claimed as yours on the roof. Two cups of shitty cafeteria coffee in hand to try and combat the fatigue because neither of you were quite ready to call it a night. You kept calling him ‘Robby’ or ‘Dr. Robinavitch’, not that he minded either, but for once, he just wanted to know how your lips formed around each syllable of his name.

“You know, we’re off the clock. You can just call me Michael.”

“Okay. Michael, but only if you don’t call me Fullerton.”

Your name sat sweet as honey on his tongue, and Robby savored the taste. He would say it with wonder and reverence because fuck he got to love you, every part of you, and you loved him back. You’d loved him back.

The other memories included the first day he met Jake, both hesitant and unsure. Later, the coffees they’d come to share after work just because Jake “missed you, ya know?” His graduation from medical school with his grandmother in attendance. Jake’s first multiple three-pointer game and Robby’s and Jake’s first “man trip” with fishing, campfires, and hot cocoa. The first night you stayed over at his place was sporadic; the downpour of rain kept you trapped inside his two-story apartment. Robby laid beside you, his arm securing you to his chest, and traced the outline of how you snuggled against him. The soft snores that rose with each breath you’d later deny.

The night he’d asked you to marry him.

Robby wished he’d made the gesture more romantic - you deserve the whole walkway of trailed petals with dozens of roses and candles and him dressed up (or as dressed up as he got) bending down on one knee. A small speech prepared even though Robby hated them.

No. He could never write a list accurate enough to explain how he knew you were his, and life just felt more complete with you in it. Robby didn’t know if he believed in God or fates or any of that bullshit but, with you, for brief moments he was willing to believe his life amounted to something good, that he deserved someone like you, if you were in it.

Instead of romance, Robby asked you while you’d both been in the bathtub. Your back pressed against his chest, legs woven together under bubbles and scented soaps. It’d been a rough day for you and all Robby wanted was to make sure you decompressed. It wasn’t part of the plan for him to join you, but when you’d asked with pleading eyes for him to get in, Robby couldn’t deny you.

You were - are still - his favorite person. He could never deny you anything.

By the time he’d come around to ask you, he was sure you were both on the verge of becoming raisins, but he couldn’t bear the thought of moving you. Your back was stuck to his chest with your head resting on his shoulder. His fingers lazily ran up and down your arm because he needed to touch you; Robby was obsessed with feeling his hands on your skin in any form he could get.

He’d been running his fingers over your shoulder and down your arm. Up and down, up and down. The last trail his fingers made came on your hand. Robby eyed your ring finger and considered what it would be like to have his ring worn there. How it would sound to say your name - your full name - with his last name attached.

Robby wanted more nights like this. More nights and days and all the years spent with you until either the earth crumbled, or the years took you from old age. It was that moment he’d whispered out, “Marry me,” against your neck. He felt your body grow deathly still. His heart was hammering in his chest because stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course, he should’ve done flowers, dinner, and made it an evening to remember. Not sitting in a fucking bathtub after a long twelve-hour shift.

He prepared himself for the worst when you turned to look at him. Dilated pupils are okay; that’s a good sign. He tried to calm himself, but waiting for you to answer was torturous. Your eyes roamed the outline of his face, searching for any hint of deception or trickery. You wouldn’t find any because Robby fucking meant it. He wanted you. Every inch of you for the rest of his life. No matter the time or space between.

Your fingers laced into the hair of his beard and gently pulled.

“No jokes, Robby.”

“I’m not joking. Marry me.”

“Only you would ask something like this in a bathtub.” You smiled, and Robby was sure he would combust. “Yes. My answer is yes.”

It’d taken hours for Robby and you to dry up all the water that sloshed out of the tub.

A fresher memory had joined the older ones, one that he didn’t want and was sure would become a nightmare stalking the halls of his mind. It was newer, barely minutes old, but enough to join the legion of others. Except this one hurt. This was one he wished his mind hadn’t catalogued for later.

Robby knew he saw your hand twitch at the computer. The way you balled each hand into a fist to keep from reaching out and to stop yourself from touching him. The way a mist of concern sat just above the two of you, your eyes chasing any hint of a sign from him that the touch would be okay - being here was okay.

It was at that moment that Robby wished you’d asked your questions; touched him without giving it a second thought. He’d been doing it most of the morning because even after all these years, you were still using the same shampoo and fuck he missed the smell of you on his sheets.

The day he came home and found you gone. The house bare of any trinkets and clothes and essential items that made a home were silently exhumed and removed any traces you’d even lived there. Everything was just gone. One of the few things you’d left was your engagement ring sitting on top of a letter.

Robby finally broke that night as his body collapsed against the wall. The fragments of himself he could no longer hold together came apart, and he’d never been able to pick them back up.

Robby hated seeing you here, invading the space he’d made without you in it. Or maybe hate wasn’t the right word - bitter could be one. It caused him to feel bitter about the two years he missed loving you, sharing a life with you, and hearing you laugh at his bad jokes and the way your hand fit in his. The weight of your thighs around his hips and the soft moans of his name he tore from your pretty lips.

Mostly, he was bitter towards himself because what option had you both left each other but this?

So, Robby listened as Nick’s mother's soul exploded in a brilliant burst of pain. He took in the anguish of knowing what it felt like to have lost someone and could never get them back. He listened to her come undone and remembered when not that long ago, he’d sounded the same. His world caving in against the wall of an empty home.

The first time anyone loses a patient is hard. The hardest part about it was gauging the effect the death would have on the med student, and by what you witnessed pushing open the curtain, Whitaker was not taking it well. But also -

“Whitaker, you need to switch out with someone.”

CPR was tiring. Two minutes of continuous compressions - good, solid compressions - gave anyone the beginnings of fatigue. The longer someone stayed doing only compressions, the more likely it was that they weren’t getting to the adequate depth required to count.

You came to stand beside Langdon, who considered you with a nod before turning back to watch Whitaker. Whitaker, who was obviously doing this too long; the collar of his shirt and hair both darkened in sweat.

“We tried switching with him, Dr. Fullerton,” Donnie advised you. “He refused.”

“I’m fine,” Whitaker cut in with his objection. “I can keep going.”

Someone should say something - do something. It felt cruel to allow him to continue working on this patient for so long. There was a piece of the puzzle you were missing, and it was evident in the way Dr. King wouldn’t meet your gaze or Donnie, who looked tired of pushing round after round of Epi.

Only one person was working for a miracle in this room.

It didn’t feel like your place to correct him on his posture, to reprimand him for not switching out, or to call him to get him to finally let go. Luckily, someone who could was standing right next to you.

Your elbow collided gently against Langdon’s side, jarring him out of whatever far away place his brain deposited him at.

“I’m sorry, am I missing the reason why you’re assaulting me?”

You sent your eyes in the direction of Whitaker and back to Langdon. Back and forth, back and forth. You were sure he had to follow your lead, but you were rewarded with a shrug and raised brows. You felt your brow rise in frustration while you used your head to point in Whittaker’s direction.

This time, Langdon followed your lead and glanced between Whitaker and you. Finally, he got it.

“Right. Call me if there is a resurrection.”

You gave that man way too much credit.

“What! Where are you going?”

You followed Langdon out from behind the curtain, one arm still holding it shut behind you so no other patients could see.

“Langdon,” you hissed. “Where are you going? You can’t just leave the med students alone in there with the patient.”

“I’m not. You’re here.”

“Langdon! Langdon!” Did he just wave bye to you? “Get back here!”

He did, in fact, not come back and continued walking over to Perlah. You watched for a few seconds while he started up a whole conversation, one you obviously couldn’t hear, and wondered how unprofessional throwing something at him to get back over here would look.

Taking a deep breath, you did your best to prepare to go back into the room. Unsurprisingly, nothing changed in the moment you’d chased after Langdon. Whitaker still refused to switch, continuing chest compressions. The faint sound of palm on flesh and his labored breathing filled up the small space.

“How long has it been?”

Your question was open to whomever wanted to answer. You didn’t expect it to be Whitaker and found Dr. King eager to respond.

“I’ve counted about eight minutes, and that’s not accounting for the possible thirty from downtime.”

It felt like everyone was waiting to hear what you would suggest. Did you have a different course of action than what Robby had given? Would you call for them to try something else, anything else, besides what they’d been doing?

Sadly, you could see it’s what Whitaker hoped for. He’d only glanced at you once since you walked from behind the curtain. A sharp inquisition over whether you would chastise him or help, help him heal what must have felt like a failure or force him to come to terms with the mortality of his patient.

You came closer to the foot of the bed. Your eyes trained heavily on Whitaker and took note of each labored breath and each inch his palms didn’t dive deep enough to be beneficial. He was beyond exhaustion, but he wouldn’t relent - the regret, the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve had already taken hold and wouldn’t let go.

“Whitaker,” you said his name gently, trying to coax him out of the relentless trance of deliverance. “I think it’s time to stop now.”

For the first time, he looked at you, really looked, and all you found staring back at you was a young man defeated. The failure was evident in the deep creases of his face and the sagging of his shoulders. His eyes pleaded with you before he spoke.

“Please. Dr. Robby said that we have one more Epi we can do. Please, just one more. This could be it.”

“Hold compressions.”

There was a moment of hesitation before he stepped back. Dr. King and Donnie stood perfectly still with all eyes glued to the monitor. Every line that indicated life on the monitor ceased, and it proved without a shadow of a doubt that Mr. Milton was gone.

Whitaker didn’t wait for any instructions on what to do. His cross-cross palms went back to the center of the patient's sternum and began to give the same shallow compressions. You wanted to tell him they weren’t deep enough, his shoulders weren’t vertical with his palms; you wanted to point out the improvements that needed to be made and the fact it was all being done in vain, but why? Whitaker was fighting a losing battle with denial, and eventually, he would have no choice but to admit his patient wasn’t coming back. This particular miracle wasn’t meant to be.

You were ready to tell him it was time, as gently as you could, when another body entered the room. One of the other med students from this morning you hadn’t met observed the room with a calculated glance - eyes catalogued the scene to memory, and whatever she saw in those brief seconds didn’t seem to impress her.

She turned to you and plastered on a half smile, eagerly extending out a hand in greeting.

“We didn’t get a chance to meet earlier. I’m Dr. Trinity Santos.”

You reached out to take her hand and found her grip firm, commanding. You weren’t sure how to direct the conversation past here. This didn’t feel like an appropriate place for twenty questions.

“Do you need to present a case, Dr. Santos?”

It was the only alternative you could think of for her presence in the room.

“No. I was wanting to ask Dr. Robby if I could perform a procedure.”

“What procedure?”

You wondered if he had sonar hearing. Or if saying his name called him like a spirit to a ouija board.

“Is the third Epi on board?”

“Three minutes ago,” Donnie replied.

With his arms crossed, Robby came to stand directly beside you. To be fair, there wasn’t much available space to begin with in any of the ED rooms. At times, a full team performing a code would be jammed arm-in-arm, moving around one another like a giant living organism. Except it wasn’t a room full of bodies. There was room - there was fucking room - and it didn’t make sense why Robby stood arm and arm beside you.

“How long has he been going at it?”

“10 minutes in here, 30 minutes or more of prior downtime.”

Robby took in Dr. King’s words while looking at Whitaker. You could see the worry building and took comfort in the idea he would call it. He would do the right thing and end this.

“Don’t suppose you’d let me try a pericardiocentesis?”

“For what?”

“For practice. In case it’s tamponade.”

“None seen on ultrasound.”

“Dr. Santos,” you cut in, “Did you read up on this case?”

You hadn’t meant to cut in, but you didn’t like where this was going. You could sense it as a sixth sense. You’d gone to school with plenty of potential med students like Dr. Santos. They were smart, capable, and always wanted the chance to perform - to learn. In that pursuit for greatness, however, they tended to forget to have some humility. Patients and death went hand in hand, and it was a delicate thing.

“No, I hadn’t gone over the chart.”

“Then why are you thinking tamponade? Are we assuming a spontaneous collection of fluid occurred?”

“It’s possible. He had a chief complaint of chest pain.”

“Whitaker explained that this was not seen on ultrasound. Chest pain occurs in different types of cases, Dr. Santos. These are patients, not guinea pigs.”

“This is a teaching hospital.”

“It’s not a cadaver lab.”

It was Robby’s turn to cut in and bring you screeching back to the present. The look he gave you was a testament to you overstepping.

“What do you call this?”

You had to give it to Santos, she was persistent. She also had a point. Robby’s gaze was still on you, watching you for what you weren’t too sure of. At Santos’s words, you tilted your head in the direction of Whitaker, driving her point forward. She had a point. He needed to end this.

“Do you need a break?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Dr. King was the only one able to call it like she saw it. Whitaker didn’t look fine. He looked brow-beaten and exhausted, on the verge of collapse from whatever the voice in his head was shouting.

You could practically feel the annoyance rolling off Robby as he looked between you and Santos. It traveled through to his words, making each one sound like it’d been dragged through gravel.

“Hold compressions.”

Everyone knew what would be shown on the monitor. The only person in the room unable to grasp the reality of the moment was Whitaker. The alarm on the monitor sounded, and without waiting, his palms fell back on top of Mr. Milton’s sternum.

“Still no rhythm.”

Donnie confirmed Whitaker’s worst fears. All the effort he was putting in, everything he was trying to do, was turning up with no results. You wanted to ask if he believed in God. If he was praying to someone in particular or to anyone who was listening. Maybe he wasn’t doing either of those things and simply listening to his thoughts grow steadily louder until all he could hear were demands and pleading. Bargaining with death just not to take this patient. Anyone else but this one.

“Whitaker.” Your tone was soft. The way mothers comforted their children soft. The way only death can make everything loud and quiet all at once. “Whitaker, it’s time.”

He didn’t respond to you. His vision laser focused on the task at hand.

“Ok, Whitaker. I think that’s enough.”

This time when Robby spoke, it jarred him out of his trance. A panic washed over him that sent his head whirling to take in every nurse and doctor that stood in the room with him.

“It’s been four minutes since the last Epi. One more minute. Please.”

The answer should’ve been a resounding no. It’d been over ten minutes of life-saving measures on a patient; no one knew the exact amount of time since he’d coded. It could’ve been seconds, minutes, or over half an hour ago. Regardless of the time, no life-saving measures were proving successful. It was cruel to allow him to continue. Robby should say no - would say no.

He didn’t. You watched as Robby simply nodded his head in resignation and looked down at his watch, giving Whitaker the minute he’d pleaded for.

“Can I speak with you for a minute?”

The words were out before you could stop them. Robby glanced up from his watch, his eyes scanning over your face. A part of you wondered if he could tell what was coming the way you both used to be able to know the change in each other's moods. The cusp of a storm rolling in your eyes only highlighted the flashes of irritation in the lines of your face.

“Sure. We’ll be right outside.”

It was a hard balance to find when searching for privacy in a hospital. What was the right distance between the room where Whitaker and team were working on Mr. Milton and the nurse's station and other patient rooms? The truth was, unless you were both quiet, there was no way someone wouldn’t possibly overhear.

“What are you doing?”

Robby’s hands slammed into the pockets of his hoodie. His eyes flickered over you for a sign of where this conversation was headed.

“You’re going to need to give more specifics.”

“Fine. Whitaker. Why aren’t you calling it? Why allow him to keep going?”

“I’ve given him one more minute.”

“Yes, one more minute on top of the 10 minutes or more that he’s been doing this. We all know the patient is gone.”

A hand moved out from its place in the hoodie’s pocket and attached itself to the back of his neck. Oh, you were really, really irritating him. A tight smile formed his lips into a line.

“No, what I’m giving him is time to come to terms with losing his first patient. You and I both know it never gets easier, and the first one is always the hardest.”

“You’re right, Robby, it won’t ever get easier. Every day, stepping into work, we know it won’t be easy. This isn’t teaching him about loss. It’s teaching him to run from it to delay the inevitable.”

Like you? How long have you been running?

The unspoken question sat like molasses in your throat. You couldn’t swallow past the formulated thought that converged into words. You kept trying to swallow them down, down, but Robby knew they were there. It was the quicksand of your relationship - him knowing what you wanted to spit out and equally knowing he could fling that same question right back.

“Let’s not forget something here.” Robby moved in, whispering the words and your name in warning. “You are down here for your own reasons with Gloria, but I am still attending.” Not for long. The thought came violent and sharp as it lashed across your mind. “Shouldn’t you be seeing patients?”

Again, you were dismissed. Again, he was letting you know your place when you overstepped.

“Robby, I’m just trying to help.”

Why did you say that? Why? Because you fucking meant it. He didn’t know about Gloria and the administration's offer, whether you took it or not. It didn’t matter the dozens of years he’d spent in this hospital learning, teaching, growing. And Robby? He’d egg them on until they finally did it and would act like it was their loss, but it would be his.

No matter how much he bitched, Robby was driven to help people, to save them. His compassion and empathy were a testament to his character and what solidified your love for him. If he was no longer here, lost in the chaos of the moment, you knew it would break him.

“You want to help? Go back to cleaning the board and some beds while you’re at it. I have to get back in there.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He moved around you to head back into the room, dismissing you completely. A flash of agitation flared white hot behind your eyes. You could chase after him, but what would be the point? You cut one last look back at the room, at Robby, before turning tail back out into the chaos of the pitt.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to wait long for a distraction. An officer walked through the ambulance bay, hand wrapped firmly on the arm of a suspect who had an obvious head wound. Blood had run down the man’s forehead, down past his cheek, and was staining the collar of his shirt. As you got closer, you could see it was dry, and no new blood appeared to be flowing from the wound. He was, however, shouting. A lot.

Your eyes skimmed to the officer and noticed a deep wound, possibly a laceration from some sharp object, across his opposite forearm.

“Can I get a little help here?”

For a brief second, your feet halted. Did you just hear an accent? An Irish accent? You weren’t the only one who needed a moment. Princess was walking up to meet you when you watched her feet halt for a second. Her eyes turned to you as if to explain what she’d just heard.

“What’s going on?”

That’s right. Take initiative. You were a doctor, and you were at work. You weren’t here to ogle men with or without accents. No matter how handsome they were.

“Got a call from his mother for a wellness check. He has schizophrenia and hasn’t been taking his medication.”

Oh, boy, the accent was heavy. Thick. It drenched every word to the point your eyes were homing in on his lips, which were surrounded by a full beard, to watch for consonants. He was about Robby’s height, scruffier, but the same dark eyes you’d grown to love were housed inside an unfamiliar face. Close-cropped hair with shaved sides completed where the familiarities ended, and when you found him staring back at you, you fought the urge to squirm.

Clearing your throat, you asked, “If it’s a wellness check, why is he bleeding?”

“He didn’t take too kindly to the wellness check.”

“Please, you gotta help me! They want to place a chip behind my ear. They want to listen in - to find me so they can hurt me - please! Please! Help me!”

“Do you know where you are right now?”

“He took me to a fucking lab like a rat! Oh, God, don’t cut me open! No! No! Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Jessie walked over to try and assist the officer and immediately sent the patient into a frenzy. He was scared; all he saw was his mind's worst fears. A sterile white place, patients in gowns with tubes, and the rest of you covered in medical scrubs. You glanced over your shoulder. Eyes scanning over the nursing station for Dana, who came into view. A hand removing her glasses as no doubt the shouting was reaching further back. You did not need Robby coming over to wonder what was going on.

“Dana,” you called. “Do we have a room open for…”

“Mr. James Schauffer,” the officer called over your shoulder.

“Central 3 is open for now. Do you need me to get Robby?”

“No. I got this, Dana.” You brought your attention back to the screaming man and took notice of the way his wrists tugged violently at the cuffs. They would only tighten the more he struggled, which ran the risk of him causing more harm that went well past superficial. “Let’s get him into central 3 and Princess, get me 1 milligram of Haldol, please.”

“On it.”

You moved forward towards the room with the officer at your back. The closer Mr. Schauffer came to the room, the more agitated he became. His feet planted into the linoleum just before he let out a shriek that rattled your eardrums.

“Jessie! A little help!”

It was a reflex that sent your body barreling forward to try and calm him. You were trying to gently help the officer unlock Mr. Schauffer’s legs and edge Mr. schauffer towards the door when he bucked back. The back of his head collided hard with the officer’s face.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered.

The word was somehow more charming with an accent. His hand released for a split second to check for blood on his nose, but the second was enough for the patient to gain more footing. He kicked a leg out against the door frame and pushed back. His shoulder colliding against your chest and knocking the air from your lungs.

Fuck. It was going to bruise. It may or may not bloom in color but you’d definitely be feeling it later. You would’ve fallen back if it hadn’t been for Jessie and Matteo running up behind you. Matteo gently moved you out of the way so the two of them could assist the officer in getting Mr. Schauffer inside the room. As soon as the officer finished handcuffing him to the bed, Princess arrived with the medicine.

“Observe him after you’ve given him the medication. If he’s still agitated, give another 1 milligram, and once he’s calmed down, come find me. We won’t be able to assess him until he’s relaxed - or asleep.”

“Sure thing.”

You walked over to the counter. Your hands moved to tug at your undershirt, while your other hand softly touched around the area where his elbow had struck.

“You alright?”

You hadn’t heard Dana walk up, but you weren’t surprised. She was always considered a ninja.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I need one more room to work on the officer that came in.”

“The one with the Irish brogue.”

Did she just wink at you?

“Ugh, yeah.” Unsure of what she was getting at, the words came out in a stuttered laugh. “That would be the one bleeding. Hey, how do you know he’s Irish?”

“Tommy took me to Ireland for my birthday one year.”

“Wow. Fancy.”

“Yeah, it was pretty nice. He’s kind of cute.”

“Who? Your husband? I’d hope you’d find him cute-”

“No! The Irish cop.”

She had to be kidding. She just had to be, and you were sure with the Cheshire Cat grin that was eating up the sides of her cheeks, Dana most definitely was.

“Dana - no.”

“He keeps looking at you -“

“How about that room, please?”

“And now he’s walking over here.”

“Dana,” you warned, just as the said officer in question walked over to the nursing station. His wounded forearm was raised as if to remind everyone he was also in need of treatment.

“D’ya think I could get a bit of assistance?”

“Dr. Fullerton was just about to take you to North 8. Don’t worry, Officer -“

“Donnelly.”

“Officer Donnelly. She’ll get you patched up, good as new.”

You wondered if this was the type of embarrassment daughters felt from overbearing mothers who claimed they meant well. You were hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt, but worried your smile was more tight and less friendly than you’d tried for.

“8 North is down this way, Officer Donnelly. I’ll take you there now.”

“That’d be great, and please, call me Finan.”

You could feel the beam of joy radiating off Dana like she was the damn sun. There would be no living with her after this. With a wave of your hand to indicate which direction to move, you pushed away from the nursing station. No, you would not look back to see if Dana was watching like the hawk she was because you knew, without a doubt, she was.

You were about to enter the hallway when Princess stopped you.

“Mr. Schauffer is responding to the Haldol.”

“Great. Thank you, Princess. If you can, keep an eye on the head wound. I’ll be there shortly, and could you please bring me a sutures, negative, and lidocaine to 8 North? Unless, you’re allergic to any of that?”

Your head whipped to glance at Officer Donnelly and practically wanted to kick yourself. You should’ve been asking about allergies to medications and the small amount of patient history you could and yet…

Officer Donnelly gave you a bright spine-tingling smile and you fought the urge not to blush.

“No, Doc. I’m fit as a whistle.”

“Dr. Fullerton,” Princess cut in. “I’ll grab everything now and head that way.”

“Thanks, Princess.”

Officer Donnelly, or Finan, was waiting for you by the door. Thankfully, if what Dana said had been at all true, he was not looking at you. He would be scanning the hallways full of gurneys with patients and staff walking back and forth between rooms. You were only a few feet from him when Collins walked in tandem beside you.

“Is this the Irish officer I’ve heard about?”

Damn. News traveled incredibly fast down here. Your money was on Perlah. Or Princess.

“Wow, word travels fast. That would indeed be him.”

“He’s pretty cute.”

Maybe she’d been talking to Dana. Cautiously, you glanced over at her and were greeted with a soft smile that brightened her eyes. Her expression was teasing while she looked between you and the officer who was now looking dead at you both.

“So I’ve been told,” you replied carefully. “Did you come to talk to him?”

“No, no. I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

Her words made you stop and turn to face her. It was strange to think Dr. Collins would need anything from you, especially with how brilliant she was. You could imagine the couple years you hadn’t been here, she’d only improved further.

“A favor?”

Was there an echo in the room, or was it just you?

“I’m not all too sure if you’ve heard about there being…rats in the workplace.”

Dr. Collins visibly gave a shiver as if just mentioning them left a rotted taste in her mouth. Her eyes roamed around the both of you to make sure your current location was safe.

“I’ve heard and, unfortunately, had one on my foot.”

“Oh, hell no.”

The soft outburst of disgust caused a huff of laughter to push through your nose. A genuine smile lifting the corners of your mouth.

“I need you to help me make sure Robby stays on top of taking care of them. They’re a health hazard. Imagine what could happen if one of them bit us? This is why I have a strict no vermin in the workplace policy.”

“Sounds like a very reasonable kind of policy to have.”

“You would think that, but Robby is treating this like a joke.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you mumbled to yourself before you replied, “I’ll talk to him about it the next time I run into him, Dr. Collins.”

“Thank you,” she sighed with relief. Her gaze turned to look at Officer Donnelly’s position at the doorway, and her gratitude turned mischievous. “He really is cute.”

The two of you parted ways, and you found yourself stepping inside 8 North. Officer Donnelly sat without being prompted on the gurney and planted his arm down on the rolling tray as soon as you motioned for him to do it. Princess came in with everything you asked and with a few things you’d forgotten.

You quickly set to work cleaning up the area briefly before numbing the area with lidocaine. The entire time you worked, you could feel his eyes watching you, committing your face to memory like it would later be important.

God, if you didn’t at least attempt to make polite conversation, did that make you a poor doctor? You could hear your patient satisfaction dipping and Gloria speeding down to discuss it. It wasn’t mandatory to talk to everyone, but it was found to create connections with patients, so it didn’t feel so sterile and clinical. It made them feel like their doctor cared. So, why couldn’t you even ask about the weather with Officer Donnelly?

One of the reasons you couldn’t talk about the weather was how you’d noticed how tight his uniform was around his biceps. Or the scars that littered his arms as engraved memories of stories. Or, maybe, the fact that Dana was begrudgingly right; he was kind of cute.

Oh, this was ridiculous. You were a grown woman.

"So, Officer Donnelly -“

“Finan. Please.”

“Okay. Finan. I wonder if you’re aware you have the staff in an uproar."

"It's the accent, right?"

You took the chance to peek at him after tying off one of the sutures. His gaze was fixed on watching your hands as they worked, but the minute Finan felt your eyes shift up, his rose to greet yours with a wink.

"Uh-huh," you replied. "So, the real question is: Is it real?"

Finan sent his hand clashing over his chest. His mouth is in a wide O in mock shock.

“You wound me, love. I’m 100% an Irishman, through and through."

He was getting too comfortable flirting with you. You should say something to deter this kind of behavior. You were at work. You were a professional - a professional who was constantly within 10 feet of their ex and still held a heavy lingering feeling for said ex.

Flirting with Finan could be fun. He was good-looking and obviously very, very charming, albeit it wasn't just the accent. At the end of the day, the possibility that the relationship could become more - him desiring what you couldn’t give - kept you from straying too far into giving in to the thought. You’d tried this before, and it ended disastrously. It would always be this way as long as your heart belonged to him.

Although, Finan was pretty to look at.

"And how does an Irishman end up in Pittsburgh?"

"Ah, you see, that is indeed an interestin’ story; interestin’ stories are better shared over dinner."

You tried to hide your smile by looking back at your work. Focused on pulling the needle carefully through the skin and to the other side.

"Smooth," you quipped.

"I'd like to think so."

He sounded pleased with himself. You weren't brave enough to check on that assumption. You focused on each new pull and tug of the needle. The tight butterfly knots to gently pull the skin together and keep it closed. If you’d had it your way, you’d never look up again. Unfortunately, the universe didn’t listen.

With one last knot the wound was officially closed. You’d just placed the instruments down when Finan’s voice drew you back to him.

“So, about that dinner?”

“How’s it going in here?”

Losing a patient was never easy. Losing a patient this early in the morning could have repercussions in fucking up your entire day.

Robby knew this.

Hell, it’s happened to him more times than he’d like to count. Death, no matter the form, was a part of his day. It was the second most natural thing besides birth, but unlike birth, death was filled with emotions that counteracted celebratory feelings of joy. It was heartbreak and agony with a mountain of never-ending attempts at finding some semblance of normalcy of who he was before and after the grief constricted every part of his being.

You knew what that was like. The constant struggle to save everyone that came through those hospital doors and send them home whole to families that cherished them. You knew what it was like and the burden of failure if you weren’t able to perform miracles.

Robby just couldn’t grasp why you didn’t understand what he was trying to give Whitaker. The time for the weight of failure to creep in was within seconds after the realization the patient was gone. No matter what was tried, it wasn’t enough - it never was. This could be a dark cloud following the kid around all day, making him hesitant to jump back in and take cases he could learn from. Robby just wanted to keep that from happening.

He should’ve been off to find Mohan. She’d been waiting to present her case when he’d paused in the middle of hearing details about the patient and treatment plan. Instead, here he was trying to find you to what, exactly?

Robby should be worried about other things. He has an entire department to manage and maintain on top of overseeing patients. His plate was full. He didn’t need this. He really didn’t fucking need this and yet…

Robby was searching for you anyway.

Dana was at the center of all the chaos, as usual. The closer Robby got to the nursing station he could see a cop talking to her, notepad out and jotting down information. Cops were a normal thing inside the Pitt. Hell, he’d already seen a few since the beginning of his shift. The only unusual thing, this one in particular, seemed to be taking a statement from Dana. What the hell had he missed?

“Everything alright here?”

“Officer Martinez, this is Dr. Michael Robinavitch. He’s in charge of the emergency department.”

Officer Martinez took a couple of steps forward, his hand outstretched in greeting. Robby met him halfway to quickly shake his hand.

“Everything’s fine,” Dana continued. “He’s waiting on Dr. Fullerton to assess the patient they brought in before he can take’em to central booking. Princess said it looks like a small laceration on the left temporal region.”

“And this was obtained -“

Robby looked between Dana and Martinez, waiting for one of them to answer.

“During a wellness check given by the mother,” Martinez offered up. “He became combative and assaulted my partner with a pocket knife.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, Donnelly wasn’t too much of a fan either.”

“I sent them to North 8 for Fullerton to patch him up.”

If Robby hadn’t spent the last twenty years working with her, he might’ve missed it. The slight uptick of her mouth was a hint to the smile she was trying to conceal. He could feel his head tilt; his curiosity peaked, and his eyes asking the question ahead of his lips.

“Am I missing something here? Does she need help?”

“No, no, she’s got it. Just, ugh, Officer Donnelly seemed to take a real likin’ to her, is all.”

And there it was.

Now that Dana had it out in the open, her smile was full blown in all its glory. It was a warning. He should ignore it and stay focused on the cop waiting at his counter. He should offer to go check on your other waiting patient so they could leave and take up one less bed he didn’t have. Unsurprisingly, it isn’t what he did. Not even close.

Robby forgot to even respond. To ask questions or take a fucking interest in anything else past hearing Dana’s words. His feet were already moving him back towards the hallway - away from Mohan, away from being a responsible fucking attending - all because the idea of some cop flirting with you filled his vision with dark spots.

What the fuck was it with cops flirting with his exes today?

First, Collins, and now you. He’d tried to ask her about the cop who’d given her his card. Robby simply wanted to know how it went - that friendly ex who was supportive, but Collins shut it down. For good reason. Maybe he’d been overstepping. It was possible. He’d been trying to be friendly, and instead it could’ve come off like infatuation, in a nosy way. Possessive in a bad way. It’s not what he’d wanted.

But with you…he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be able to hide the possessive way he’d want to tear you from that room.

“Where are you going?”

His skin prickled, and when Robby glanced back at Dana, he knew she could see it. Her grin only grew wider as she continued to watch his retreat.

“You’re trouble,” Robby’s words were a soft declaration; Dana knew what she was doing. His eyes pointed the accusation in her direction that she accepted with a soft laugh and a shrug.

“I’m simply informing you where one of your doctors is.”

“Can I get some information on how my partner is doing?” Officer Martinez cut in.

“Heading that way right now,” Robby shot back.

And he was headed that way. His feet carried past the nursing station, past Dana, in a way he knew he would pay for later. The rational side of his mind was shouting very sane reminders that you weren’t his anymore. He shouldn’t fucking care if some asshole was flirting with you. He was a professional. You weren't his anymore. You weren’t his anymore, you weren’t his anymore-

“So, about that dinner?”

Robby wished he had never heard those four words. His knuckles collided with too much force on the door - thundering through metal and causing you and, who he could only assume was Officer Donnelly, to look at him like you’d just got caught doing something you shouldn’t.

“How’s it going in here?”

God, he hoped he sounded calm. Cool. He was fucking cool. His gaze flicked between you and the cop and felt the cool, calm, and fucking collected wall he tried to barricade himself behind begin to crumble. You were looking at Robby, but the cop - the cop was looking at you. Looking at you with a look Robby knew all too well.

His teeth ground together as his eyes zeroed in on where he sat. You must have read him before Robby knew what was happening. You were up, gloves removed by the wrist, expertly flipping them inside out and into a ball that you threw in the trash next to him.

“It went good,” you answered beside him. His eyes tick to your mouth and back up. “Finan, I mean, Officer Donnelly’s stitches should heal just fine without minimum scarring.”

Finan? In that short amount of time, you’d been learning his name.

“That’s good. Dana sent me here to check for his partner. He’s worried about you,” Robby directed over your shoulder to Finan.

“He’s a good friend,” he replied coolly. He collected himself from the exam chair. “He worries like a mother hen.”

“I bet.”

Robby’s words came out clipped, harsher than he meant. He crossed his arms over his chest to try and stop a hand from itching the back of his head. Anything to keep you from clocking every noticeable tick of annoyance.

“Take care of yourself out there,” he mumbled to try and soothe his earlier words before turning to you. “Dr. Fullerton, mind if I speak to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Take care, Officer Donnelly.”

Robby waited for you to pass by him at the door and out into the hall. It gave him enough time to look at the cop - Finan - one last time. An unhappy smile tightening his face into a scowl. Robby didn’t flinch when the other man rose to his full height, eyes rising up to meet the challenge.

Mine.

The word lashed through his mind and darkened his eyes in a silent message he knew Officer Donnelly would receive loud and clear. He shouldn’t be possessive. It’s what his common sense was telling him, but his emotions were drowning out all reason when it came to you.

Robby gave him one last glance before he turned to walk to where you waited for him. His hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie to stop himself from touching you. Fuck, he just wanted to touch you. To know if you were somehow, somehow, still fucking his.

“You needed to talk to me?”

Yes. He wanted to talk to you about a lot of things. He needed to ask questions, to hear answers and explanations on why you left. To ask what he did that finally made it impossible for you to stay. He wanted to shout at you, hold you, keep you away, and bring you all back again. Robby wanted to just fucking touch you, really touch you, how he used too and kiss the air from your lungs.

“We’re going to do a debrief with Whitaker and the other med students. I’d like it if you’d attend.”

“You finally called it?”

“Yeah, it was time.”

“It was time after the third push of Epi.”

Robby pressed his hands deeper into his pockets. He focused on the way the fabric stretched out against his hands and not at the flare of agitation.

“I wanted to give the kid time to process. Is that really so bad-“

He spoke your name the way priests spoke of saints; Robby couldn’t keep the blind devotion from seeping into his tone. It threaded through his vocal cords and coated each syllable with worship and relished the way it affected you. Suddenly, the first question he wanted to ask was if you missed the way he’d groan your name like his favorite sin as he pushed inside you.

He wondered if the sound of his voice saying your name elicited the same kind of memories. To stroke his ego, Robby liked to think so.

“No. It’s not. Adamson would’ve done the same if he’d—” you cut yourself short before you could finish.

The realization of where the conversation was headed tearing your eyes away from him to the safety of the floor. Robby’s spine went rigid at the mention of Adamson. A sore spot for how long? How long would the mention of his name send him reeling, struggling to find safety anywhere that wasn’t his own mind?

Quickly, you cleared your throat and tried to shove past the conversation. Robby wasn’t sure if you were doing it for yourself or for him.

“Well, he’d do the same exact thing. You’re looking out for your med students. You’re doing good, Robby.”

He would’ve given anything to hold this moment right here with you. Freeze it in time with you fucking looking at him like this. The way you used too. Robby could be stubborn and delusional at times when he needed to escape, but this? He wasn’t making what he was seeing up. The way you were looking at him now, it gave him hope.

Or hell maybe he was deluding himself.

“I’m going to go check on the guy they brought in,” you pointed over your shoulder. “I’ll try my best to not be late.”

“I would appreciate it. Hey,” don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t fucking say it, “So…Finan, huh?”

You’d been mid-turn when Robby called you back. His hand was already grabbing at the base of his neck as if to brace for impact for not controlling his damn mouth. Your response came in a raised brow, a smile you tried to keep hidden by a failing grimace, as you pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Don’t you dare start.”

“It’s a harmless question. I thought I overheard him asking about dinner.”

“Robby,” you warned.

He threw his hands up in mock surrender before he shoved them back into the safety of his pockets.

“Oh,” you snapped your fingers and spun to fully face him. He braced himself for you to yell at him about boundaries and overstepping and instead was surprised with: “Where are you at with the rat thing?”

Robby’s brow furrowed as he leaned his shoulders in towards you.

“You've been talking to Gloria?”

“Nope. I can’t just inquire about the current rat issue and where you’re at with that?”

“I’m currently dealing with patients. I haven’t had time to make a collect call for the nearest pest control company.”

“You should probably get on it before said patients write about it online. Then Gloria will really be on your ass.”

God, you had a point. An annoying point. First Collins, then Gloria, and now you. What the fuck was it with everyone riding his ass about the rats?

“You should go back to worrying about your patient and let me worry about the rats.”

“You don’t seem that worried.”

“Are you still talking?”

“Uhm, yeah. That’s usually what happens when you direct words at someone - they talk back.”

Robby shook his head to try and cover the smile that was forming on his face. It shouldn’t have been so easy to slip back into old habits, like nothing ever happened, but it was. It wasn’t just you that needed to get back to the safety of work; Robby did too. Without thinking, he reached out and took hold of your shoulders and gently directed you to turn around to face your way back to Central.

“Go. I expect you to not be late to the debrief.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your tone was playful; bright and airy. You gave him a wave goodbye, your back turned from him, and he wondered if you were trying to hide a smile too. Robby was so busy watching you walk away, when he shouldn’t have, that he didn’t notice Officer Donnelly come up beside him.

“D’ya think you could do me a favor, big man?”

Robby bristled at the nickname, causing his earlier irritation to return as he stepped to the side giving him a perfect view of Officer Donnelly. His hands were tucked inside his police vest with his head turned in your direction.

Mine.

“What can I do for you, Officer Donnelly.”

Robby knew he didn’t sound friendly and he could fucking care less. Officer Donnelly sized him up before a smirk cracked his lips. Robby watched his fingers dig in his shirt pocket until he produced a folded piece of paper. He extended the paper out between his fingers towards Robby and waited for him to take it.

“Can you make sure Dr. Fullerton gets this? We never did get to finish our conversation about dinner.”

He shouldn’t react. He was at work and it wasn’t like Robby never heard a nurse or another attending say something about you, but this…this was different. Back then, Robby knew without a doubt you were his. He was secure in that fact. Now you’d walked away from your life together, from him, and all that certainty was gone. The idea of anyone else having you - loving you the way he had, the way he still wanted too - was too much.

He plucked the paper from between Officer Donnelly’s fingers and rolled it into a tiny ball. His eyes darted down to his hand to make sure the stupid piece of paper was nearly ground to dust.

“Sure. But I wouldn’t expect a call.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“You're not her type,” Robby shrugged, hating himself for how the lie felt in his mouth.

“You keep tellin’ yourself that, big man,” Officer Donnelly smirked.

He patted Robby on the arm and winked at him before he moved past him to head back towards the central rooms. Where his partner waited and where you’d just gone. Robby’s fist tightened around the paper that no doubt held Officer Donnelly’s phone number one last time before he tossed it in the trash where it belonged.

By the time you’d finished assessing Mr. Schauffer’s head wound and sealing it with medical glue, you were late to the debrief when you’d told Robby you wouldn’t be. Not in a cute fashionably late kind of way, either. It was more the awkward first day of school kind where the class gawks openly at the new kid kind.

You stepped from behind the curtain and saw everyone had their head down and eyes closed. A moment of reflection and quiet not only meant for the loss of the patient, but also the doctor. It’s what Adamson had taught all of his med students - Robby and you included.

Adamson was a big believer in healing. A believer that doctors who shared in the grief with their patients were better for it, comforted and consoled families better. It made us all more human and empathetic - to never forget that’s what you’d all gone into medicine for - to save the lives you can, be the guard to ward off death when you could, and the beginning of acceptance when you couldn’t.

He’d been the one who taught you all about ho’oponopono - the importance of healing others along with yourself.

“Please. I’m not asking you to do this to try and hurt you. It’s to help you heal. Remember Ho’oponopono - I love you. Thank you. I forgive you. Please forgive me. Please. Please just try. For me.”

Instinctively, your eyes clamped shut against the surge of emotions that swelled beneath your chest. They pushed and burned behind your eyes threatening to break you all over again from flashes of memories of the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen - got to hold - and the shaking of Robby’s chest as he kissed his sadness against your hair.

The mornings where Robby tried to get you to recite the shema his grandmother shared with him when he’d lived with her. He tried to teach you the meaning and it mattered to you, because it mattered to him. Learning the things that shaped him; molded him into the man he was, was as much a part of your being as breathing.

But grief, the agony it brings, is a force of nature no one can fathom until they’re in it. The way smells and sounds can sprout unwanted memories to flood to the forefront. Touching and seeing objects creating a visceral response so violent it almost feels like you’ve been gutted. In the beginning stages, you couldn’t see past all of it and wondered how you’d ever be, well, you again. That it was natural to seek answers and okay to realize that sometimes, in life, we didn’t always get them.

Ho’oponopono.

It taught you the forgiveness you needed for yourself and those around you. Robby was just continuing the tradition here in this room with all of his students in his own way.

“Okay. That’s it. Let’s go save some lives.”

And just like that, quiet reflection was over. Robby ushered his arms forward to move everyone out of the room. You were about to turn tail and run in the opposite direction, in case he came barreling towards you asking questions on why you were late, when Kiara stepped in front of you. Her arms open wide for an incoming hug.

“Dr. Fullerton! Wow, it’s such a pleasure to see you again. Did you transfer back to the emergency department?”

You embraced her quickly and tried to politely take a step back. Robby was making his way towards where the two of you stood. You took the chance to slowly move out of the room knowing Kiara would follow for the answer to her question. She seemed so genuinely happy to see you - truly the only one so far - that it just felt nice to have your presence appreciated instead of despised.

“No, I’m just here to help for the day,” you offered in response.

“Well, whether it’s for a day or however long: I am happy to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Kiara,” and it was good to see her.

Kiara was an instrumental part of what kept the Pitt running and not turning into a madhouse. Well, more than it actually was. You spared a glance back over your shoulder to see if Robby was coming towards you, and found he was talking to Whitaker.

He was checking in with the kid, like Adamson would’ve, because Robby knew better than most how a death could follow a doctor around the rest of their shift. Make them hesitate to step forward and help the next patient or dwell too much on their failures.

A warm hand on your arm brought you back from your thoughts. Your head whipping back to Kiara because, fuck, of course you need to worry about your friend in front of you and not your ex who was behind you. What had you missed? Did she ask a question or was talking about something specific or a topic in her own life?

God, you really need to stop hyper focusing on Robby. It was making you appear dumbstruck in a very unflattering way.

“How are you doing with everything?”

You knew what she was asking without verbally doing so. Her kind eyes felt like they were performing an archaeological dig on your past that you’d buried inside these very walls. She’d been here through it all. The beginning and the end. The day you should’ve been home instead of here at work.

A tight smile creased your lips. How should you answer? Realistically, Kiara knew you wouldn’t answer honestly. It was something Robby and you had in common; running from your problems and refusing to speak on them. If you ignored it enough maybe everyone would stop asking.

“I’m great.” You dragged out the M, turning the word into a chant.

From the look on Kiara’s face you’d done a terrible job convincing her. No real surprise there.

“You sure? I’m always available to talk.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, Kiara. I have patients I need to see, but it was great seeing you.”

You stepped around her and moved back towards the central nursing station. Where the board would be with its never ending list of patients, which would be safer than opening up about your feelings. Shit, there were a lot of them and some that would never see the light of day. They were your secrets to hold onto because the person that needed to hear them first probably never would.

You were almost back to the board when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned to see who it was, you found Whitaker, still covered in a light sweat taking a step back from you to give you a shy wave.

“Yes, Whitaker?”

“I just wanted to ugh, to say thank you. You were right about visually checking in with patients. Maybe if I’d done it sooner…I…I don’t know maybe we'd have been able to get him back.”

God. You didn’t want to admit it but Robby…Robby had been right. The kid was devastated and you weren’t sure if there was anything either you, Robby, or anyone else could say at this exact moment to make him feel otherwise. Whitaker was ready to be scolded; made to feel small for something no doctor would’ve caught until the inevitable happened.

“Whitaker.”

“Yeah?”

Man, if anyone was in line for the crown of puppy dog eyes, it’d be Whitaker. Hell, maybe he’d be the actual puppy.

“What did Dr. Robby say to you?”

Your question threw him off. His brow hunched down to shadow over his eyes as he glanced uneasily behind him.

“He gave me a speech about it being Mr. Milton’s time to leave this mortal coil. What happened today wasn’t my fault because no doctor would’ve caught what was wrong with him in time.”

“Do you think he’s wrong?”

“Who? Dr. Robby?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Do you think he’s wrong?”

Whitaker wrung his hands together before he found a safer place to put them in his pockets.

“No. I don’t think he’s wrong. I just can’t help but think of what you told me earlier.”

“Whitaker, no matter how many times we peek in on our patients it will never be enough. Say you had gone to him sooner and he was fine and came back later and found him like you did, would it change anything?”

“I might’ve been able to establish a baseline for him or - or caught him just after he coded.”

“Or you might check on him a dozen times and still not have caught it in time,” you sighed. “You have a lot of potential to be a great emergency medicine doctor, Whitaker and part of that is learning that no matter how hard we try we don’t always get to save the day.” You gently patted his shoulder and hoped it didn’t feel as awkward as you felt giving it. “Don’t let this keep you from helping others today. Okay?”

Slowly, Whitaker shook his head. You weren’t too sure if anything you said helped. Usually, Robby was the one people ran too for a pep talk or Abbot. Although, Abbot could be a little…dicey. And by dicey, you mean his responses were a lot of tough love and less coddling - in a good way. You’d been going for a mixture of both and were tempted to ask Whitaker if you’d pulled it off.

“I’ll see you out there, Whitaker.”

“Hey, Crash!”

Javadi really did hate that stupid nickname Trinity.

Trinity thought it was funny, but for her, it was a constant reminder of everything she felt like she wouldn’t be.

Yeah, she was incredibly smart; a kid genius. It’s how she was referred to constantly. Yes, she had the academics to back up the claim but on one hand Javadi could count how many dates she’d ever been on. How many sleepovers she’d been allowed to attend. Hell, she didn’t really have a social life worth mentioning if she was being honest.

She’d been excited to come and be amongst peers and show them what she was capable of and what did she do? Fucking fainted. Now she was the punchline to another joke. Again.

Not only the joke but now someone Trinity wanted to use to get close to pimp out her mom for a recommendation.

“Do you think Dr. Robby and Dr. Fullerton were a thing?”

“I - I - I’m not sure. Why is that your question?”

“Oh, come on. Seriously? The way he looked this morning when she walked in? They’ve either dated or were fucking on the down low and it went bad.”

“I don’t think this is appropriate to talk about our attending and a senior doctor—“

Javadi could hear the eye roll in Trinity’s voice before she seen it.

“Oh, come on, Crash. Live a little.”

“I’ve lived plenty.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Trinity snickered, walking ahead of her.

“I’m sorry, does this conversation have a point?”

“I’m just trying to figure out whose good side to get on. You know, whose recommendation is going to carry more weight in the long run.”

Trinity was unbelievable. Javadi wanted to act surprised by this, but found it hard to muster up any actual shock. Even just to pretend. So, she didn’t say anything. She found an opening to break away and took it. Her feet carried her right into Matteo who was holding up a man who had a nail sticking out of chest.

“What happened?”

You abandoned the board idea after your brief talk with Whitaker and went back out to help McKay in triage. There was a broken finger that needed a stent and a man who came in for a toothache. TGloria would be wildly impressed with your bed clearing skills.

While you took care of these, you heard of the man with the nail in his chest and the call for a code STEMI. While a part of you was starting to miss the action the Pitt held, you knew it was safer to be out in triage. Triage meant no Robby. Triage meant that you could safely keep your thoughts in check and focus on patients and getting through the day with your sanity in check.

You knew Robby was dealing with the parents of the fentanyl overdose. An elderly patient and his children who Dr. Collins expressly told you he’d intubated against his own DNR and Robby’s express advice that doing so would hurt him further than help. You would take the toothaches, the weird sex fetish, and whatever else triage had in store for you.

Except…

You hadn’t forgotten you were meeting Dana during her smoke break. It’d been your idea to talk because you were positive if you didn’t, the day was going to be a nightmare. Anything you could do to decrease the likelihood of that happening should’ve felt like a win.

It fucking didn’t.

There was too much history between Dana and you for the talk to be a simple discussion of grievances. She was going to ask questions, questions you weren’t ready to answer. After she asked her questions she’d want to discuss them, because that’s what people who weren’t trying to bury shit did.

You’d rather a lot of it stayed buried.

Glancing at your watch it was closer to that time than you liked. You tried to think of some meditations to try as you headed in Dana’s direction and realized in rapid clarity it wasn’t going to work. Were your palms starting to sweat? The short answer: yes, yes they were.

"Dr. Fullerton!"

The voice was feminine, soft. Your best guess was that it belonged to one of Robby's new med students. You were surprised to see Dr. Mohan coming up beside you. You’d been focused on dealing with Dana, you'd completely forgotten that she’d requested to speak with you. You’d told her you would come and find her three patients ago.

“Dr. Mohan, I apologize. I got wrapped up in dealing with triage and forgot to come find you.”

You prayed that the sincerity you felt carried into your words. Dr. Mohan responded with a small smile of her own.

“No need to apologize, Dr. Fullerton. I understand. Is now a good time to talk?”

Yes, you wanted to say. It’s the perfect time to talk because the one of the two people I’m scared to death to talk to is waiting for me.

Lucky for you, your brain hadn’t run away with the controls of your mouth just yet.

"Is there something I could help you with, Dr. Mohan?"

There was no denying that you weren't curious. She was as experienced as they came - still learning but highly perceptive and thoroughly educated from what you'd seen. So, her need to talk to you could only mean one thing. Your fears were made real as soon as she spoke.

"I was wondering if you could speak to Dr. Robby on my behalf?" That sentence was enough to make you start walking. "He's been hounding me the last few weeks about my patient-per-hour ratio and claims I work too slowly. I'm just trying to make sure my patients feel seen and are heard."

"Dr. Mohan -"

"You have the highest patient satisfaction scores to date for the hospital. That alone proves that taking time with patients isn’t a bad thing -“

“Dr. Mohan,” you interjected again. “Patient satisfaction is an admirable goal to have. To care about your patients and fight for their care; it’s important.”

“Why do I feel a but coming,” she mumbled.

“But,” you continued, “Robby isn’t wrong. My numbers are high because I’m upstairs in family medicine. It allows for longer patient one-on-one visits. This is the emergency department where time is limited as well as information.”

“And I’m well aware of that.”

“Are you?” You questioned.

You could see the earlier friendlier demeanor she held turn guarded. A part of you hated it. You didn’t want her to build a wall or be worried about asking you for help later, if it was warranted. You also couldn’t allow her to take where Robby was coming from in a bad light because all hospital administrators worried about metrics. They thrived on it to keep the flow of income for a hospital.

Doctors worried about patients and fought insurance companies for lifesaving procedures and administrative staff when their focus didn’t align. Unfortunately, hospitals were a business.

“Dr. Mohan, I don’t mean to come off as a hard ass. I’ll still talk with him about it. Emergency medicine is a rough place to be with, what I believe, higher expectations than most. We can either cut it down here or we can find somewhere else more of our speed.”

“Like you did.”

Ouch. But a fair ouch.

“More or less.”

You waited for her to gather her thoughts. She hadn’t walked away from you yet, which was a good thing. Maybe you hadn’t burned whatever bridge you had built with her too severely for you to try and cross later.

She took a deep breathe, reading herself to continue the conversation when you both heard it. The shouting of a man and the yell of Dana right after.

“Mr. Bradley! Mr. Bradley, you can’t be back here! Security!”

You weren’t security. You were far from it, but the national average of assaults against medical staff was high and it was Dana. The thought of something happening to her spurred you blindly forward. Your feet weaving you through beds and staff who’d stopped to wait and stare until Olson or another security guard arrived. It was frowned upon for hospital staff to engage, but when you saw his hands flail and almost tag Dana, you didn’t hesitate to move in.

Without thinking, you moved Dana behind you and put yourself in front of her. Your arms outstretched to ward off any blows but to also try and keep him calm.

“Hey! This is a hospital! You don’t have any right to enter a patient's room -“

“She fucking killed my son!” Mr. Bradley turned to the girl to rage his grief. “You killed my son! And you’re a fucking liar!”

You had only seen Nick Bradley’s parents from afar the first time Robby spoke to them. After that he’d moved them to a private room while Robby offered them two final tests to give them time to come to a harsh reality. By the way his words broke around every syllable, he was beginning to realize his son wasn’t going to be coming home with them. Not today. Not ever.

Ahmad came up from beside you and grabbed a hold of Mr. Bradley with Olson assisting on the other side. Together they began to pull him back towards his son’s room.

“Dana, get Robby.”

“Already on it kid,” she called as she moved around you, jogging back to her station.

You followed Ahmad and Olson as they walked with Mr. Bradley until they secured him back in the room. You watched the way his body collided into the chair, hands grasping to every remaining hair follicle as grief tore through his body in a sob.

You weren’t prepared for him to look up at you. His eyes beseeching to tell him what he wanted to hear before he’d even spoken the words.

“My son is gone. Isn’t he?”

All you wanted was to collapse into the chair beside him. Tell him how you understood the immense pain of losing a child. Of coming home to a room that became a tomb. The life that was real fading into a mind where memories will slowly begin to fade and smells that were distinctly theirs haunt you in the worst way.

You wanted to tell him that, over time, the pain of loss begins to ache just a little bit less but it never really does. It doesn’t ache as strongly, but it still aches. You still missed, still loved, and still asked why, why, why on repeat expecting someone to fucking answer.

Instead, you copped out. You swallowed past compacted words and struggled just to say a few.

“Dr. Robby will be with you shortly. Please, stay in your son’s room.”

Enjoy him while he’s here, was the undertone of what you couldn’t say without breaking. You hoped before you turned to leave Mr. Bradley could see in your eyes you understood his grief - a shared pain that never went away.

Mr. Spencer’s children finally agreed to let their father die with grace. It should’ve been a relief, but Robby was finding it hard to locate any. He’d just sat with a family of an 18-year-old kid and broke apart their faith to tell them to prepare for the worst, was struggling to comprehend how to help a mother with a son who was pissed off at the world, and just shared in the private grief of a sister forced to come to terms with a brothers death.

It was barely going on 10 AM, and Robby couldn’t explain the level of exhaustion his body felt.

The whole time after he’d placed the intubation tube, Robby asked himself why he hadn’t fought harder against the children’s decision to do it. It was his job to do what was right for the patient and yet, he’d seen two people, much like Mr. And Mrs. Bradley who were struggling with the idea of letting go.

If someone had given Robby that option with Adamson, with you, he would’ve taken those few extra minutes and treasured them for what they were. Instead, Robby’s loss had been sudden and all at once. There was no band-aid gently ripped off, but a fucking avalanche he never made it through. He just wanted to give them the chance to prepare for goodbye.

But why this room?

Robby knew he couldn’t say anything about it. He’d noticed the looks everyone had been giving him all day. The way they tiptoed around asking the question (except Dana and Collins, apparently) if it would be too much to work today.

Robby was fucking here wasn’t he? That’s what counted. He was here to continue the work Adamson left behind and the memory of the way he’d trained him to save lives. That doctors had the possibility to heal more than just the body with those in a deeper kind of pain medicine couldn’t fix.

It’s why he’d told Mr. Spencer’s children about Ho’oponopono. It’s what Adamson would’ve done and it’s what Robby knew they needed to begin to get over the hill of loss.

As he recited the words to them, standing there in a room he never wanted to see again, he thought of you. It was the last thing Robby possibly could want to happen. To add in your presence in a room that was sure to send him crumbling like a house of cards.

“I love you. Thank you. I forgive you. Please forgive me.”

Simple. That’s what he told the son. They were a set of simple words that helped at the beginning stages of loss. It was all meant to be simple. Simple and yet, he’d been unable to get you to do it.

He’d failed you just like he’d failed Adamson.

Robby moved away from the bed to allow Mr. Spencer’s children to come closer to him. His eyes scanned the animal mosaic he’d learned to hate and just wanted to run. He still needed to take a piss so…Robby could probably get away with it.

He’d just notified Princess to come find him with any changes when he finally noticed you leaning against the wall outside the room. Robby wasn’t sure he could handle you here outside this fucking room after he’d just shared Ho’oponopono. It felt like some sort of fucked up cosmic joke.

On instinct, he shoved his hands inside his pockets before he stepped outside the room. His palms balling into fists in a weak attempt to drive away the havoc of being stuck between you and this fucking room.

“It is I,” you motioned towards yourself as you pushed off the wall, “your arch nemesis.”

Fuck, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Robby hated himself just a little bit for it.

“God, what is it now?”

“Relax, I'm not the harbinger of bad news. Unless, you know, it depends on what your idea of bad news is.”

“Cute.”

Robby felt like he had to be going crazy because did you - did you just wink at him?

“Thanks. But I came to talk to you about a few things.”

Robby couldn’t deny his interest had peaked. However, not in the way he would’ve liked. His earlier concern that you were here to cause him more of a headache than he already had was becoming a stark reality. He tried to fight the urge to run a hand over his face and lost.

“Okay - shoot. What is this about?”

“First: Dr. Mohan came to speak with me about how you’ve been talking to her about her patient to bed ratio.”

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, shaking his head towards the floor. “Of course she did. She saw you and immediately went crying to the newest doctor about how I ride her for not working at the pace I know she can.”

“You aren’t always the easiest person to talk to, Robby, especially on days like today.”

“No. Don’t you start too,” he warned.

“I’m not going to repeat what’s already been said, but this is exactly my point. You’re fucking prickly and I’m trying to help you, you grumpy bastard.”

“You just can’t help yourself can you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Injecting yourself where you’re not needed. Dr. Mohan is well-aware of a resident's hour to bed ratio that needs to be met. She came running to you, to be coddled, and you gave in. We don’t coddle down here.”

“I am not coddling her, Robby,” you snapped.

No longer were your hips casually leaning against the wall. You were up and facing him and the earlier mirth at bringing up Mohan turned the air to ice.

“Then what do you call this?” He gestured between the two of you. His hands shoving violently into his sweater. “Dr. Mohan limits herself with what I know she’s capable of. The emergency department isn’t someplace where we can take our time with patients, you know this -.”

“Yes, and I informed Dr. Mohan of the exact same thing. I didn’t try to contradict what you’ve told her, only that maybe your delivery of the pep talk you’re going for is maybe too harsh. Jesus, Robby, since when did you become Gloria?”

“I’m not Gloria -“

“If not Gloria then you sound an awful lot like her.”

“Maybe because every single day its the same bullshit message about metrics and data and fucking patient satisfaction instead of worrying about the safety of our staff or the lack of staff.”

“Speaking of safety—” you interjected.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what?! What now?”

“First of all, don’t raise your voice with me,” you snapped back. “McKay told me her patient earlier who made herself sick, her son, David, has a list of girls he’s talking about having eliminated? Why haven’t you called the cops?”

“Here we fucking go,” he groaned into his hands. A dry laugh pushing past his lips.

“Yes, here we go because this is fucking serious, Michael.”

He felt his eyes narrow in on your position at the use of his first name like a damn mother chastising her child. A wife patronizing her husband for not noticing something he fucking should’ve.

“You don’t think I don’t know that? I also don’t want to ruin some kid's life because he’s had a few bad thoughts like the rest of us all have experienced. And what the fuck are you doing here? You’ve been here less than three hours and you’ve already given me a migraine. Nobody asked for you to be here.”

Too far, his brain warned but it was too late. He couldn’t take the words back. There wasn’t a way for him to bridge the gap he’d torn further between you.

“Fine, Dr. Robby,” you spat. “But when something happens with that kid and he hurts someone just remember you could’ve gotten him the help he needed. Before those girls, young girls needed protecting and given all of them a chance. Demanding that boy to speak to someone isn’t ruining his life - it’s fucking saving it.”

Robby fought against the urge to reach out to grab you. To keep you from walking away like this because this isn’t what he wanted but he was tired of hearing everyone run to you to fix things. You weren't attending - he was. Robby would be lying if he couldn’t admit it was getting under his skin that everyone seemed to want to come to you, like you could change his mind.

Robby was positive that if either of you had the ability to change each other’s minds, it would’ve happened a long time ago and the ashes of your relationship wouldn’t exist.

It had to be the room. It’s what you tried telling yourself. It was a mixture of that room and hearing Robby speak about that fucking ritual that sent your blood roaring in your veins. Your eyes blinked rapidly to surpress the tears that threatened to consume you as Robby’s soft pleas echoed through your mind.

“Please, baby. Just try. For me. We can do it together.”

You told yourself it didn’t matter anymore. It’s been two years. Two years of attempting to move forward and telling yourself the life you had before with Robby was dead. You weren’t the same people anymore. How could you be?

Two years and still he was a stain you couldn’t wash clean.

The talk started okay but just like a majority of them near the end, it turned heated. Both of you forgetting you weren’t at war with one another. You told yourself repeatedly it was the room he’d walked out of. You told yourself it was hearing his voice recite the words Adamson shared with you both in different times in your life.

You should’ve walked away and tried to have the conversation somewhere else. The should haves were going to eat you alive, as they always did when it came to Robby, but it wouldn’t matter if it was a different day, time, or place. You both had forgotten how to speak to the other with your walls down.

You’d gone back to triage to try and work through your own emotions this fucking place was stirring up. You didn’t need this. You didn’t fucking need this. You should be upstairs at Dr. Nave’s practice, continuing to pretend that Robby didn’t exist five floors beneath your feet. Pretending you were different people and your old love didn’t have room in the new person you tried to become.

You truly did fight to not let Robby’s words fesĆter in your veins until they turned corrosive. It didn’t matter how he spoke to you; let it go. But like so many things that dealt with Robby, you just couldn’t.

With Dana’s break pushed back, you used the excuse of waiting for her to go out to stay around the nursing station. Your eyes roaming the surrounding rooms and halls for Robby to make his entrance. The minute he walked into view, you were going to grab him and tell him how you felt about him dismissing you; talking to you like you were just anyone else.

Whether either of you liked it, you were both here to work. Personal baggage should never keep the two of you from being professional. No matter the personal feelings, you deserved to have the respect of a colleague and he was going to give it to you.

It was getting closer to Dana’s break and you thought you’d never see him when you finally spotted him. Robby bolted out of the pediatric room that held Mr. Spencer. He must have received an urgent call was your first thought, until you realized the reason for his swift departure had him speeding towards the private disability bathroom.

Your common sense told you chasing someone into a private area, a fucking bathroom at that, could get you labeled as crazy and bordering on harassment. But in complete and total honesty, you weren’t thinking clearly. You thought this plan through for all of a solid minute before you rounded the nursing station, your eyes looking out to see if anyone had noticed him speeding inside and you no doubt about to follow behind.

Fuck. What if he’d locked the door?

With one last pass around the room, you reached out and grabbed the handle and, to your very deep surprise, found it unlocked. You checked to see if anyone was looking before you opened the door and stepped inside. This time you did make sure it was locked.

“Look, Robby -“

“Jesus fucking Christ what are you doing in here?”

You used your hand to shield your eyes in case he was using the restroom. Because that’s what they were fucking used for not cornering your ex to yell at them. But Robby was huddled in a corner. His arms high above on the wall with his head tucked close to his chest. You hadn’t noticed before but the sound of erratic breathing was filling up the small space.

Fuck, he was having a panic attack.

Instantly, all your earlier desire to tell him how much of an asshole he was evaporated. Your feet were carrying you forward to grab a hold of his sweater, tugging at the pocket in an attempt to get him to turn to look at you.

“I was coming to give you a piece of my mind but that can wait. Robby. Look at me. Hey. Eyes on me.” You placed your hands on his waist and gently pulled him away from the wall, guiding him to turn to look at you.

When the panic attacks started, Robby told you the only thing that used to pull him out was reciting the shema. He’d shared it with you a few times and at this moment, you were struggling to remember how it went. The declaration fell clumsy and mumbled from your lips.

You heard him begin to recite it along with you and you watched as the panic began to slowly subside. When you were sure he was okay you allowed your hands to release their hold on his hoodie. It wasn’t until you went to take a step back from him that you noticed the panic had been replaced with a look you knew all too well.

You were an idiot for coming in here.

"Robby."

You gave life to his name - praising, cursing, and loving him all in one breath. You wanted that one single use of his name to tell him everything you could never say. I'm sorry. I should never have left, but I was scared of who we were becoming. I miss you. I hate you but I also love you beyond reason. We can't do this, but I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here, collapsing into the ether with you.

That single word was a warning that this was a mistake. You never should have followed him into the bathroom to air out grievances like a sixteen-year-old girl fuming at her first and only love. There were so many smarter options than cornering yourself inside such a small, cramped space with the man you'd left.

You hadn't expected to see him in the trenches of his panic attack. The overwhelming urge to take care of him surging you forward, hands fisting in the hoodie to tug him around.

"Eyes on me."

That's how you directed him - spoke him into following you until you were his center.

It shouldn't be a surprise when the panic fed him a half-truth. You used to be the home he found shelter in when the storms became rough. You'd been so much for one another that it was idiotic to think it could just stop, because you first needed to not care for all feelings to wither and die. The problem was you did care - would always care - for Robby because you never stopped loving him.

You watched him do exactly as you instructed - eyes on me, and saw the realization that you were here, right here, with him dawn behind the hood of his lashes. The two of you were alone for the first time since you'd both laid eyes on one another that morning. It was the one chance for privacy and he wasn't going to waste it.

Robby encroached on the space between you, long legs eating up every available inch until there was none left. You either allowed him to be close or you didn't. Your own panic rose up because, no, no you couldn't do this but while your feet backed away your heart begged you to stay where you were. It didn't matter in the end. Robby's focus was trained on you, and when you tried to create more space he continued to follow until your back collided against the wall.

The next breath you took sent Robby's cologne invading your senses. The front of his chest pressed close enough you felt every inhale and exhale he made while his hands moved to gently cup your face in his palms. You couldn't stop the involuntary reflex of pressing your check into his palm.

Fuck, fuck, fuuuck you missed him. The ache of missing him never went away and never truly lessened. This, whatever the fuck this was, would not end well. You had an obligation to stop this. To be the sane one in this situation, but you couldn’t deny that deep down, you didn’t want it to stop.

Robby's eyes traced over every inch of your face. How many times had he seen you? He'd woken up to you in every state imaginable. He should know every line, old and new, blemish, and everything in between. Yet, he seemed to be etching this new version of you freshly into memory.

His head dipped down, and you had to stop from tilting your head back like you always did. Like you used to. This wasn't like then. You weren't together. You were not together.

Robby used the tip of his nose to gently glide across yours.

"Robby." It came out as a whisper. A plea. This shouldn't happen. This wasn't smart for either of you, but you fucking craved him in a way only Robby could sate. In a way that proved you were still his. "Don't."

He traced his nose one last time over yours before he pulled back enough to look you in the eye. Whatever he saw was confirmation for his hands to tip your head back to that perfect angle. The one he knew gave him just the right depth to kiss the air from your lungs.

Robby traced his thumb along your lower lip and when a soft whimper escaped through the part he created, Robby’s lips came crashing down on top of yours like a man starved.

As always, thank you for reading. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @travelingmypassion @jupiter-sky @catsgoogander @rosiepoise88 @It-jakeseresin @blackpopcorn @celmentine111002 @dcgoddess @lazyandromeda-temp @sydney-m @imonmykneessir @kniselle @heauxplesslydevoted @nowandajenn @corcovados @teenwolfbitches28 @dulcebloodhnd @callsignvenus @hey-im-jamie @bunnyearsandburgers @valentinevirgo @cannonindeez @evienorville @keerybub @allthingsimagines @hanybunch @calaryssia @ninquellote @profoundlynerdywolf @bunnyearsandburgers @-thatgirloverthere-

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moonlessnight14 · 4 hours ago

Text

Residuals Pt. 4

Ongoing Series

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: First, I read an article on burns to try and make this as accurate as possible, (article here by the NIH) but it’s still not terribly accurate. So, please, I tried lol. Secondly, I’m still screaming at the amount of love you guys have shown this series. Truly, I appreciate it more than y’all know. Thirdly, enter in a little extra dash of drama by Gloria (who redeemed herself in ep.12 but we ain’t there yet) and ya girl is just having a rough-ass day. Fourthly, yeah…she’s a thick chapter. Hopefully, it's still good because I’ve edited it as much as I can. As always, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for the support and for being here. Much Love, Jenn

Warnings: Mentions of death, language

Words: 10k +

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Whitaker proved to be an adept student. He followed directions well and answered whatever questions you threw his way about proper wound care at home and possible infection risks around the burned areas. When you’d finished with the first patient, you ensured he knew to return to the emergency room immediately if they experienced any new or persistent discomfort, like pain or tenderness in the area, increased warmth, discoloration, or advanced swelling.

“If the infection is invasive and takes hold of the wound, what is the main course of treatment, Dr. Whitaker?”

“We would contact surgery.”

“Correct. Why?”

“The need for surgery would be based on the high concentration of the bacteria levels found present in the wound.”

“We’d check for signs of possible sepsis and a full check-up to narrow down if it's gram-negative or positive bacteria, which tells us further about our treatment plan. What is the chief cause of burn wound infections?”

“Staphylococcus Aureus - MRSA.”

“How would we verify the patient had MRSA or any other type of possible bacterial infection?”

“By taking a sample from the area for testing -“

“You guys aren’t about to cut me up or anything, are you?”

The sudden input from the patient caused a nervous tick from Whitaker. It halted his hands from finishing the last few loops around with the gauze. The patients' eyes darted nervously from you to Whitaker and back again. You gave your best reassuring smile while making sure the dressing was secured on his chest and shoulder.

“Well, Kyle, the faster we get you out of here, you take the antibiotics I prescribe you, and make sure you keep your burns dressed and away from exposure to possible germs, then no. We won’t be ‘cutting you up’ today.”

“Okay. Cool. Because that sounds really uncool.”

Dilaudid truly did wonders for conversations. You’d have to make sure the discharge papers were clear on his care and warning signs to look out for. Plus, add extra emphasis on trying to make sure not to share any items in the frat house bathroom.

In truth, it wasn’t him, but his fellow frat boy neighbor in four that had you worried. So far, he showed no obvious signs of infection, but once the adrenaline of the moment wore off he noticeably seemed to slip into shock at having half his face, eyelashes, and eyebrow singed off. Not enough shock, however, to keep from asking if he’d make a handsome Harvey Dent for Halloween.

The burns to his neck and chest indicate to you he was closer to the fire pit than his buddy Whitaker currently patched up. You’d ordered blood work, x-rays, and a culture swab on two-face and his friend just to rule out any surprises.

You did your full assessment, asked questions, and directed Whitaker the best you could. You wanted to be the good mentor like Adamson and Singh had been for you. A good mentor like Robby was too. You would never admit it out loud but a small piece of you wanted Robby to see how capable you were. A silent bid to prove he could trust you with his interns and medical students. Between Robby, Abbot, and the previous attendings you knew you could teach.

It wasn’t a hidden thing that you’d both meet here during your residency. Yes, it was Adamson’s circus, but Robby thrived under Adamson’s direction and the insanity the Pitt offered. He was funny, charismatic, incredibly smart, and showed a level of empathy that bordered on worrisome at times. A tidal wave of grief encapsulated him and carried him under if he wasn’t careful. Robby was exactly the physician any patient should want taking care of them when they arrived in the ED.

And hell, you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that Robby was handsome. Painstakingly, stupidly, egregiously, fucking handsome. It was fucking criminal.

Robby taught you so much in the time you’d spent here and you knew he probably still could but that would mean being around him. The two of you standing closer than you’d been in years was proving to be a dangerous thing. He’d fallen back into the habit of stealing touches and you’d fallen back into the habit of shamelessly teasing him with things he’d usually make you pay for later trapped between his body and whatever surface in your house.

It was a dangerous game neither of you realized you were playing, and both of you were losing fast. Instead of having your focus one hundred percent on the patients and being back in the ED for the first time in years, your focus repeatedly returned where it shouldn’t. At first, you could lie to yourself and say you were simply scanning the hallways and nursing stations to make sure you didn’t see him. Of course, that’s what you wanted to believe; to coast through this shift without any additional emotional trauma following you home.

It was fucking impossible.

You could continue to lie to yourself all you wanted, but the truth was blatantly clear. Your eyes didn’t comb over the hallways and desks in hopes of not finding him. You didn’t quickly peer into rooms in anticipation that he wouldn’t be in one. You wanted to see him just as much as you denied that you didn’t.

The day you left, you made sure to do it while Robby was working because you knew, that if he’d been home and asked you to stay, you would’ve. And if he didn’t fight for you - never uttered a singular word of pleading to keep you from leaving, you weren’t sure you could survive it.

So now you found yourself hopelessly looking for him in all the places you swore you’d never go again. You may have chosen to leave, but it never meant you stopped loving him. The fact you were still in love with him made seeing the lost look in his eyes sting harder. You watched as he spoke to the parents of the kid who overdosed with no possible hope of waking up again, and you wanted to go to him. It was the shattering look of grief that made you forget how to move. Robby knew what was coming better than anyone else did.

How many times was Robby the one in charge of giving the heartbreaking news that loved ones weren’t coming home? Shouldering the burden of listening to the breakdown of their world and being the pillar of strength and comfort while families struggled to rearrange?

You hadn’t realized the black hole of anxiety was leading you down a rabbit hole until the sound of Whitaker calling out, “Dr. Fullerton,” at your side left you practically jumping out of your skin.

Shit. How long had you been zoned out? Hopefully, you hadn’t said anything weird. Or incriminating.

“Sorry,” he swiftly followed up. “I was trying to ask where we were off to next, but, uh, you seemed a little…preoccupied.”

“Oh, yeah, no sorry. You can go back to the red zone. I’m just going to help McKay up in triage.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, not at all. You’ll have more of a chance to learn with Langdon and Collins.” What you actually meant was to see more if that was what he was into. “Also, maybe check on your last patient I pulled you away from earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You watched him take your advice and, in real time, get ready to dispute it. “Why am I checking back in with Mr. Milton?”

What should you tell him? In the Pitt, it was easy to be thrown from one patient to the next - forgetting their faces and names as the minutes blurred into hours. Easy to forget they were waiting on test results that needed to be read by you and needed a treatment plan discussed and planned by you. Major issues could present as something small, something easily missable until further testing exposed the truth of the situation. If you went just the smallest amount of time without checking the results, without popping your head in for a visual, well, it wasn’t hard to imagine how sometimes those major issues finally presented themselves and everything got much, much worse.

“Look, Whitaker. As much as the powers constantly stress about getting people in and out quickly like this is a drive-thru, we have an obligation to each patient to give them the best care we can. It means staying on top of orders and checking in regularly. Trust me, Whitaker, things can change quickly down here.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes perfect sense. Thanks, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You bet. See you around, Whitaker.”

He gave you an awkward wave and didn’t move right away. It wasn’t until you turned away from him that you heard him shuffle on his feet. A part of you was curious if you glanced behind you he’d still be standing there, deciding where to go.

All that mattered to you was that you currently needed a new patient. It didn’t matter what the chief complaint was. Ideally, for the all-seeing eye of admin, quick and easy ones would look better. At this rate, you were positive your Press Ganey score was dipping. You were seeing patients at the speed of an R3; two patients per hour and they were after fast and loose results. But you wanted something with the capability to keep you occupied for hours. Preferably something that would require so much of your attention it would force you out of your head.

Yeah, that would be good. It was too damn early still to be spiraling into a midlife crisis just because you had to work with your ex. An ex, you realized, who was wearing the damn navy blue hoodie you’d bought him on his last fishing trip to Canonsburg.

No. No. Nope. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him or stupid hoodies or the gold chain of his necklace that used to drag over your collarbone. How your fingers curled around the thin chain, using it like a lead, to bring him down on top of you on the couch. Absolutely not - you were at work and he was your ex. He was your ex and you shouldn’t fucking care how you could still tell after all these months he was sleeping like shit.

You were almost back to Dana’s station, the monitor looming overhead like a beacon to salvation when you noticed Whitaker walking in tandem beside you. You cocked a brow in question that Whitaker rushed to answer.

“The board is this way, so…”

Right. You knew that.

“I was trying to talk to you but I think you were in deep thought or something. Again.”

Or something. God. That was twice. Twice your head was everywhere else but where it needed to be, which was at work. You should’ve fought harder when Gloria came to reassign you, but none of this should’ve mattered.

You were a damn good doctor. You’d trained under the best, learned from the best, and kept progressively learning and didn’t stop. You spent years of your life on this because helping people was your passion. It shouldn’t matter where you were placed if you were down here to help for days, months, or years.

Yet, in the matter of an hour, your mind waded into memories that were better off left for dead with your eyes searching for someone you shouldn’t.

You didn’t know how to answer him. “Sorry, I should remember where everything is but find myself stuck daydreaming about the past and looking for signs where I shouldn’t and sexually fantasizing about your attending”, didn’t seem appropriate to tell a med student. So, you ended with a weak, “Sorry about that,” which passed for understanding. It made you feel like an ass, but you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

You came to a stop just a few feet from Dana’s desk. Her back turned to you as she went through folders preparing patient's charts for transfer upstairs. Her eyes shifted up at the board and over to a newer resident you hadn’t met yet.

Her gaze was fixed on the monitor; eyes scanning rapidly down the chart as if there was a code that needed cracking. You knew that look. It was a shared one you’d no doubt mirrored only an hour ago.

“What do you need, Fullerton?”

Your head swiveled back to Dana and found her now facing you, her glasses removed, and waiting for your answer.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Are you kidding?” The question fell out of her in a chuckle. “You’re the only one I know who goes around taping on every damn surface when they’re thinking. You act like my five-year-old grandson, just less noisy. Barely.”

“That’s offensive,” you pointed out.

“For who? You or my grandson.”

You felt the first crack in your defenses tug at the corners of your mouth. If you weren’t careful, Dana’s whip-smart comments were going to make you fold back into a routine you hadn’t been a part of in a while. It wasn’t just you who was slipping at this point, and you clocked the moment Dana began to realize it too.

She was supposed to be upset with you - grumpy, mean remarks only. You were supposed to take them and dish them back so you could comfortably stay in your bubbles of denial and anger. The denial of what, exactly, was achingly easy to see.

You both missed each other. More than either of you were willing to admit.

Your reply sat cocked and loaded on your tongue when you remembered what transpired half an hour before. As much as you missed one another, you had to be careful with what you shared around her. It was obvious, whatever the ‘It’ may be, Robby would magically seem to find out.

“Any quick ones up here? It’s only 8:30, and Robby’s already on my case for being too slow. I can usually at least make it to lunch before he starts hounding me.”

Your attention swiveled back towards the resident. Her gaze fixed on the board before glancing between Dana and you. Hopefully, her question wasn’t meant for you to answer. You weren’t very good at picking off the board either.

“Cut him a little slack today, ok? It’s the anniversary of Dr. Adamson’s death.”

Of course, Dana would cover for him. Intercept all incoming rapports of Robby being prickly and sometimes downright mean to bury them under the rug of understanding.

Yes, it was the anniversary of Adamson’s death. It always would be. Grief wasn’t easy. It was messy and unrelenting in the moments it chose for sights, smells, and touch to materialize memories that recalled moments you wouldn’t get the chance to share with them again. A constant reminder of all that we lost. Time didn’t seal up that cavern their loss created; it just became more manageable over time.

Robby never coped. Never allowed himself to grieve, heal, and thrive in the good memories he did have. The doubts and guilt haunted him every day in every step, every decision, he made. He housed it inside him like a ghoul in a cemetery feasting on the remains of who he was before Adamson’s death - before the pandemic.

“That’s sad. But it’s still no reason to take it out on me. I’m just saying.”

You liked her. She got it. You wanted to properly introduce yourself. By the look on Dana’s face, you need to do it quickly before she breaks out into a lecture. Luck wasn’t on your side because Whitaker beat you to the punch.

You didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation but you also didn’t want to go back to having a conversation with Dana, either. It left you the only option of staring back up at the beloved board. You’d just decided on 7 North when Dr. Collins walked by, her hands digging in the glovebox on the wall to retrieve a pair. Her eyes were on Whitaker and yours were on her.

It wasn’t a secret that Robby and Heather had dated. Well, maybe to those in the Pitt, and not including Perlah or Princess because they suspiciously seemed to be psychic. Or just really loved to gossip. No, you’d learned about them when a friend spotted Robby and Heather out on a date. You’d only assumed it was a date because she repeatedly kept using the word cozy.

And why should you have cared? It’d been almost a year since you’d left. You chose to leave and that meant making him free to date and find new love or whatever. You didn’t have a right to lay claim to him just because he’d been yours. And Heather? She was gorgeous. She was fucking brilliant, with a beautiful smile, and it suddenly made you feel uncharacteristically subconscious.

Whether it’d been a date or they just seemed cozy (it was a damn date) you shouldn’t have felt jealous. You were fine. It was perfectly fine and healthy for people to seek out relationships and companionship. It was normal and you were fine. You weren’t any saint either. You’d dated someone briefly and, if you were honest with yourself, you could’ve stayed in that relationship. It was nice and easy. Simple. But you didn’t love him and you weren’t sure if you ever could.

The problem of loving Robby - still being in love with Robby - was that he stood witness to your most intimate memories of love. There were stories woven into your bones that bore witness to the man he was and how he loved you. They were told in joy and tragedy, laughter and sadness. When Nathan kissed you, the earth kept spinning. He didn’t taste of bourbon or smell of leather and sandalwood. He didn’t spend time in the backyard sanding down tables or staining decks. He didn’t wear glasses that somehow slid minute by minute inch down his nose until he subconsciously tilted his head back to see.

In the end, you left because of one glaring fact: Nathan would never be - could never be - Robby.

Dr. Collins told Whitaker to come with her for a teaching experience - an unconscious unhoused man was being brought in. Whitaker quickly moved to follow her lead in grabbing a pair of gloves just in time for the paramedics to wheel in the gurney. Said man was very much unconscious and appeared very much unhoused.

Your time playing the gawking bystander had come to an end and you needed to get to 7 North. You pushed away from the counter when you were stopped by the resident from earlier barreling into your line of sight.

“Dr. Fullerton? I’m Dr. Samira Mohan - R3. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dr. Mohan stuck out her hand and you accepted it warmly. Besides the obvious annoyance from Robby hounding her existence, it seemed Dr. Mohan was friendly. She held a kind air about her that reminded you of Robby - only now that kindness held an edge of grumpiness because his empathy was playing an overwhelming game. By the sleepless bags under his eyes, you could tell he was losing.

You wanted to point the probability of this out to her, maybe offer her a consultation for Robby’s apparent hard-ass demeanor, but quickly shoved it off.

“It’s nice to meet you, as well, Dr. Mohan.”

“Would it be okay if I could confer with you later?” Dr. Mohan’s eyes shifted to where Dana stood only inches away. “In private?”

You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or wanting to run for the hills. Dana’s eyes practically bore into the back of your head, waiting to hear your answer. You knew no matter what you chose to say this was getting back to Robby.

Fuck it.

“Of course, Dr. Mohan. I’ll come and find you after my next patient.”

“Thank you. I look forward to speaking with you.”

She cut a cautious glance over her shoulder and turned on her heel towards the south hallway. It must have been nice to make an easy exit. It was definitely something you were down to try but Dana stood closer to the counter, her glasses down the bridge of her nose, and accused you with a look of being a troublemaker. Your only defense was a shrug.

“What?”

“What the hell was that about?”

Your brows converged together as you shrugged again.

“How am I supposed to know, Dana? I haven’t even talked to her yet.”

“Talked to who about what?”

Fucking kill me.

What was with today? Were you unknowingly walking around with a ‘Kick Me,’ sign written by life? You’d gone over two years without ever running into Robby and within an hour in a half, you couldn’t seem to avoid him.

And why was he standing so fucking close again?

You didn’t need to glance over to your left to know he was close. The heat of his body, the nudge of his elbow against your arm informed you at breakneck speed you were close. Too fucking close, Michael.

“Mohan seems to want to speak with Fullerton. In private.”

“You couldn’t just wait for me to answer, Dana?”

The words rose up your throat like bile, acidic with its irritation. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t need this shit. You didn’t know what Dr. Mohan wanted but the cryptic way she asked wasn’t doing you any favors. It was at this moment you finally chose to look in Robby’s direction. He was leaning into his elbow that rested on the counter. Even with his body slightly slouched the height difference was substantial causing you to crane to look up at him.

The problem with this? He was close enough that your temporal lobe was overloaded with thousands of memories of his thumb gliding across your lips. Large hands taking hold of your neck and tilting you back at just the right angle for his lips to claim yours.

When you were no longer held hostage to the sensory manipulation your brain concocted, you prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t look as lovestruck as you felt. By the dark glint in Robby’s eyes, you were doing a piss poor job at being Switzerland.

“What? So you can conveniently disappear by the end of the shift without any context or explanation? No, thanks. Been there. Done that. Not a fan of the outcome.”

“This bipolar verbal assault is getting real tiring, Dana,” you huffed.

“Alright. Alright, enough!” Robby cut in. “I expect this behavior from patients, not my staff. Now, Dr. Fullerton, what did Dr. Mohan want to discuss with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” you sighed, “I have no fucking clue, okay? She just asked if she could speak in private and seeing as how she did ask for it to be private, I don’t see why you need to know.”

“Ugh,” a dry huff of what might have passed for a laugh - a cough maybe? - exited his lips. His brow was drawn tight while he looked at you. No doubt wondering where you’d gained the audacity. “Because this is my emergency department. I’m in charge of the entire thing and I think I need to be aware of what is going on with my staff.”

“Well, maybe if you stopped acting like an ass to said staff they wouldn’t be seeking outside counsel.”

A mirthless laugh exploded from between his lips. The sound carried part of the disbelief his eyes showed while he took you in. He was no longer leaning against the counter but had his arms crossed against his chest. You weren’t sure if he was looking at you like he wanted to throttle you or found you unbelievable. Neither option would make you a winner if you guessed right.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “Are you a fucking counselor all of a sudden?”

“And what if I was? I would ask if you’d require my services, but we both know you’re allergic to seeking help.”

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. You were bringing up personal shit - inviting a possible fucking mess to happen - and yet you couldn’t help yourself. You kept poking the proverbial bear and damn it, you weren’t exactly sure you felt bad about doing it. Were you so desperate for a reaction from him - after all this time? What the hell was it going to prove?

You watched the storm of emotions roll in. The deep set of his forehead and the dark clouds that zapped all residual warmth from his eyes. You weren’t sure if Robby was even aware he’d taken a step towards you, jaw flexing, and body slowly seeping into whatever free space you had left.

Whatever words he would’ve said died in the aftermath of hearing shouts a few rooms down. It jarred you both out of your staring contest and sent him into action. One minute he was standing in front of you, the next, he was running to see what the commotion was.

The second Robby was removed from your space, you took a deep breath in. Why did it feel like you were in a constant state of fight or flight? Your answer came in a set of blue eyes who homed in on you the moment Robby was gone.

“When’s your next smoke break?”

“Who says I still smoke?”

“Dana, be serious. The day you quit smoking is the day hell freezes over. So - when?”

She regarded you for a moment. The scale in her mind no doubt weighed if this was going to be worth her time or possibly ruining her nicotine break.

“I usually take it around 9:30. Why? You suddenly have the urge to open up?”

“Do you want to talk or not?.”

She could bitch, make jokes, and moan and groan all she wanted. You knew offering up a chance to talk would be all Dana would need to agree. Was it something you honestly wanted to do? Not really. Were you willing to do it so that at least you had one less person hounding you the rest of your shift?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Ah, what the hell. I’ll see you on break kid.”

A sigh of relief eased through you and you prayed Dana hadn’t noticed. You didn’t think she’d agree but, now that she had, you had a tiny ounce of hope this day wasn’t going to be so much of a shit show.

“What was all that screaming about?”

You knew the question wasn’t directed at you. Robby must have made his return and the soft laughter wasn’t what you expected to hear.

“We seem to have involuntarily just admitted rats,” he replied.

“You’re kidding?” Dana scoffed.

“If only I was. Whitaker was saying it was about three or four of them.”

“And on that note,” you drummed your hands on the counter, “I am going to 7 North.”

It wasn’t until you went to take a step forward you noticed the weight on your left foot. A weight that felt like something was sitting directly on it. You looked down just in time to watch a rat - a damn rat - scurry off your foot to run around the edge of the nursing station.

What you did next wasn’t your proudest moment. You even used to pride yourself on being rational when it came to rodents. The shout that clawed its way from the depths of your stomach proved you wrong at lightning speed.

You felt your body jump backward and collide with Robby. His hands were on your hips to steady you. You were bouncing back and forth on your heels, eyes scanning the area to make sure no further surprises snuck up on you. Your arms were bunched up at your sides and you were trying to talk yourself down from sweeping the remaining area with your leg. Just for good measure.

It was the feeling of his hands on your waist, the soft sound of his chuckle touching your hair that brought you careening back down to earth. Robby was close. Not like last time when your arms touched - closer than when he followed behind you into Allan's room. Even through your scrubs, you could feel the scorching heat of his palms spreading like wildfire through the fabric that sent your heart racing.

He should’ve let go by now. The threat of you possibly knocking him over or you both tripping and falling was over. He could let go. He could just let go, but Robby’s hands were holding you firmly in place with neither of you willing to move. You refused to look behind you - afraid of what he might see if you did.

You were afraid of what you might see if you dared to look too.

Slowly, you took a step forward, disengaging his hands from you. The sensation of loss was instant and you almost stepped back into him. Your body and mind were at war between desire and being rational. Fuck being rational. There was nothing rational about the way your heart brutalized your ribs. The need to ask stupid fucking questions that no longer mattered. The consuming way your body craved for him to wrap his large hand around your throat, whispering words of filth into your ear.

You had to get away before you made a mistake.

“Sorry about that. I’m going to just, ugh, go do my rounds now.”

You didn’t turn around while you softly spoke. You may have been delusional at times, but you weren’t crazy. If you looked back and Robby’s eyes gave away any hint of emotion - anything that sparked that dying ember of hope inside you - you would crumble.

You should’ve fought harder to stay upstairs in family medicine or threatened Gloria with firing you. You were safer there. Now, you were rushing off to remember what patient room you were going to with Robby’s cologne clinging to your skin.

You were a pain in the ass. But you were his pain in the ass.

Used to be, his mind reminded him.

Could still be, came his stupid heart's reply.

Robby used to love it when you challenged him; called him out on his bullshit. You weren’t afraid to stand in the current of his disapproval or to openly have a debate, especially when you could see he was missing something. You challenged each other to be open-minded to change, because it happened so fast, and to accept that being wrong wasn’t failure but a moment to grow and learn.

When you both stopped being open with one another, and being honest with yourselves, was when the challenging energy took a turn. Everything felt like a confrontation. Even in moments when the constructive criticism came from colleagues - from you - it felt like an attack he had to defend against.

Robby saw it in you too. The small hints of walls slowly being built to keep the inquiries at bay. When your responses become short and brief or not at all.

Now, before nine o’clock, you were in the Pitt not only wreaking havoc on his already fragile mental state but accusing him of…what? When you’d thrown the counselor's comment at him, Robby wanted to rage. How many times was it the main part of your arguments near the end of your relationship that he needed to talk to somebody? Anybody. How many times did he deny it?

You’d thrown it in from the sidelines and it jarred him so much, Robby felt disoriented. For the briefest moment, Robby forgot that you were no longer together. His mind reflexively thought you were arguing about the same old tired thing. He’d taken a step toward you and wanted to ask, “And what about you?”

You who wasn’t as honest and open with yourself just like him. There were things left unsaid between the two of you - the things that eventually buried the hatchet too far in to safely remove.

What about all the times he’d found you in the bathroom sitting against the tub crying in the middle of the night? Your panic attacks and OCD tendencies that started after…

Every time Robby reached out to be there for you, your response was always the same.

“It’s nothing, Michael.” “I’m fine.” “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sure, Robby wasn’t open and was guarded in his own right but neither were you. Where he used to read the transcript of your emotions so delicately on your face, you’d closed yourself off to him and he no longer knew how to get in.

An angry shout from down the South hallway thankfully tore his attention back to reality. His feet were already moving him robotically forward where he could see Olson entering Central 15.

“Whoa, whoa what is going on?”

Robby directed the question specifically to one of his many team members in the room. Thankfully, Kiara started to explain or, more appropriately attempted to explain but he couldn’t fucking think through all the damn shouting.

“Ok, ok, okay ENOUGH!” Robby couldn’t believe he was already raising his voice. Yelling at grown-ass adults like they were children. “This is a hospital. This isn’t ‘ The Jerry Springer Show’.” Although it was really, really starting to fucking feel like it with the morning he was having. “Ma’am, nobody’s trying to take your child. So why don’t you stay here with him while your husband talks to our social worker outside and straightens all this out?”

“Well, I don’t want him speaking for me and my son.”

It was clear by the wavering of her voice, that this was a tough spot for the mom to be in. Robby could sympathize but what he couldn’t sympathize with was starting a miniature war zone in one of his rooms.

“Well, it is either you or him. Your son is not leaving, but you can be escorted out and even arrested if you refuse to cooperate. Nobody wants that. So you tell us. What do you want to do?”

Robby knew the answer before she replied. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this mother didn’t fiercely love her son. Whatever situation the husband did to get them in this position was unfortunate, but the only option they had now was to press forward.

“I’m staying with my son.”

“Ok, great. You do that. Are we all on the same page here?”

The last question he sent out was rhetorical. A feeler to see if anyone else was confused about what was about to happen and if further clarification was needed. God, Robby sincerely hoped it’d all been made crystal clear what the only two real options were; the only choice being to cooperate.

“You okay?”

Robby could see Langdon was shaken up. It could be a lot dealing with a combative patient - harder when it was a parent just trying to make the right choices for their child. You were always the best at coming in and soothing cases like this one. Somehow able to give relief and comfort while giving the most gut-wrenching news of a parent's life while calmly explaining the next steps. You were able to keep people from feeling lost in the bad news and prepare them for the onslaught of change.

Robby waited until Langdon confirmed he and Dr. King were good before he walked out of the room. Regarding parents with kids, Robby almost forgot Teresa asked to speak with him about David.

Central 12 was just a few steps away from Langdon’s patient. It was close to being comfortable but too close to give Robby time to think. He felt out of his element here because he was running out of options. He wanted to help Teresa, because, while she did this to help her son, she knowingly put her own life at risk to get him the help he needed.

But isn’t that what parents did?

At times, they blindly waded into the fire if it meant that their child would be safe.

All Robby could do was watch and listen while he told her about how he left. While he followed up her questions with his own and did his best to try and ward off the sick feeling burying itself inside his gut.

“Do you think David would hurt anyone?”

Even allowing the question to come out of his mouth made a rush of nausea swell back behind his tongue. He didn’t want to ask it. Nobody wants to ask any parent if they think their child - a fucking child - could be capable of harming another human being.

Robby carried his thoughts on the reasons why young men are more prone to violence these days. With idiotic podcast hosts spewing their hatred for women who were goal-oriented and not focused on babying them like their mothers. Boys who were told to bottle up their emotions: “Don’t share your feelings. Don’t get caught crying,” unless you want to be told that you were weak. There was so much bullshit in the world for kids to have to contend with these days that Robby didn’t find it surprising a lot of them were overloaded - overwhelmed by a constant flurry from the world to be someone different than who they are.

Robby had plenty of talks with Jake about these things. He found it easy to lean into him with the both of them connecting during shared trips and quiet nights at the house. Robby made sure his stepson knew that Robby would always be a safe place for him to land. When the world got too crazy and if he couldn’t tell his mom Janey, Robby would be there.

Because that’s what parents do - willingly walk through fire if it meant their kid would be okay.

“The nasal swab came back negative for COVID, RSV, and Flu - which is a good thing.”

“Then what’s wrong? What about her eyes?”

The her in question was a three-year-old named Jasmine who was vocally letting you both know that she was not in a good mood, which was very fair. Nobody liked being sick. The only issue with her actively voicing her bad mood was that any high octave screams were soon followed up by a violent cough.

The moment you stepped inside the room you’d been worried about RSV, especially because of her age. Lungs sounded clear with slight wheezing indicated in the upper left lobe. Thankfully, all major possible viruses came back negative. The unfortunate thing was that this specific viral infection just meant mom was going to have to ride it out.

“It’s still a viral infection. The conjunctivitis, since it started coming from both eyes this morning, it’s from the infection and sinus blockage. The whites of her eyes aren’t red in any way. The best thing to do is apply a compress every few hours on the eyes to help with drainage, saline drops, or spray on the nose to help clear up the congestion and suction as often as you can. Over-the-counter cough medicine is fine unless you need a prescription?”

“No, no, it’s okay. We have some at home. So, she’s okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine. I just recommend having her sleep elevated to help with drainage and if you have a humidifier, use it. Follow up with her pediatrician in two to three days or come back to the ER if any new or persistent symptoms occur.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

“You’re so welcome. Make sure to wait for a nurse before leaving. I hope you feel better, Jasmine.”

You gave them both a wave before exiting out of the quiet of the room and back into the noise. The nurse assigned to the room came over and held out a tablet and pen for you to take. Quickly, you scribbled a signature down, because doctors were notoriously known for sketchy penmanship, and began to walk towards a nursing station.

Technically, you did have a second option you could take before throwing yourself into the next patient room. Dr. Mohan asked to speak with you. She didn’t necessarily give a time or a preference. It was more focused on secrecy, which you found a little odd. This was Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center - it was a rare thing to have a private conversation here. You were curious to find out what it was Mohan wanted, a bigger part of you wasn’t ready for the headache of Robby undoubtedly finding out later. The worst option: is if you were the one who had to tell him to be the advocate for his resident.

The scent of his cologne still held tight to the fabric of your scrubs. Slowly, it was beginning to fade but if you leaned in close enough to your right shoulder you could almost get a hint of -

“Dr. Fullerton.”

You were a millisecond away from calling out, “I wasn’t doing anything!”. Was it too early in the shift to consider a name change?

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Gloria making her way towards you. Each step in your direction sent your fight or flight raging back into gear because fuck no. Between Gloria and Robby, the two of them were about to have you so damn stressed out there was a high chance for premature balding to occur.

“Oh no. I’ve had enough surprises from you today.”

“I just wanted to have a chat - “

“And definitely enough of those,” you shot back.

You weren’t exactly sure why you kept moving. If previous experiences told you anything, it was that she would follow you until you stopped on your own or she got you into a corner. At least stopping to face her was a choice compared to being cornered with no way out.

Resigning to your fate, you took in a big meditative breath through your nose and turned around.

“What can I help you with, Gloria?”

Your voice was so monotone you sounded like a robot.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stop running and actually talk to me like an adult.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria. You brought me down here to assist in decreasing triage wait times and that is what I am doing. Stopping to have a chat with you will reflect poorly on my scores.”

“Cute,” She bit back. The smile on her face was too harsh to be genuine. “Well, it’s funny you mention scores. I’ve been keeping an eye on the numbers and the system is showing barely any signs of process or improvement. Can you explain why that is?”

The simplest answer you could’ve given her came with one name, one word, and one human being. Robby. Robby was your fucking problem; the bane of your existence.

Gloria shoved you down here not knowing all the variables that could hinder productivity. There were moments of clarity where your brilliance shined through and in a matter of seconds it evaporated again. Realistically, it was your fault. Your inability to control your stupid fucking emotions - you didn’t need to react every time you saw him.

How could you not react when Robby did exactly the same?

You weren’t stupid. You’d spent years, months, days, and hours with him. Every minute is accounted for in conversations and touch. It wasn’t insanity (although the jury was still out on that one) that made you believe - to fucking notice - Robby was affected too.

But no way in hell were you divulging any of your innermost thought demons to Gloria.

“Look around, Gloria,” you said, arms opening up to motion around the Central rooms. “There are no beds available. You ask for solid care, for good patient satisfaction scores and that requires multiple factors. To be a good doctor you have to listen to the patient's chief complaint that they’ve been waiting almost eight hours to tell you.”

“I am well aware of the current wait times in triage, Dr. Fullerton.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Problem solved then because once we assess them and decide they need monitoring and tests to ascertain the issue, it’s only another three to six-hour wait. Maybe longer if it’s life-threatening. Not to mention if any trauma patients come rolling through the red zone adding another twenty-five to fifty minutes on their time.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with not having any beds. Not every situation in triage necessarily requires a bed to be seen.”

“Gloria, your precious Press Ganey scores are going to stay low if a patient doesn’t get back to a room. You can make beds available by sending people upstairs or how about removing the deceased guy in nineteen who’s been posted here since before I arrived?”

“Robby is in charge of contacting the coroner's office about picking up the deceased.”

“And yet, the body is still here,” you pondered. “I know Robby, Gloria. He wouldn’t knowingly leave someone’s loved one here if it didn’t mean the coroner is backed up, which means our morgue must house him until then. And why are you complaining to me like I'm attending here? Robby is the attending - “

“I’m well aware of that - “

“You keep saying you’re well aware, Gloria but the fact is it feels like you’re not. It’s easy to come down here making demands but the reality is without the proper staffing and moving boarders out of the emergency department to free up space the numbers will never fucking change. Sending one doctor down here isn’t going to change shit.”

“Are you just about done, Dr. Fullerton?” She did a dramatic pause to allow you time to cut in. “The board and its administration are well aware of the pressures that staff face down here in the emergency department - that all hospitals are currently facing shortages. The fact of the matter is studies show close to seventy-five percent of ER visits are non-life threatening, which means more than half of those patients could be fairly seen in triage without needing a room.”

You could feel your mouth opening; primed for a response that Gloria was not going to let you detonate. Her hand waved to warn you not to cut her off.

“I don't want to hear any more about boarding or staffing. I want to see the results, Dr. Fullerton. It’s already bad enough that there are rats inside.”

“To be fair, they piggybacked on an unconscious unhoused man, so,” you shrugged. If looks could kill, you’d have dropped dead right then and there. “Not helpful?”

“No. Not helpful,” she confirmed. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The earlier annoyance at seeing Gloria twice in less than two hours of your shift changed course. Dread ice cold and paralyzing coiled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like where this was going.

“Is there a pass option?”

“This is an offer from myself and the administration. So, no, there isn’t a ‘pass option.’ How would you like to be considered for an attending position?”

“No.”

The word barreled out of you without thinking. You didn’t need to think about this proposition Gloria, the administration, or whoever was trying to dangle in front of you. It was any doctor's dream to become an attending at a facility - it made you the doctor.

You didn’t want it like this.

“You didn’t even hear the terms.”

“I don’t need to hear them to know that you’re trying to be sneaky.”

“Robby is failing to meet standards -“

“Robby is a fucking good physician.” You fumed. “He’s one of the best physicians in trauma medicine you have here outside of Abbot.”

“No one is disputing that, Dr. Fullerton. The board is open to having you both down here during the morning shift, maybe even making a swing shift for you to help between shifts.”

You raked your hands over your face scrubbing hard to try and cut off a mirthless laugh that came out in patches between your fingers.

“No - you want me to be a Judas. It’ll be a swing shift until you can get whatever data you need to confirm whatever fucked up plan you’re making.”

“Dr. Fullerton -“

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout the word at her. Or maybe you had. Whatever it was, it surprised you both. You should be quieter - don’t draw attention but your heart was thrashing wildly. Your hand swiped through the air to cut her off before she could attempt to continue. You didn’t want to fucking hear it. “Robby is a damn fine physician and to try and - I don’t fucking know, get rid of him because he doesn’t kiss the boards or your ass is fucking stupid. I don’t know half of what Robby or Abbot knows. I’m not them and it would be beyond idiotic to lose him.”

“Your opinion will be taken into consideration and I’ll dismiss your…outburst, for now, because of the current situation. But make no mistake, Dr. Fullerton this will move forward with, or without, you.”

You wondered if any natural disasters were named Gloria. It seemed possible since she came and created an instant upheaval of your day, completely devastating it in a matter of minutes and once she was done simply went about her day like nothing happened.

She left you to deal with the aftermath. The rushing thoughts with a million questions - thousands of things you should’ve said to defend Robby. There were dozens of ways you could prove her wrong about him - that he fucking cared about his patients and was such a damn good doctor, phenomenal at times, that to equate all that he was and all that he did down to a simple metric of numbers was fucking ridiculous.

All the sound in the room began to drown out around you. Somewhere in the background of the hum you heard a shout for help. It could be Code Blue. It could be anything. You tried to get your body to react, but the hurricane of anxiety was sweeping in fast and you were running out of air.

You needed to sit. You had to act normal because the last thing you needed was Princess or Dana or fucking anybody else coming over to speak with you. Your hands used the counter like a rope to pull you along to the nearest computer. You quickly sat down and swiped your credentials to enter the computer, quickly clicking on anything just to appear busy.

“How are you holding up today?”

The last person you expected to see at that very moment was Heather Collins. What did you expect? This was an emergency room and doctors worked inside of it. She offered up a close-lipped smile that matched the kindness in her eyes. She was genuinely wanting to know how you were doing and for the first time, you hated the question because you couldn’t answer it.

Not truthfully, anyway. Who was ever truthful in answering that specific question?

So, you painted on a grin that more than likely resembled a grimace and prayed you didn’t look as tired as you felt.

“It’s been…an adjustment.”

“What’s taking adjusting?”

Good god, this man was fucking everywhere.

Robby came into view as he moved across the station to get to the opposite computer. The question was thrown out carelessly; he didn’t expect a response. He was pulling out his glasses and sliding them over his nose, his full focus on the screen. Test results thankfully took priority over your response.

You were quickly forgotten by Collin’s who walked over to where Robby read the test results. She waited until he removed his glasses and stood to his full height.

“Please don’t tell me you are going to intubate that poor old man?”

“It’s what the family wants.”

“So what? They want to torture him?”

“I explained all that.”

It was painfully obvious this was a case you knew nothing about. By the sound of it, you were willing to bet five dollars that it was one of the elderly patients from a home who came in a little after 7:30 that morning. It meant it wasn’t your case. You didn’t need to know the information and you could continue counting down backward from ten while you reminded yourself that no, you weren’t Judas and -

“Dr. Fullerton, if a family came in -“

Fucking hell, you needed to stop zoning out. You brought your attention back to the two of them, wondering what you missed.

“You don’t need to ask her,” Robby interjected.

Collins continued like he’d never spoken.

“And they had durable power over an elderly family member who had a pre-existing DNR. His family wants to intubate. It’s not what he wants. Whose choice do you honor?”

“What are you doing?”

A singular brow of hers arched in defiance.

“Asking for a second opinion.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

They continued to bicker about the decision Robby made to not fight for a dying man’s wishes. You would’ve told Collins to let it go because once Robby’s mind was made up, it was like talking to a wall. Maybe she already knew that.

God, what fucking twilight zone episode were you stuck in? You actively wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your eyes darted to the time on the bottom of the screen and you had to fight to keep your forehead from landing with a thud on the keyboard. It was only 9 o’clock. There were ten more hours of this day and you needed it to be over.

Robby released a sigh that reflected how exhausted you felt. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion but one of the soul; a weariness that vines grew thorns and were beginning to tear you slowly open. You could feel your legs wanting to shift out of the chair and go to him. The urge was so strong your hands scrunched into fists to keep from moving - to quell the urge because he wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t his.

“Shit.”

“What?”

Robby’s best magic trick? Deflecting. Whenever he wanted the current conversation to end, and didn't like where it was heading, he diverted it completely into something else. Anything else that kept him from having to continue down a conversation he wanted no part of. You knew that trick all too well.

“I got to go tell those parents their 18-year-old son is brain-dead.”

“You want me to go with you?”

It should’ve been you offering to go with him. A comfort to the harbinger of bad news because it was never easy to give it. Never easy to stand in the storm of grief and simply be a bystander while their world ends in a matter of words.

What did it matter who went with him? Who offered? At the end of the day, a family was forever going to be encapsulated by a loss too many people unfortunately knew.

Vaguely, you caught the end of their argument. Robby wanted to perform an apnea test and a cerebral perfusion study. Dr. Collins didn’t agree. It offered the family false hope but Robby was right - maybe it did offer a false sense of hope, but with each test completed and results read off it was a graceful way to ease a family into acceptance. It gave them the time to process and grieve and come to the very heavy realization their son wouldn’t be going home with them.

“They need time to process before they can accept what’s happening.”

“You ever consider taking that advice? Physician, heal thyself.”

Dear floor, please fucking open up wide so you can just swan dive right on in. Thanks a bunch.

Heather knew. She fucking knew about the wall of grief - of acceptance - Robby himself was unable to accept. The King of dishing out advice left and right but unyielding in taking it. Suddenly, all the cool reserve of not caring about them dating evaporated in a crushing wave of heartbreak you shouldn’t have felt in the first place.

Did he tell her about you? Did he share with her about…about what happened? Was he able to open up to her in ways he stopped doing with you? Their relationship was gone, but the respect and care were still there.

The irritation came off him in waves. You should’ve told her Robby’s least favorite thing is being told to take his own advice. Or to heal for that matter. Oh, and to also maybe seek therapy. All three of those would turn his mood sour and aggravate him to peak levels at hyper speed.

He shoved his hands down into his hoodie. His head swiveling between Collins and probably anywhere else in the ED.

“Don’t you have patients?”

There it was. The dismissal. The, in not so many words, “I’m done talking to you about this and everything else,” so he could make a quick exit. The magician's last trick before his temper was lost.

Don’t look up. Do not look up. Don’t fucking do it.

You didn’t need to look up. There wasn’t any reason to do so. You weren’t on their radar the last half of their conversation. You were just a bystander to a miniature car crash. The issue with crashes? Everyone who drove by couldn’t stop themselves from looking.

The itch between your shoulder blades was your first warning sign. The weight of his gaze was bearing down on you. You didn’t have to react to it but it was a reflex to look up for him. To search for him in every crowded room and find yourself wishing he was there when he wasn’t.

Your eyes found he was still looking at you. An in-house debate flashed across his features. If it was whether or not to come to you, you hope he chose not to. You just need a few moments of space. It was too much. You’d run from him and now he was just here all the time and -

“Why are you looking at puppies? You getting a dog?”

“What?”

For the first time since you’d opened the computer, you realized whoever was on it last left it open to an ad for a puppy.

“Oh, no. This wasn’t me. Hey, earlier did someone shout a Code Blue?”

You could also perform your own magical change of subjects. Robby took a moment to answer before giving a curt nod.

“Whittaker’s patient that’d been placed in the hall. If you heard it, why didn’t you go assist? All hands on deck for a code, you know that.”

God, was he chastising you right now? A flood of irritation rippled over your skin. You wanted to snap at him. You weren’t a med student. But he was frustratingly right - you’d heard it and instead of running you’d kept yourself here.

And Whitaker. It was his first patient of the day. He’d been so excited that he’d done good. He’d gotten praise from Dr. Robby about his work up and Whitaker wouldn’t shut up about it. It meant something to him.

“I’ll go see if they need someone to switch.”

You went to get up but Robby was too close. If you got up from the chair you would bump straight into his chest.

“You okay?”

The sudden care behind the question jarred you. How did he expect you to answer? There was no way you could be honest with him - not at that second. He was supposed to go break the worst news a parent could ever receive and he was worried about you. He should be worried for himself. You could warn him about Gloria but what good would it do if he thought you might possibly be in on it with her? Your sudden reappearance, while inconvenient, hadn’t raised suspicion like an ulterior motive waited in the wings just yet.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Never better.”

His smile held every worn line of fatigue that signaled his lack of sleep. His attempt at strength in a moment he refused to seek outside help. You found the same words Dr. Collins asked moments before crawling their way up your throat before you swallowed them back down. He wouldn’t change his mind and agree just because it was you.

You wanted to be there because whether he voiced it or not, this kid whose family was seconds away from being told was gone wasn’t that much older than Jake. A single accident of taking non-prescribed Xanax ended his life. Jake was a good kid. You wanted to reach out and take his hand and tell him Jake would never - Jake was different.

Jake was still a kid.

Robby didn’t wait for you to reply before he headed towards the room. You kept telling yourself to get up and move. Go find Whitaker and the team performing cpr on his patient and do your part. Between everything that’s happened this morning: being forced down with Robby, seeing Robby, Dr. Mohan requesting to speak with you, Gloria’s ultimatum and now the news this young kid didn’t make it you were officially mentally exhausted.

You needed to move but by the time your legs finally lifted out of the seat, Robby told them. The mother’s wail of agony resounded through the room and rose in octaves. The soul-wrenching loss of her child, her baby, turned the Pitt into a mausoleum of mourning. Her cries followed you down the hallway until you reached the curtain where Whitaker and others were on their third round of Epi, and you could see the continued despair evident in the room.

It was barely 9 AM and you already wanted to fucking go home.

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @travelingmypassion @jupiter-sky @catsgoogander @rosiepoise88 @It-jakeseresin @blackpopcorn @celmentine111002 @dcgoddess

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moonlessnight14 · 11 hours ago

Text

These two are a hot mess... I love it

Residuals Pt 3

Ongoing Series

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: Screaming at the top of my lungs because you have all been so incredibly lovely and sweet. I appreciate every single one of your comments, reblogs, and your excitement over this spur-of-the-moment series idea. Honestly, I can gush forever. Thank you! This chapter is centered around a little extra backstory on their relationship (briefly). I noticed it's around ep. 4 when everything starts popping off in the show (and I have scenes already pre-written cause I’m excited!) so I hope the story stays entertaining and true to showing slow insights into characters, their flaws, and being human. As always, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. Much Love. Jenn

Thank you to the bestie @viridian-dagger for humoring me and checking all of my work. Thank you for helping keep me sane.

Words: 7208

Previous I Next

You remembered with agonizing clarity the last day you’d seen Robby. You could recall down to the very marrow of the hour how you’d watched him grab his backpack and head out the door.

If you weren't careful, your subconscious loved to dredge that particular memory up in frequent rotation.

If you weren’t careful, always on mental high alert, the memories came violently to the forefront demanding that you remember what it felt like to walk the halls of your home in nothing but his shirts. It had you up late in the middle of the night writing a list of all the achingly obvious differences between the empty bed you now slept in and the one you’d shared with him. How his large frame curled against your back or how his nose pressed into the crook of your neck before he woke you, trailing kisses down your collarbone.

Sometimes, Robby held you so tight you’d jokingly ask if he was trying to morph together like The Thing.

You’d gotten used to the quiet in your home. The lack of security knowing another person was there. You’d learned to portion down your meals, so you didn’t make some on accident for two, or three when Jake was home for the week. You did laundry less and didn’t have to fold as much. There was no one to help you build furniture or tear it down. The trash was handled by you and only you. Dishes sat questionably for longer in the sink than they should’ve. There were no hands on your hips to keep you steady as you demanded to be an independent woman and use the step ladder to change broken fixtures and lightbulbs. No car rides with blues gently playing through the speakers with his hand on your thigh.

No. You were reminded every minute of every day since you’d left of what you lost. What you chose to leave behind.

The day you left you’d waited in the hall. In the past, before the pandemic, before the world went to shit and stopped making sense, Robby waited for you to send him off. You’d bring him his backpack full of protein bars, a homemade sub sandwich (if he ever got to it), and instant coffee packets when he didn’t. The moment you were close enough for him to grab - to touch - Robby would reach for you.

Before Robby, you didn’t know what it felt like to be worshipped; to be craved and wanted so badly that they couldn’t wait for the moment they could touch you. The safety of trusting someone because they loved you without pretense allows you to be comfortable enough to be good, bad, weird, and everything in between.

“You’re my favorite person.” He’d told you this randomly, while you’d both been curled up on the couch. Your cheek pressed against his chest. You heard the slight change in rhythm before he spoke. It was an answer to a question you’d asked weeks ago. One he refused to answer because “What are we in junior high?”

You didn’t believe in fairytales or the idea of perfect relationships. You believed in what someone’s actions said about them when they tried to cover them up with words. You didn’t know what it was like to have someone choose you, all of you, until Robby.

Whenever he had the chance, Robby was always touching you - light traces of fingers that drew aimless doodles in your skin while he read. His hand glided across your back as he passed you in the kitchen or the hallways at work. Once Robby learned how much you loved having his hands on you, he found ways to use them all the time - in ways that made you feel secure and others that were far from innocent.

But out of everything, Robby always made sure you were taken care of and, most of all, loved.

Usually, when Robby departed from the house, he used his large frame to crowd into your space. Possessive hands snaked around your waist to pull you flush against him. Every time, like clockwork, you eagerly respond to his touch. Your neck already falling back just enough for his mouth to slate over yours.

Those memories of better days, days where you didn’t have to question if he still loved you, are what made the last day so hard. You stood there, silently hoping that he would turn around. That Robby would just stop putting in his air pods, looking everywhere but at you, and finally acknowledge you. You didn’t want your last fight to be what you remembered - the words you’d hurled at one another with tired vehemence the final thing you heard.

You just wanted him to love you like he used to. But the problem was, you weren’t sure if you could love him how you used to anymore either.

“I think you should take Kiara up on her offer, Michael. You need to speak with someone even if it isn’t her.”

“Jesus,” he huffed. A hand scrubbed at his face before latching behind his head. His eyes screwed tight as if he could simply blink the conversation away. “Here we fucking go again.”

“Yes, here we go again. We wouldn't have to keep doing this merry-go-round around the issue if you would just admit - “

“Admit what?” His voice rose in challenge, and it took every ounce of you not to return it. “You seem to want me to say I’m broken so you don’t have to be the only one.”

“That’s bullshit,” you scoffed, pushing your dinner plate further down the table.

You weren’t hungry anymore.

“It’s not bullshit! I’m not the only one in this room who won’t be honest with themselves.”

“That’s real rich coming from you, Michael. If you think that’s true, look me in my eyes and admit you don’t feel some type of way since he passed. And I never once fucking said that you were broken - “

“That’s the point! You don’t have to. I can see it in the way you look at me. The way you talk to me. It’s like no matter what the fuck I say you don’t believe me. You just want me to be depressed like - “

“Like what, Michael.”

The room went glacial cold. Your eyes turned to slits as you waited for him to finish his sentence. A piece of you prayed he didn’t because you didn’t know how much more you could take before you finally broke.

“Like you,” he sighed, voice defeated as if he hated saying it as much as you hated hearing it. “You haven’t been the same since -”

“Shut up.”

“- it happened and I’m sorry. I - I wish I’d been there - “

“I said shut up! Jesus, just stop talking!”

The venom in your voice was toxic. It had your arm lashing out and shoving the plate of food off the table. The sound of tableware clattering and glass breaking dimmed the flash of anger enough to be embarrassed at your outburst. You hadn’t meant to do it. Just like you hadn’t meant to do a lot of things since Adamson passed, since the pandemic, and…since you received the news.

It was written plainly in the silence held between you. The unspoken depression from two different spectrums left you both unable to help the other. Neither of you knew how to bridge the gap your stubbornness bred.

Doctors were historically the worst patients because of that very reason. Pride. You used to believe Robby and you didn’t share an ounce of it between you, but you’d been wrong. You forgot you were both human and flawed.

“I just want to help you, Michael. Please. Ever since Adamson passed and - and what happened - “

“He doesn’t have anything to do with what happened! What happened fucking happened because it’s nature. It’s - it just wasn’t our time. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up for something you have no control over. How many times have we told our patients this?” Robby looked up from his hands and you wished he hadn’t. His watery eyes were close to spilling; the tsunami of pain was all-consuming and when he whispered your name before he spoke again, you wanted to shatter. “You’re killing yourself from the inside out with this self-hatred.”

How many times have you been told that exact thing? It was an unfortunate natural process. It just ‘happened’. Every word is sterile and scientific which makes you feel less and less like a person. And what about the news that came after? Was that natural too?

Maybe you were the one who was broken.

“Adamson happened too, and you haven’t been the same since we lost him. You’re on edge more, Mike. You snap at work and home. You’re closed off. You’re so desperate to put it under the rug that we only focus on me? Bring up my faults so we can bury yours.”

A sneer pulled up his lips as he turned away from you. His eyes scan over the shelves and furniture in the room - looking everywhere but at you.

“You just want to help me? That’s what you keep feeding yourself but in reality, you just want me to be who I was before this. I don’t know if I can be that man again and when I tell you that, you act like a fucking child going around slamming doors.” Shame flushed up your face, turning your cheeks red with embarrassment. You’d done that and worse. You thought you could wait whatever this was out until it got better. But it wasn’t better. It was worse and you were so, so tired. “You want to focus on me but what about you?”

“You aren’t the only one hurting - that lost someone. You left me! You fucking left me to deal with it all on my own. Where the fuck were you when I needed you?”

“I’ve been right here with you!” Robby shouted back. “I’m right here with you, baby, but you don’t fucking see it. You won’t let me in.”

The tears you struggled to contain escaped in one shaky exhale. You carried around so much of your shame and guilt - tried repairing the cracks with quick fixes so Robby wouldn’t see because the last thing you wanted was pity. You didn’t want the confirmation that you were irreparably broken.

“But you’re not here. Are you? Not really.”

The earlier flash of rage was extinguished with each word. This job was a marvel and a curse. It took and took without forgiveness. Sometimes you’re fighting to save people who don’t want to be saved; who’ve never known the support and love they needed to believe they were more than their demons. Who wanted to succumb to a brief drop of loneliness in the ocean of a lifetime. Or you saw the ugliness that people did to one another and left you having an existential crisis if someone’s bad choice made their life unworthy of saving.

Robby dealt with all of these things daily. He shouldered them for every friend in the hospital. For every patient who needed the strength of his resolve and the care he delivered. He gave all that and more during the pandemic and now he’d given so much that there wasn’t much left to tend to himself.

Robby used to lean on you for just about everything. Sometimes, your talks were gradual - opening up little by little until everything was exposed. Other times, they came in bursts. A rush of words said too fast because if neither of you just ripped the band-aid off and said it, nothing would ever get fixed. Now all of that came to a screeching halt. You didn’t know what he was feeling anymore or thinking. He shut you out in so many ways. You tried to break through and failed.

You both stood at separate spectrums of grief and neither of you knew how to reach the other anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You hadn’t meant about your relationship. You wish you could’ve said that - informed him that the despair and betrayal of your own body left you in a place of purgatory. The pandemic stripping you bare and raw pressing salt into every wound. How was Robby supposed to love you if you didn’t know how to love yourself?

But it’s not how it sounded leaving your lips. It’s not how he took it as you watched his shoulders deflate. The emptiness that hollowed out his eyes in protection and left them empty as you felt.

“No one is forcing you to stay.”

You never did get to tell him you saw him - saw that he’d been there waiting for you to open up. He wasn’t who he was, but he’d still tried the best he could in whatever ways he could. In the end, you believed you deserved punishment.

Maybe that’s what losing Robby was - the universe's way of dishing it out for a wrong you never knew you committed.

It felt suffocating; your chest caved to create a black hole of grief that felt never-ending. You watched as the pandemic tore him down piece by piece - shredding him to ribbons. So many lives were ravaged by the virus with no way to combat it. You remembered the overwhelming, crushing feeling of seeing dozens of patients lining hallways because there were no more beds. Every doctor, nurse, RTs, and CNAs struggled to care for every patient and be with those in their final moments because the families couldn’t. It was chaos. It was frightening. It felt like it would go on forever. The last thing anyone expected was for Adamson to get sick. For the virus to infiltrate his body and claim his life.

Robby had run outside, tearing off his hazmat suit. Unable to breathe around the soul-crushing grief that constricted the air from his lungs. He’d crumbled like a house of cards as you held him in your arms, but he wasn’t allowed to grieve. He was a doctor, you were still a fucking doctor, and neither of you were allowed to grieve. You needed to compartmentalize; sew up the fraying edges of your grief and go back inside and be the doctors everyone needed.

It was agony watching what came after. The way he struggled day and night to get any amount of rest while wrestling with his demons. The guilt kept him up at night and woke him screaming covered in a cold sweat. Eventually, he stopped sleeping in bed with you all together. Slowly, you saw him less at home and only at work. You watched while the anxiety ate him alive and transformed him into someone you could barely recognize, and you felt helpless against it. At any moment, the pain in your chest would swallow you whole.

And just when you thought, given a few months, you’d be able to find new joy in your life, it all came crashing down again.

So, you waited in that hallway. You waited for any sign that you should stay. You waited to see if you’d change your mind and begin to be honest with him. You waited for him to at least turnaround and look at you - for the recognition of the life you’d had months before to flash in those beautiful brown eyes. You waited in the hallway even after he’d left - waited for your tears to dry before you went upstairs to pack up your old life and find a new one.

You’d expected a lot of possibilities when Gloria brought you back down to the Pitt. You considered all the variables and the endless amount of what-ifs. It felt inevitable for you to end up in this very situation; him being the attending, in charge of the Pitt, and overseeing a case. The only thing you hadn’t accounted for was how the heat of his body pressed against your back made you forget how to breathe. Your mouth suddenly dry and your heart pounded violently against the ache in your chest.

Was Robby even aware of what he was doing? You could practically feel him take a breath he was so fucking close. Fuck, you wanted to scream and you almost did when you felt his gloved hand move across your lower back as he stepped around you. The old desire to touch you every chance he could was a surprise to you both when the reflex made its appearance. It must have been a mistake - a subconscious tick because old habits can die hard. It was the only thing that made sense. You fought the urge to mouth a, ‘What the fuck?’ at him. Did he even realize what he’d done? If he did, he was damn good at hiding it.

You needed to get your shit together. You brought him in here for your patient.

“Allan,” you began to introduce him and found you had to clear the warble from your voice. “Allan, this is Dr. Robby. He’s the attending doctor here in the emergency department. Robby, this is Allan and his mother, Rebecca.”

“Pleasure to meet you both. Now, Allan, why don’t you tell me what brings you in today?”

Once Robby agrees to your use of wire cutters to remove the key rings, conferring on medications during and after a take-home prescription, you immediately go to work. It took a few extra minutes of explaining to Allan (and his very traumatized mother) that you would be as gentle as possible, but the longer the key rings stayed on to cut off circulation, the higher the chance of necrosis would occur. You also promised him lidocaine to numb the area. Lots and lots of lidocaine.

You’d just signed off on discharge paperwork and spoke with him one last time about maybe just buying what he wanted to try next time. It was not only the safer option but probably more fun and less mortifying than having his mom bring him here.

You stepped out of the room and made your way up to Dana’s desk. While you’d been in the room doing minor surgery to metal keys, you’d heard a couple of new traumas that arrived through the ambulance bay. The one that unfortunately had stuck with you was the nineteen-year-old kid who’d been found unresponsive. Nineteen. Two years older than Jake.

For years you tried to make sense of how it was possible to become so attached to a son that wasn’t even yours. You didn’t give birth to Jake and missed the beginning stages of his life. You met him at his ninth birthday party and thought he would automatically hate you. Instead, he asked you questions about superheroes and if you had a favorite wrestler.

The relationship between Robby and Jake’s mom had been hard to navigate. Harder when you came into the picture because all mothers are understandably weary of unknown variables and people around their children. You did your best not to step on any toes and bided your time until Jake’s mom trusted you - felt comfortable enough - with your presence to allow Jake to stay over when he asked Robby.

You went on field trips as a chaperone when Jake asked, helped him build science fair projects, and tried your best to play basketball with Jake and Robby. You were better at three-pointers and playing horse than the original two - on - two. Jake chose to see you as another parent. His mother decided to let you be a part of his life and knowing Robby, loving Robby, brought you all together. You were forever grateful to both of them for it.

But seeing cases like this one - hearing about them - caused a cold sweat to spread across your body. Jake was a good kid - a smart kid but even smart kids could make mistakes.

You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and continued moving towards where Dana sat front and center in all the chaos. She was currently on the phone but her eyes tracked you as you made your way towards her.

Quickly, you unlocked your phone and went to your messages. You tapped on Jake’s name.

Mom v2.0 ~ Hey kiddo just checking in. Everything good?

You were about to lock the phone and put it away when his reply came back at lightning speed.

JakeTheRipper ~ Hey! Ya everything’s 👍🏽 I’m coming by the hospital later to get tickets from dad. Be cool to see you. JakeTheRipper ~ if you can! JakeTheRipper ~ if you have the time!

You and Jake never lost contact with one another after you and Robby split. It’d been his golden rule and who were you to break rules, especially golden ones? But you hadn’t seen him since he was fifteen. The last weekend you spent housed up in the house - his teenage self picking up a dark cloud stole the warmth from the home.

He’d asked to see you a few times since then but you were always busy. Always unsure if you were overstepping. But you were here now and he said he was coming here anyways so -

“What’s got you smiling all goofy?”

Dana’s question sent you crash landing back into the present. You were standing directly in front of her seated position, phone in one hand and wire cutters in the other while a perfectly arched brow did most of her questioning.

“Ugh, it’s nothing,” you replied, tucking the phone back into your pocket.

God, you were acting suspicious. Be natural. Be cool.

“You got a boyfriend or something?”

“Oh, god no, no, no.”

You were throwing in way too many no’s.

You felt like you were under a microscope when Dana’s eyes narrowed in on you like this. A cold sweat was going to happen any minute now.

“There aren’t that many things that make women smile at their phones like that.”

“Memes make people smile at their phones because they’re witty and funny. A good deal on a pair of shoes, funny videos of animals, or cute babies…anyway,” you mumbled before handing the wire cutters over the top of her computer. “Ron the maintenance guy should be coming by to pick these back up. If I miss him, can you let him know I appreciate him letting me borrow these?”

“Did you tell him what they were gonna be used for?”

“Oh, god no, and please Dana don’t tell him I used it to cut key rings off a patient's penis.”

“You mean he didn’t know why you were asking for them?” She laughed. Dana fucking laughed and it eased the tension from your shoulders tenfold. “I think at least owe the man some kind of lunch, don’t you?”

“Ugh, well, I disinfected them. Twice? Does that count?”

Another bark of laughter came as she shook her head in disbelief. She was still smiling when she reached out and took the cutters from your hand.

“Aren’t you supposed to be up in triage?” Langdon asked, sliding in on your right.

“Did you come all the way over here from your spot in hell to ask me that, Langdon? Are we slacking off today or willfully choosing to be lazy?”

Langdon shot you a sarcastic smile before he reached over to grab a tablet and handed it over to the med student who’d been with him before. Her dirty blonde hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail and her glasses gave her an almost childlike demeanor that was only enhanced by the excited way she bounced on her heels. Her hand shot across the counter in way of introduction.

“Melissa King - everyone calls me Mel.”

She was so eager - sweet - that you almost warned her to be cautious in the Pitt. It tends to eat the good ones alive.

“Dr. Fullerton,” you replied, taking her hand briefly. “I remember you from earlier. Hopefully, Langdon is taking care of you and isn’t showing you what not to do during a residency?”

“Ha, that’s very funny, Fullerton. How long has it been since you’ve been down here? You’ve probably gone soft with all the babying they do upstairs.”

“Out of the two of us, Langdon who is still in their last year of residency and who is a board-certified doctor?”

“You know what I smell?”

“I don’t smell anything,” Mel interjected, thin lines of confusion creasing around her eyes.

“No, I don’t mean - it’s metaphorical, Dr. King.”

“Okay, kids that's enough. Robby sees you two both standing here bickering, you'll both be in trouble.”

“Is that your way of telling us to go back to taking care of the board?” You asked.

“No, it’s my way of telling you both to get the hell away from my station. Now shoo both of you,” Dana retorted, using a stack of patient demographics to swat at Langdon and you.

“I’m going, I’m going,” you surrendered, backing away.

You were mid-turn when an enthusiastic wave from Dr. King was thrown your way.

“It was nice to meet you. Again,” she excitedly called after you.

She seemed too pure to have picked the Pitt. Everyone had their reasons for doing residencies here and, hell, you believed med students should be mandated to work at least one full rotation in an emergency department to truly learn. Mel, however, made you just want to protect her from the harsh realities of a place like this. It could be soul-crushing and there is no way to prepare yourself for when it happens.

“Likewise, Mel. If you ever want a break from ER Ken you’re more than welcome to come find me.”

“She’s good where she’s at, Fullerton.”

You didn’t bother giving a retort; you and Langdon could keep up the verbal back and forth the whole shift. You were only a couple feet away when you heard Dr. King state, “She seems nice.”

“Yeah. She’s alright. A little unhinged, but alright.”

Each word had been pulled like teeth from him; admitting you weren’t the absolute worst thing in the world, or at least inside this hospital, you knew made Langdon grumpy. Those few words left a sour taste in his mouth admitting anything nice about you, but it was enough for you because it meant one thing for you. There was hope that today wouldn’t be a total disaster after all.

It was a busy morning but mornings were always busy in the Pitt. There shouldn’t have been a reason the hum of panic constantly buzzed behind his ears. It only grew louder the closer he got to the pediatrics wing of rooms. The bright colors blazed out into the hallway; all greens and blues. Animal motifs meant to instill comfort instead summoned what he’d struggled to keep buried.

Dana already caught him helplessly trapped outside the room. The memory of that day - the last day with Adamson - flashed vividly like every nightmare he’d had of that day since. Robby had been so engrossed in the recollection of monitors blaring and Princess shouting for him to do something, “Robby we’re losing him,” that he wasn’t able to shake the feeling of dread off.

He knew Dana noticed. The way her eyes craned over his shoulder to take in the peds room was the only confirmation he needed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. When do I ever make you worry about me?”

“Are you kidding?” Dana chuckled. “All the time.”

They both knew he was lying. Robby never did confirm it when Dana asked, but he didn’t need to. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be fine or even close to simply being okay. Even after four long years, Robby found he still sought Adamson’s advice. Moments in the Pitt he swore he could hear him directing the room; asking questions to challenge Robby because “a doctor never stops learning.”

He missed being able to confide in him. The expectant look on Adamson’s face when Robby asked about situations in his life where he was at a loss of what to do.

Robby needed to change the subject - and lead Dana down a safer path of questioning that he could handle. If he could keep himself away from that room he should be okay. He could handle you being here and everything else if he didn’t have to step foot in that room. He should’ve known there was no safe space where Dana wasn’t going to bring you up. Robby could see the hard exterior she tried to keep up to defend against your presence was beginning to crack.

Maybe so was his.

“The two of you looked cozy earlier.”

“Dana, you know I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her voice oozed a playfulness that edged towards teasing.

“But there is no universe where you and I talk about this.”

“I was just making an astute observation.”

“I would appreciate it if you maybe observe somewhere else. We have eleven more hours of this shift to go and I’d rather not have to spend it talking about her.”

“Yeah, because you’re allergic to talking in general.”

“Well, that’s just not true. I’m allergic to people I don’t want to have a conversation with,” he pointed out.

She tried to shake the smile off her lips. Her palm lightly smacked at his shoulder which caused his smile to rise in response.

“You’re such a smart ass.”

“I try my very best,” he mumbled as he leaned down towards the computer.

He’d just grabbed his badge to swipe past the electronic monitor to unlock the computer, placing his arms to brace on either side of the keyboard when he felt her presence eclipse to his right. Dana was leaning over the counter divider. Her arms hanging over waiting for him to look back up at her.

“Something else I can help you with, Dana?”

“Just wondering if you’d be more talkative if you knew Fullerton was all smiles earlier. She had her phone out. Seemed to be textin’ someone.”

Robby could feel his eyes narrow in on her position. He shouldn’t care - he shouldn’t fucking care - because you were the one who left. What did he care if you were dating anybody? It’s been two years. The chances of you dating were astronomically high; shit, he’d attempted it a while after you left. Instead of taking care of himself because, “You look like shit,”, as Dana lovingly told him, he’d done what 95% of the population does: he ran from it.

Heather Collins was an R2 at the time. She was funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful, and he’d fucked it up in record time. All the things you’d thrown at him about being shit at taking his own advice, hiding from his problems, were true. When things took a turn he’d lock up. Collins noticed the cracks and mentioned them enough he countered with argument after argument. The worst part was he was harboring a love for someone else that was gone. You can’t love someone else, give them the love they deserve, when you’re buried ten feet deep for someone else. She deserved better than to be a rebound - better than what Robby could’ve given her because no matter how amazing she was he still thought of you. Heather deserved more than to be a body to bury his sorrows in. He tried dating again a year later but that had also gone up in spectacular flames. Robby couldn’t keep the ghost of you from haunting him.

He tried to act like he didn’t care - that Dana’s words weren’t threatening his last proper brain cell for the day. By the look on Dana’s face, he did a shit job of hiding it. So what if you were with someone? He shouldn’t even care.

“Did she say who she was talking to?”

Why the fuck did he ask that? Dana didn’t necessarily answer him as much as she chose instead to grin. A silent, ‘Gotcha’ flashing that he absolutely hated. He’d walked right into it.

“Surprise, surprise. I thought she’d be one of your allergies.”

A huff of laughter rushed past his lips that he tried to cover up with a cough.

“You’ve got a mean streak in you.”

Dana patted his arm before she retracted back inside her bubble. The phone went off in record time to pull her safely away from having to hear him complain. She gave him one last thumbs up before her back faced him, completely ending the conversation and forcing him back to the open file on the screen.

He enjoyed the quiet for all of a millisecond before he heard -

“Hey, fruitcake.”

God, take him now. Robby chose to ignore her. Ignore her like every other time -

“Hey, I’m talking to you, fruitcake.”

“Myrna,” he bit out. “I told you a hundred times my name is Dr. Robby.”

He expected her to argue about nicknames and their usage. It’s usually what happens when he advises her that maybe she’d get better treatment if she’d use real names. That isn’t what he got.

“Do you wanna see my vagina?”

Robby’s eyebrows ran towards his hairline as he replied, “I've already seen it. And once was enough, thank you.”

“And what about mine?”

Robby knew that voice. He’d know it in any lifetime, through space and time; Robby would know your fucking voice anywhere. He turned to his left and there you were with your elbows and back resting against the counter. You’d leaned close enough so that your words were for him and him alone.

Robby wanted to humor himself that it had to be his imagination. The flash of something dark, ravenous, and achingly familiar he saw in your eyes must have been his subconscious going haywire. It wasn’t until he watched recognition dawn of what you said, the way you’d fucking said it, crest over your face that Robby knew he hadn’t made it up.

The heat of embarrassment had you straightening up beside him. He could see it in the light tinging of your cheeks, the anxious beat your fingers rapped on the counter. You weren’t looking at him now but he wished you would.

And then the memory of Dana saying you’d been caught smiling at your phone reared its evil head.

Mine.

He couldn’t keep the word from forming in his head. You’d been his for so long and those words of yours meant to tease and force him to give you a response. Robby wanted to tell you that no, once wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

Mine.

The last few months of your relationship had ended in flames but the rest. What about the rest of the many years you’d spent together? They’d been spectacular. The best memories he had you were a part of. The attempts at gardening and doctoring up sick animals. The way you’d dance to his records as you danced through every room while you dusted. The sounds of yours and Jake’s laughter mixing from the kitchen table going over homework.

He could remember the way your hands fisted the sheets as his hands hooked under your thighs to bring you closer to his greedy mouth. Your slick drenching his face, his beard, stubble - whatever phase he was in with or without facial hair. Robby loved it when you began to let go; body melting in his hands as your fingers wound themselves tightly in his hair to pull him closer, deeper. Robby could get drunk off your taste, the soft keening breaths that came ragged and shaking from your chest. How your body trembled as he worked each finger inside you until your back arched beautifully off the bed.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine….

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t fucking care, but he fucking did.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Fullerton?”

Robby grabbed the PPE gown from beside the table before he went to his full height. From this advantage, he could faintly make out the dying hint of a flush on your cheeks.

“I was talking here first, Sugar tits.”

You pivoted to glance around him and waved at Myrna who waved back with her middle finger.

“Myrna, always a pleasure. I think that’s my third finger wave today,” you muttered the last part to him.

“Dr. Fullerton.”

“Right, right. I wanted to see if I could borrow one of your med students. Central 3 and 4 have two patients, males twenty-three and twenty- four in age. Both were at the same BBQ and believed dumping liter fluid on a fire was a good idea.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, they look like human marshmallows right now. One has second-degree burns while central 4 has, what I believe, might be second degrading into three.”

“Do you need me to come take a look?”

It felt like a reasonable question. He was attending and usually, all consultations like this went through him for an opinion. He’d just done it with her half an hour ago. It shouldn’t be a big deal -

“Oh, no, no. Thanks but I think I got this.”

“Oook. If you got it, why do you need a med student?”

“I figure it would be a good teaching moment for one of them on treatments of burns and how to assess the level. I’ve already called surgery for a consultation on central 4. Plus, there’s no available nurse to help me attend to both.”

Robby tried to keep the scoff from coming out. He shook his head and went to move around you, shooting Myrna an irritated glance that hopefully she caught as his nonverbal way of telling her he didn’t want to see her the rest of the day.

“So, you are saying you need help, you just don’t want my help.”

God, he sounded like a petulant child. By the look on your face, you’d agree with that statement.

“Robby, I know you’re busy - “

“I’m not busy,” he cut in.

“Robby, the parents of the OD teen are here.”

Dana came from behind the station, her eyes glancing between the two of you.

“Okay, park them in Trauma 1. He’s not back from CT yet. I’ll be there in a minute. You can borrow Whitaker,” he directed at you.

He had to move. There was still the floating face patient in trauma 2. He needed to find out if they’d been able to prep for a safe intubation and if not, they were doing a solid alternative. Langdon was there with both interns. Robby could trust him. He should’ve been more worried about himself because as he passed by you on his way to trauma 2, he felt his body dip towards you. The jealousy rushed up like a lance piercing his heart as he remembered Dana’s words. The idea that you’d moved on, that someone else had taken his place, threatened to remove whatever sensible bit of himself he had left.

“And don’t pull your phone out on the floor. It’s unprofessional, and I won’t have it in my department. You can step outside like everyone else.”

You didn’t look at him as he spoke. You didn’t even snap at him or give him any hint you’d heard him. Robby knew you’d heard him, but your eyes were solely focused behind him. It was the spot he’d just been standing - the spot Dana now occupied.

There should’ve been some satisfaction in watching Dana’s face crumble like this. All the earlier anger dissipated back into a playful, if not biting, rhetoric that gave you some hope the day wouldn’t be your version of Dante’s Inferno.

But Robby’s comment…

Only one person saw you on the phone earlier. One person who’d asked about who you’d been talking to while you’d read Jake’s texts. You’d been so ready to shout at Robby that it was Jake, his son. It might have given you some retribution but why should you have to explain anything to him? He was acting like a jealous significant other, not a damn boss. The way he’d pressed himself against you earlier; touching you as if half-possessed.

You weren’t helping, were you? The minute the words had leapt from your mouth you’d wished you could take them back. You shouldn’t have said it and yet, you did. You fucking did and now the wanton look he’d given you was forever etched into your brain.

You were an idiot.

An even bigger idiot for thinking Dana would’ve left anything between you.

“You just couldn’t help yourself. Could you?”

“Kid - “

Dana took a step forward ready to explain. You didn’t have it in you to listen. When the phone went off in her hand you found your way out and took it.

“Do you know where I can find Whitaker?”

“He had a patient around the North-East hallway.”

“Thanks.”

You heard her call your name. Not Fullerton, not kid. Dana said your name and for the first time today, you wished she’d stuck to calling you an asshole.

You followed Dana’s instructions and moved toward the hallways. You weren’t sure how long you’d be searching for him, but luckily it wasn’t long. On the opposite side of the hall, you watched him wheel a patient out of 17 North and into the halls. Whatever the patient said stopped Whitaker in his tracks - both grateful and surprised all at once. You waited a few minutes longer for him to enjoy a good moment with his patient (because sometimes it didn’t always go like that) before you made your way around to get to him.

“Whitaker!”

“Uhm, oh yes. Hi, Dr. Fullerton.”

“I have a couple of burn patients in Central 3 and 4; second to third degree. Dr. Robby said you’d be able to assist if that’s alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I would. That’d be awesome. Thank you.”

He was so earnest it was endearing. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go remove some dead tissue.”

You took the lead in showing Whitaker to the rooms. You were trying to make polite conversation. It only seemed fair to take a small interest in what motivated a young doctor to get into the field of medicine, of saving lives. Basic questions such as those were able to tell you a lot about who someone was and if they held enough compassion to be around people during their most vulnerable times.

You did try your best to keep your attention trained on the work. It was your turn to be a teacher, and you wanted to do it well. You didn’t have an excuse why you looked toward Trauma 1. No excuse at all why you watched Robby speak to the kids' parents looking defeated before they’d even begun. There was even less of an excuse for when Robby looked away from them, his eyes searching until he found yours, that should’ve made you want to forget these last two years. You hated the old impulse to run to him - to care for him. The last time you’d seen Robby looking desperately close to combusting like this it’d been a few doors down standing outside pediatrics.

Looking at him now, Robby seemed ready to quit, and it wasn’t even close to 8:30.

______________

As always, thank you all so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

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Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange

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moonlessnight14 · 12 hours ago

Text

The tension is so good! I wonder how long they'll last before one of them snaps...

Residuals Pt.2

Ongoing Series

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

Warnings: Language, sexual themes (it's the patient)

A/N: So, this chapter is much beefier than the last. To anyone new here and my writing - I'm a long-winded bitch, so I apologize in advance 🤣. This chapter also uses slight dialogue from the show. There is a scene in this I took from my time working in the ER during the 2020/2021 pandemic. 100% this actually happened. It was traumatizing lol. Thank you, guys, so much for taking such an interest in this fic! For showing so much love and loving on this show along with me (and Dr. Robby lol) because it's fantastic and deserves all the fics and all the love! I truly am grateful and hope that you enjoy this chapter. Much Love, Jenn 🖤

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me. Thank you for putting up with me lol. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word count: 7524

Previous I Next

7:00 AM - 8:00 AM

You’d been staring at the screen for what accumulated into an eternity in the ED. The longer you kept staring, kept from just choosing one of the damn patients on the board, the bigger the risk grew that Dana would notice.

Or worse - Robby.

If Dana took notice of you willfully choosing to stare off into premeditated space, you were willing to bet your firstborn she’d reprimand you first and tell Robby second. She'd shoo you away from her desk with a fervor usually saved for psych patients, as if you had cooties. With your current calculations on how this morning started, either option would be unpleasant.

Whether any of you liked it or not, you were here, and that meant one glaringly - neon sign bright - reality. Robby was going to be your fucking boss for the next twenty-four hours. And not in a kinky way. At least, not the way either of you used to enjoy.

From the moment the briefing ended, the disdain at your presence made it painfully clear that you were not welcome. Everyone dispersed in true manic speed to meet the batshit energy that constantly swirled inside the Pitt. It was the place that kept on giving even when you politely asked to be put in time out - because damn you needed just a moment to get your shit together. But the ER was in its own solar system, and it required everyone who walked inside to be ready for whatever was thrown their way. You didn’t get a say - weren’t allowed to say no or ‘hard pass’, on cases that came flowing in and what dictated an emergency. You were either ready or you weren’t. You either made it or you cracked.

There wasn’t any damn structure here. Just spontaneity with a dash of madness but, in that madness, greatness could be born. Adamson always said you never knew what kind of doctor you were - the depths of your compassion - until it was tested in the blood, sweat, and fire of the Pitt.

You’d been tried, tested, and by the end knew exactly what kind of doctor you were. What kind of doctor you strived to be - like Adamson. Just like Robby. But it’d been two very long years since you’d been able to call this madhouse home. The ease of set-timed patients with a patient history readily at your fingertips had spoiled you. Every question that needed to be asked without actually asking was answered and waiting just for you to see. Pre-existing conditions or possible new ones with known side effects were readily available for you to view.

So, yeah, you were panicky - terrified - about heading out onto the floor with a thousand unknowns. It wasn’t helping that Perlah and Princess hadn’t greeted you with more than a sneer and an eye roll that’d impress your fifteen-year-old niece. Robby and his flock of med students bounded off to make rounds that lasted less than three minutes before rapids began flowing through the ambulance bay. With any luck, you’d have one solid minute to look over the board, dissect what room held the most viable case to close, and head there.

Just jump right back in and pray you didn’t fall flat on your face.

The numbing sensation that resonated earlier in your chest returned with a vengeance. It didn’t start gradually, but collided against your nerves; exploding like a colony of ants that bit and tore leaving behind flashes of panic. You tried to lead the sensation out through your hands with a subtle shake. If you allowed the anxiety to fester itself it would no doubt become housed to you the entire shift.

You were better than this. You interned in the Pitt. You chose to stay after you’d obtained a full-time position. Two years away from this damn madhouse shouldn’t have affected you this strongly but that wasn’t accounting for outside stimuli…

But looking up at the large TV monitor, new names being added to the FirstNet system with brightly colored labels, it made you want to scream. It made you feel hopeless.

Fuck. You were better than this.

The background erupted with shouts from an incoming trauma. Two severe traumas from the sound of rushing feet and Robby’s directions. You didn’t hear most of what the paramedics relayed to Robby and the med students. You did, however, catch the word degloving as they rolled into trauma rooms one and two. You did not envy the med students.

You gave your hands one last shake as your eyes combed over the patient list one more time. You’d found a possible ingestion of a foreign object by a child in triage room eleven. Simple. Easy. You were already going over possible orders to give. An x-ray was to get a better picture if the obstruction was heading downward or if an endoscopy would be necessary for removal. What signs to look for as you assessed the child while making sure they were still alert and swallowing normally. You thought of how to introduce yourself when a familiar voice thrust you back into the present.

“Forget how to read a patient board, Fullerton?”

Dana’s words were pure ice. The years of friendship and playful jokes appeared to be burned to a pile of ash. You didn’t need to look at her to know she wasn’t regarding you with a friendlier expression than Perlah had moments before.

“No,” you sighed, your eyes finally dragged from the screen to her. “Just taking in the options.”

“This isn’t a buffet, in case you forgot. I know it runs easier and less dirty for you guys upstairs, but down here time is a precious commodity.”

“I am well aware of how simple consultations can turn serious, Dana.”

“Oh, you do,” she gasped in mock surprise. She’d removed her glasses from her nose and held them against her chest. “I guess that means you should stop wasting time and do your job. Don’t want your Press Ganey scores droppin’.”

“Not that I don’t love the pep talk, Dana. I’m just curious, are you going to be riding my ass this hard the whole shift?”

The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. The ears of every available RN and technician who sat around Dana’s nursing station no doubt heard. The verbal back and forth so early in the morning was beginning to give you whiplash.

“I don’t know, sunshine is there a reason you think I shouldn’t? You know,” she began, her body involuntarily inching closer. Her shoulder leaned in closer so her barbed words could sink deep enough to wound. “What a surprise to learn that this whole time - the entire fucking two years you were gone - you’d simply been up-fucking-stairs.”

It was in those last few words you saw it. It was so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t dialed in. No matter what Dana, or anyone else, said to you today, it would never compare to the carnage you’d left behind with your silence. The pain of seeing the hurt you’d left behind, sharp and unforgiving, was like a lancet; slicing through the tough hide you’d prepared for the day.

“Dana -”

Shit, you did not need your voice to crack. You did not need to crack.

Unluckily for you, she wasn’t in the mood to hear from you. A hand rushed up to brush off whatever weak attempt at placating her she knew you would try and send her way.

“I don’t want to hear it, kid. Months I was worried sick about you. Just to find out you chose to forget we even existed down here. A literal ghost walking back into our lives right when we’ve just about healed. You’re a real asshole, Fullerton.”

She lifted the glasses back to rest on the bridge of her nose. The coolness of her stare reminded you - if her final words didn’t - that you weren’t a welcome sight in the Pitt. Your presence threw off what little harmony they coveted, the family dynamics, and you knew she would fight to preserve it - to protect Robby - and everyone else in the process.

Your tongue pressed against the side of your cheek. A weak balm to cool the warring wave of emotions that rapidly replaced the anxiety that moments ago threatened to shatter you into embarrassing little pieces. Now you only felt like shattering for an entirely different reason.

Dana tore her gaze away from you and answered an incoming phone call. Whatever emotions she contended with were conveniently pushed down because she had a job to do. So did you. You found yourself wanting to say to hell with today; with Gloria and all her standards. You hadn’t agreed to be fucking public enemy number one.

It didn’t matter how anyone else saw you. What mattered right now was the glaringly obvious pain you’d caused to someone who was the Pitt’s raining surrogate mother. Who’d checked in on you, and brought extra food from home because she miraculously knew you’d forgotten yours. A friend that invited you to her family’s Christmas Eve dinner your first year as an intern because you didn’t have family to celebrate with. The woman who’d held you when you’d lost your first patient and scolded you about smoking cigarettes even though she smoked herself.

You wanted to be stubborn. To wait for her to get off that damn phone so you could try and explain, but really what could you say? It wasn’t just Robby you left. You’d chosen to abandon ship with all of them aboard a sinking ship. They never even knew they needed life jackets in the first place.

The cool stare of the nursing staff made your back itch. You needed to get away and get back to why you were here. What you were damn good at doing. Clearing your throat, you made your way around the nurses' station. The stride of your steps was suspiciously close to turning into a jog. Although, you’d never admit that out loud. The sooner you could get to the patient's room the more normal this day would be.

“Holy shit, Fullerton? Is that you?”

The chipper tone and the laughter behind it had warning bells going off in your head in a matter of minutes. You only knew one surgeon who took glee in other people’s discomfort.

Yolanda Garcia, the resident pain in the ass at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, beamed at you like the cat who was dangerously close to eating a new canary. You had a not-so-sneaking suspicion you were the canary in this scenario.

“I don’t know, Garcia does it look like me? It’s too early for you to be hallucinating.”

“Does Robby know you’re here?”

Oh, she had to be eating this up. The sheer mayhem she knew this would cause - psychologically speaking - must have been making her toes curl. She was beaming, practically euphoric from the very thought. Her feet were no doubt burning to run and tell him as if he didn’t already know.

You tried to sidestep around her obnoxiously grinning form only for her to shadow your movement.

“It’s great to see you haven’t lost that dream of auditioning for the Wicked Witch of the East, Yolanda.”

“Robby is going to flip when he hears about this.”

“Great. Why don’t you run along now and tell him,” you quipped while patting her arm. “I have patients to attend to.”

“I bet you do.”

This time when you moved to sidestep her, Garcia didn’t make any move to follow. No doubt too busy riding her broom to be the harbinger of doom all over again for one specific unfortunate soul.

“Are you aware that Fullerton is here? Just walking around the Pitt attending to patients?”

It shouldn’t have come as a shock that once Garcia saw you, she’d use you in any capacity to rile him up. Hell, Robby was willing to bet the minute she’d noticed you - whether walking or inside a patient room - Garcia would’ve encroached on your space. The two of you historically had one of the worst feuds Adamson said he’d seen between interns in years. It didn’t surprise him that even after you’d both secured your jobs within the hospital it never ended.

What did surprise him was how breezily she asked her questions. She hadn’t even taken five steps into trauma one before she fired each one off in his direction. His hands crossed his body to grip his shoulders. He needed something to steady himself and each finger that dug into the meat of his biceps was all he needed to help keep him centered. Keep his head in this room with this patient and not somewhere else.

“Yes, Dr. Garcia I am well aware she is here.”

He watched the exchange between Collins and Garcia and nodded his approval at Collin’s when she stood her ground and called for a popliteal block instead of morphine.

“Where’s the next guy?”

“Next door. He’s a bit worse.”

This was something he could do. Something his mind could piece together and work around. Robby knew medicine. Saving lives wasn’t the hardest part of his day - it was having to try and make sense of his own that held that prize.

Garcia was in the middle of giving one last instruction of what she wanted before she fully followed him into the room. Dr. Mohan and a med student, Santos, were in the process of intubating Mr. Wallace.

“How do you feel about that?”

Robby had been so laser-focused watching them place the tube that he hadn’t heard Dr. Garcia the first time. So, of course, she asked again.

“Feel about what?”

He was under the impression they were focused on the patient. He should've known better when it came to Garcia. She was relentless until she got what she wanted.

“Come on, Robby, let’s not be coy. You expect me to believe you don’t have big feelings about her being down here? You guys were engaged - ”

A split second. That was all it took for him to become glaringly aware of the room. Of all the people in it, they no longer were singularly focused on the patient but split down the middle. While Garcia effortlessly watched over the med students and their progress, she equally watched him for any sign of a reaction.

He needed to put an end to her question before she overshared information that first-day interns had no business knowing. Robby found himself itching under the watchful gazes of staff. Princess in particular he caught glancing up from where she was handing over instruments.

“I don’t see how that information pertains to anything dealing with our patients, Dr. Garcia. How about we stay focused on the task at hand.”

Robby saw the smirk on her face. A dog with a bone. That’s what Garcia was going to be like all fucking day because she was just eating this up.

He put himself back in motion - being the watchful attendee as Dr. Mohan successfully placed the intubation tube.

“I’m in!”

“Good! Well done.”

Robby could do this. He could be a doctor. He could be the attendee overseeing and teaching others. He could do this. He could do this. He listened closely as Dr. King checked for the patient’s medical history - there was none. He listened to Yolanda give off medication to administer before shipping Mr. Wallace up to CT for a scan. Once Robby was sure everything was moving smoothly, he moved around the foot of the patient’s bed to stand next to Princess.

“Do me a favor,” he asked gently, “Swap out with Jessie for me, would you?”

Their degloving patient screamed in a language no one knew but - Robby was hoping - Princess would know. He was following behind her when a familiar - and unwelcome voice - called out behind him.

“Dr. Robinavitch. Do you have a moment?”

No. He would never have another fucking moment for Gloria. She effectively used up every last moment he had left to spare when she dragged you down here. Robby was barely holding on to what small pieces of sanity he had left. He didn’t need any more shit to deal with before 7:30 am.

“Ugh, I’m a little busy right now, Gloria. One sec.”

He meant no fucking seconds but he still had to play nice, right. Robby was never good at playing politics. Adamson told him countless times it was the unseen added responsibility of an attending. The constant hounding from the administration staff and CEOs demanding doctors and nurses carried more than just keeping people alive.

Gloria followed him through the rooms and stood at the side. Her presence was a constant reminder to him that she wasn’t going to leave empty-handed.

Robby did all he could to monitor the med students’ and his residents as they made their assessments. When Princess notified him she couldn’t figure out the language, Robby took it as a small win to allow him to grab language services, giving him a few seconds to breathe.

It was short-lived.

By the time the officer walked in, Gloria had her fill of being on the back burner. She wouldn’t be ignored any longer and they both knew Robby was no longer needed. His residents’ had both patients stabilized and were finishing up preparing them to begin proper treatments. It left him the odd man out. It left him having to take a walk with Gloria.

The walking and talking was about metrics - Press Ganey scores. The endless bitching about low numbers that couldn’t be fixed without proper staffing was affecting patient satisfaction. It was easy for Gloria to pin the poor numbers on Robby, Abbot, and the entire Pitt staff. Easier to claim they just weren’t already busting their ass hard enough instead of admitting they were short-staffed in every department. That their metrics and data issues of force-fed shitty scores could be solved simply by hiring more nurses - paying better wages.

But everything Robby ever said - tried to tell Gloria until his vision reddened - fell on uncaring ears.

After everything he tried to tell her again all she latched onto was when he used the word “Pitt” instead of the official term of an emergency department. Derogatory. That was what she called it. Incompatible with institutional images.

Robby wanted to scream.

“You know what's incompatible with the institution's image? Me speaking to the media about people who code in our waiting rooms and people who get shitty care in our hallways waiting for an ICU bed for days.”

“I’ve heard about doctors who tried that and found themselves out of work.”

The thinly veiled threat wasn’t lost on him. The next words he would’ve liked to have said to Gloria in response, he was forced to cover up under a mirthless laugh.

“I know today is difficult for you - “

Fuuuck no. No. He was not doing this, especially not with Gloria. No matter what was said after this, Robby could feel the cusp of a storm riding at the frayed edges of his psyche. Knew it was there with each passing millisecond as he waited for it to implode.

“Everyday is difficult down here,” he bit in.

“Boarding is a nationwide problem. Your predecessor, Adamson, sure as hell knew that. Or wasn’t that something he taught you?”

And there it fucking was. His eyes snapped shut as he tried to rain in the tidal wave that roared in his ears. The cautionary warnings of a catastrophe brewing beneath the surface only grew louder.

It wasn’t even fucking 7:30 yet.

“Fuuuuck. Wow. Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Gloria would never back down. She was as strong and determined as anyone Robby ever met. Under different circumstances, he would’ve found her impressive, but this wasn’t any other circumstance than her riding his ass like she usually did.

Robby shook his head again to try and clear the black dots from his vision. It was just a brief shake. His eyes skimmed across each full bed that held a waiting patient. The universe must have perfect timing with fucking with him today. In that brief look, Robby watched you appear from behind a patient curtain. A reassuring smile on your face as you spoke one final time to the family of three inside before you closed it shut behind you.

You weren’t aware he’d seen you - that he was watching. It was a split second but live wires only needed one second to find a conduit to create sparks that burned down everything around it. He shook his head to try and clear it. His gaze landing back on Gloria with a new bone to pick.

“Don’t you think you should’ve cleared it with me before you brought Dr. Fullerton down?”

Before his sentence finished, Robby could tell by Gloria’s response she found his question idiotic.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware the board needed to clear every decision with you first, Dr. Robby. Also, weren’t you just complaining about the lack of staffing?”

“I was saying to hire more nurses - not to bring down a doctor from a whole other floor.”

“A doctor who has been with this hospital for close to a decade, trained by Adamson, and you, might I add. Look, I get it. You two have…history. Which is one of the main reasons we frown upon fraternization.”

“Please, spare me the HR talk, Gloria.”

“You need to put your big boy pants on, Dr. Robby. Fullerton is staying down here whether you like it or not. Don’t like it, can’t manage the crisis or who the hospital chooses to staff down in the ER, you can either step up or step aside.”

Gloria didn’t give him a chance to respond. She gave him one last condescending look, one Robby hoped he mirrored back to her, before turning on her heels and walking away. His eyes followed her for a few seconds, debating if he wanted to chase after her. Just hand over his badge and call it quits because the feeling of defeat weighed so damn heavy on his shoulders that he thought there might be a chance he’d never get back up.

Instead, he turned to look at the nursing station where Dana was casually walking. He knew she heard the entire conversation. He just didn’t want to have to repeat what just occurred or discuss it in the slightest.

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and was ready to return into the fray because he could handle that. He could help patients. He could be the doctor they needed. Before he even moved a step Dana motioned for him to come towards the desk.

The little devil on his shoulder warned him that he might end up regretting it.

“You know, Robby, I’ve been thinking - “

“Why do I feel like this isn’t going to go well,” he sighed.

Dana simply waved him off before she continued.

“You aren’t being very realistic on the whole, ‘stay in the triage only’ demand. You want her to just waste her skills by only helping out in the front?”

“She won’t be wasting them,” he huffed.

His hands reached out to grip the edge of the counter. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He did not want to have this conver -

“I think you’re just hoping that’s where she stays so you don’t have to see her.”

“One can dream, Dana.”

Robby did not trust - nor like - the coy look he received in response to his words.

“Who am I to get in the way of a man’s dream?” She replied, her eyes examining him in a way he hated. No one could hide anything from Dana. “Although, if I know you -“

“Dana -“ he warned.

“ - I would be willing to bet -“

“Dana, I’m being serious -“

“ - that you want to see her.”

“Now why would I want that?”

“You’ve been scanning the halls every few seconds since we’ve been talking, Robby. I don’t think you’re admiring the wonderful view of bodily fluids and stale piss scent.”

“Alright I’ve had enough of your idea of what I’m assuming is a half-assed pep talk.”

“Just…be honest with yourself, Robby. You both got a lot of unresolved tension with a dash of a shit ton of issues. Probably be better to hash it out when you can, and in private, instead of exploding in front of interns or patients.”

Robby wanted to question if she was willing to do the same. Would Dana be able to have you come to the desk for patient transfer information, for updates, calls; and for everything and not be as affected as he was? Robby remembered he wasn’t the only one who’d lost you - felt lost without you.

Robby wasn’t ready to confront you. Hell, he wasn’t ready to be alone with you and try to talk like civil adults. He wasn’t there yet and maybe he wouldn’t be. What he could be was an attending physician. He was great at that.

He could do that. Everything else would just have to wait.

Upon further examination of the little penny swallower in 7 North, he showed no signs of abnormal drooling or trouble swallowing. Palpitating the stomach didn’t have any response of abdominal pain or tenderness. With a few more questions about possible fever or trouble breathing, you felt confident in informing the family an x-ray would be needed just to verify the penny was making safe travels down to be…expelled. Easier and less invasive to exit that way.

You told them once you were notified the x-ray results were ready, you’d come to speak to them about the next steps. Hopefully, it meant they could be discharged in an hour or less. Which meant you had an hour to kill between waiting for the results. After reading the chief complaint on the board for 12 South, you thought it was a solid contender for a quickie.

As it turned out, it was the worst idea you’d had that morning.

When you pulled back the curtain and began the examination, what you’d found waiting for you under the dressing gown wasn’t on your bingo card. Actually, it should never be on anyone’s bingo card. Not ever.

You’d tried to come up with any other option than needing to consult Robby. He didn’t want to see you throughout the day - ever. It was a sentiment you equally shared with him and one you happily would’ve avoided except…you need the advice.

You need to present the case and get some solid, solid advice and, quite possibly, traumatize him in the process. You couldn’t be the only one subjected to seeing what you saw at freaking 7:37 in the morning. The only issue: you had no fucking clue where he was.

In true Pitt fashion, doctors were bouncing from one room to another. Already you’d heard McKay call earlier about needing a crash cart. When you’d run out to assist, Mateo, a newer RN you’d yet to meet let you know they had it - if you were needed they’d call.

You also knew that after 7:30, rigs would be bringing in elderly patients from the nursing homes. Another thing that would keep Robby busy and make it near impossible for you to try and consult with him. It was already going to be a battle just to keep him from turning and bolting in the other direction when he saw you.

This limbo of time left you a few minutes to run to the break room and take a blissful sip of your more than likely room-temperature coffee. It didn’t matter: caffeine was caffeine and you would take it any way you could get it. You just had to make one last pit stop before you disappeared.

You circled the nurses' station and found the exact nurse you were looking for sitting at one of the station’s computers. You had to hand it to Perlah, whether she saw you coming or sensed your presence like a disturbance in the force, she refused to glance up from the screen. Her eyes scan over something repeatedly as her fingers pound into the keyboard.

“Perlah, have you seen Robby?”

She still wasn’t looking up.

“Nope,” she replied, popping her P heavily.

“If you do see him, can you let him know I’m looking for him?”

“Nope.”

Your lips tucked into a grimace as your gaze peered over the edge of the computer. Perlah’s eyes didn’t lift once.

“Okay. Great talk.”

“Mhmm.”

Yeah, today was off to a really fantastic start.

There wasn’t any point hanging around the nurses' station for longer than was embarrassingly needed. You took the loss in stride, and by stride, it meant with a heavy sigh of defeat that had your feet dragging that defeatist attitude into the breakroom. Where you found one of Robby’s newest med students sitting at the break room’s table.

If you felt defeated, you weren’t sure what the proper word for her would be. She looked like a reprimanded child instead of a doctor. Her small frame was tucked in tight, like a fetal position with her forehead almost completely collapsing onto the table.

You weren’t able to catch any of their names earlier because you all but missed morning rounds. All you knew was she was one of Robby’s four interns and by far the youngest from the looks of it.

You eyed her warily as you moved towards the side counter. You’d stashed your coffee on top of the microwave and, once in hand, immediately brought it to your lips for a long pull.

Yep. It tasted as good as you thought it would.

The girl brightened once she realized you’d entered. Her nerves had her eyes darting down and back up again seemingly unable, or just not comfortable enough, to keep them trained on you.

“You’re one of Robby’s new med students today, right?” A timid smile rose and fell on her lips. You watched while she tried to make out if you were friend or foe. In an attempt to prove the former, you offered up a warm smile as you introduced yourself.

“Victoria Javadi - MS3.”

“It’s a pleasure, Dr. Javadi. May I ask what you’re doing in the breakroom instead of out in the Pitt?”

Your question was meant to be that: a simple question. No ulterior motives were waiting in the wings especially not the lecture Adamson gave you your first year when he caught you napping in here. But your simple question extinguished what little bit of life had lit up in the young girls’ eyes.

“I - I - my foot hit a gurney during Dr. Collin’s and Dr. Langdon’s demonstration on the degloving patient. It was nothing.”

It wasn’t nothing. Whatever happened was everything to her and not in the best of ways.

“That’s okay. It happens,” you shrugged. “I stuck myself with a needle once.”

“Really?” She asked, her voice timid and eyes unbelieving.

“Oh, yeah. My second year of residency too. The patient became combative while I was trying to administer the medication. The needle got jammed in my clavicle.”

You couldn’t believe it - it earned you a laugh. A nervous one, but it was still a laugh. You watched her as she brightened and dimmed; a constant flux of warring thoughts that you weren’t sure which side was winning.

“Whatever happens out there, don't let it get you down. We never stop learning as human beings or as doctors. Everyone out there has made a mistake in some capacity. Hell,” you snorted as you pushed off from the kitchenette’s counter, “Michael got hit with a bedpan once.”

“Michael?”

God, you’d gotten too familiar. Your memory of that day makes you have a Freudian slip into the days you called him more by his first name instead of his nickname.

“Oh, uhm, Dr. Robby. I’m going to head out but if you want, once you’re done here, you can come find me. I’d be more than happy to teach you.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure Dr. Robby is just having me take a break. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.”

You were tempted to tell her to come find you anyway, just in case. In case it didn’t go how she thought when she did finally check back in with Robby. Whether she verbally agreed to the offer or not, you hoped she knew it was still there. This was a teaching hospital after all.

Dana and Robby were walking back to the nurses' station. He’d just gotten one major surprise of finding out Javadi was Eileen Shamsi’s daughter and while he was all for surprises, that was one he'd like to have been prepared for.

Just like Dana had warned him, via Perlah, that you were looking for him he saw you standing there waiting. For him. He’d had all of five seconds to come to terms with the fact you were both about to have your first direct conversation in over two years. After two long years of no contact, it was about work.

He should’ve been happy it was just about work and not all the other bullshit that’d accumulated over those two years. He should’ve been fucking thrilled, but he wasn’t. Robby had so many questions - so many things he wanted to say. There was so much to say - to ask - and instead here he was preparing to discuss something easy.

Robby and Dana split up at the middle entrance. She returned to man her station in the center of this circus, while he came up to stand beside you leaning against the nurses' station. Your fingers tapped on the counter while your chin rested in your other hand.

“Something’s got you deep in thought.”

Robby knew the answer - knew it because outside of himself, outside of Jake, you were the only other person he knew inside out. Your fidgeting fingers, a tick he knew well, would tap out a Morse Code of a problem you were trying to solve. The faster the tapping, the closer Robby knew you were coming closer to asking for his opinion. You’d done this all the years you’d worked together and at home when you couldn’t decide if oregano was an okay substitution for Italian seasoning.

“Cock rings.”

“Excuse me?”

Robby could feel his eyebrows skyrocketing towards the ceiling. He rocked forward and back on his feet while the fists he’d buried inside his hoodie pushed against the fabric. His body subconsciously leaned towards you because, well hell, he couldn’t believe those two words just left your mouth.

He hated that his eyes caught the slight uptick in the corner of your mouth. The same corner where all your sarcastic ass smirks originated before they blackmailed their way to full-blown smiles. What Robby hated the most was how that small bit of familiarity took a sledgehammer to the carefully constructed walls he’d built. Fucking hated how his lips betrayed him by beginning to match the playfulness in your eyes. Loathed entirely how his heart did somersaults like he was a teenager again and the girl he’d crushed on just looked at him like he hung the stars.

“Cock rings.” You said it like it wasn’t the lewdest thing he’d heard all day. Simple. Matter-of-fact. “What do you know about them?”

This was fucking absurd, was all he could think.

“Uhm, why exactly is this your question?”

“Jesus, Robby, I’m not asking if you’ve used them. My patient in 12 South - was brought in by his mother for supposed swelling and pain in the inguinal region. Upon examination, found he attached sixteen key rings as makeshift cock rings along the length of his penis.”

His brain was still in the process of trying to comprehend the scenario you’d just fed him. That was his excuse for his eloquent reply, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I sincerely, with my full chest, wish I was. He’s traumatized. Mom’s traumatized. Shit, I’m traumatized, but I can’t figure out a safe alternative to removing the rings without causing damage.”

“What are you two discussing?”

Dana seemed to arrive at the best and worst possible moment because Robby didn’t know how to answer that question. Apparently, you had no problem informing her it was -

“Cock rings.”

Robby wondered if Dana’s stunned-to-silence expression was how he’d looked earlier.

“Well, shit, Fullerton this is the wrong department for that - “

“It’s my patient in 12 South. He decided to MacGyver himself some cock rings out of key rings.”

“What about MacGyver?”

Langdon slid a tablet back on the charging station - gaze laser focused between you and him. One of Langdon’s brows rose in silent question that Robby could only answer with a shrug.

“I’m sorry but who is MacGyver?” Dr. King asked, eyes shifting with expectation between the four of them for whoever would give up the answer.

“MacGyver’s an old 80’s TV show where the detective guy gets himself out of sticky situations by using random stuff.”

“Random stuff?”

“Anything eye level,” you quipped.

“Okay, anyways, Fullerton,” Langdon butted in, “What’s with your MacGyver patient.”

“Cock rings.”

Robby swore if he heard the words “cock” and “ring” come out of your mouth one more time he was going to fucking combust.

“Cock…rings?”

From how green Mel looked after stuttering out those words, Robby was sure he wasn’t alone in his earlier sentiment.

“They say it’s meant to enhance stimulation by restricting blood flow to the penis. I’m pretty sure men buy them because it enlarges the penis making it thicker with the possibility they’ll last longer in bed. You can currently pick one up on Amazon.”

“Jesus,” Dana mumbled.

“Really?”

Mel took a giant step closer to the edge of the desk. Her earlier discomfort was removed by the idea of garnering new information. The warning signs were blaring loudly when you whipped your phone from your scrub's back pocket.

“Oh, yeah and they come in different styles of materials - “

“Oookay.” Robby heard more than enough. If he was being honest with himself, fuck he hated how it bothered him hearing you talk so casually about sex toys. Toys he knew, for a fact, the two of you never used because he never needed the extra help. He knew every inch of your skin; how you liked to be handled and touched. Could recall with crystal clarity the plains of your body, mapped out to memory by his hands, by his mouth, and the way your breath would hitch just before a moan slid past your lips. If any asshole was touching you now - he wasn’t fucking doing it right. Clearing his throat - and his fucking head because Jesus H. Christ - he rested his forearms on the counter as he leaned closer to you. “Can we please move past showing my med students unnecessary sex toys?”

Robby was leaned down enough that the next time you looked at him it was direct. Direct and ready to challenge him every step of the way. A spark of some hidden remark you were burying back under your tongue brightened his favorite color of iris.

“Squeamish, Michael?”

And there it was again. That fucking smirk.

The use of his name falling so casually from your lips was a gut punch that stole the air from his lungs. He couldn’t stop the pinch of his eyes that narrowed in on you.

Did you just lean closer?

“Not particularly, no. I am, however, making sure we aren’t having an unnecessary conversation that doesn’t pertain to the care and wellbeing of our patients.”

“Sex education is fundamental education. Dr. King asked a question and I was teaching. This form of teaching does pertain to my specific patient who used a similar style of material usually made for this particular toy and, because of lack of education, thought key rings would be a supplementary alternative rather than a safer one. In showing Dr. King the types of materials safely used, and how obtainable and discrete it is to get one, she could educate someone else if she finds herself in a similar situation. Also, it’s 2025, Dr. Robby - we don’t kink shame here. We educate on safe sex practices.”

“Here, here!”

Robby shot a look in Dana’s direction and caught the wisp of a smile before she turned away.

“What a great speech just to cover up your kinks, Fullerton.”

Robby couldn’t tell if Langdon was trying to bait you on purpose just to rile you up or to get you to slip up. He got neither in return.

“You found me out, Frank.”

“Alright, enough.” He needed to cut in before you both went back and forth in an endless loop of who could irritate who the most. It was just a little over half an hour into the shift. “Dr. Fullerton, is there anything else?”

“Ugh, yeah. You still haven’t given me your opinion.”

“Because you never asked a specific question,” he reminded you.

He watched you consider his words; your lips rising into that small pucker. It was your tell that always let him know the debating was over and you were ready to listen to what he had to say.

A part of him hated the familiarity that rested between the two of you. Fuck, you hadn’t changed. Not in any way Robby was able to notice. It was barbaric; and painfully unfair that every mannerism and every glance housed years’ worth of memories. The most painful part of being reminded was the remembrance of loss.

Loving you had been as easy as breathing for him. Until it wasn’t.

The communication the two of you held so easily for years was torn apart during the pandemic. There was too much happening and not enough support mentally when the PTSD started. When the sleeplessness and hopeless feeling began to press a weight down on his chest - his existential crisis bloomed red and bright. Robby didn’t know how to stop the bleeding.

And then you…you’d…

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Your words cut through the fog in his mind, bringing him roaring back to the surface. “If you have a few moments, I would like to get your opinion on my patient and what you think will be best for this particular…situation.”

Robby pushed his arms off the counter. An arm swept out in the direction of the hallway south to indicate you could lead.

“Alright. Let’s see what you got.”

You clapped your hands together before you took a step forward. You hadn’t expected him to agree and the giddiness at winning a battle - or not having to fight one? - intoxicated him. A ghost of a smile tilting the edges of his lips unwillingly up.

The two of you’d made it about five feet before Myrna rolled herself from beside her latest haunt.

“Hey Sugar Tits, where are you skipping off to?”

“Myrna, I’ve expressly told you, my name is Dr. Robby.”

“I’m not talking to you, Fruitcake.”

“It’s me,” you whisper to him before returning your attention to Myrna. Never stopping. Always moving. “I can’t talk now, Myrna. I have a patient.”

“You always say you have a patient,” came her gruff reply.

It was the first hint her chipper demeanor was about to expire.

“Yes, because this is the ER; where I work.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice talking to you again too, Myrna.”

The walk to 12 South wasn’t quick enough. Every step and moment he spent walking beside you sent a flood of memories rushing to the surface. Robby didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to pretend you hadn’t shared a life - that he hadn’t spent time loving you in every way he could.

“Fruitcake, huh?”

Your words cut through his thoughts and, at first, he’d been grateful for the interruption. Grateful until Robby noticed the teasing gleam in your eyes. How he could spot the mischief that darkened your eyes and didn’t have enough time to prepare.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled.

He didn’t need to look to know you were side-eyeing him.

“It could be worse.”

“Oh, no I doubt that.”

“She could call you something less delicious.”

His hand was mid-reach to pull back the curtain. Your sentence pulled him short and forced him to look down at you like you’d just grown a second head.

“You think fruitcake is delicious? Nobody thinks fruitcake is delicious.”

“True, but it’s arguably better to be called a shitty holiday dessert than, say, something like cocksucker,” you shrugged, moving yourself around him to push behind the curtain.

He was supposed to be angry with you - and he was. He fucking was but…it was easy, almost too fucking easy, to forget the last few months that led up to what dissolved your relationship. It was easy to forget you’d both broken each other in different ways. Robby should’ve hated you, but he couldn’t, and, because of that, he was grateful you couldn’t hear the chuckle he tried to shake away before he followed in after you.

____________

As always thank you so much for your support and for reading! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Much Love,

670 notes · View notes

moonlessnight14 · 12 hours ago

Text

Residuals

Ongoing Series

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: So, I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to do this, but honestly, I’m such a sl*t for Noah Wyle and older men. I also kept running into there being just hardly any fics in general for this amazing show and so…here I am. Attempting to create my version with an OC that does have a last name (it's for the doctor purposes but also I hate that whole y/n, y/l/n stuff, ok? It just throws my ass off and throws me out of a story) and follows along with the episodes of the show. Idk how this will go or be received but I’m here wrecking myself. Much Love

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me and hyping me up when I feel like my shit is trash. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word Count: 3259

Next I

7:00 AM

“No, absolutely not. Ask someone else.”

The break room was the perfect place for Gloria’s early morning ambush. You’d barely pushed in the numbers on the keypad, the door swinging open when your gaze homed in on her position leaning against the small kitchenette. The words blurted out from a place deeply seeded in not being ready for her or the administration's early morning bullshit. You hadn’t even got to enjoy your coffee yet.

You’d turned on your heel and raced back out the door in what could’ve been record time. Your hand tried to steady the sloshing of your coffee as you could feel Gloria hot on your heels.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You’re right - I don’t. However, seeing you this early, Gloria is not a good omen for starting my day.”

There was nowhere in the entire trauma center that you could go to get away from her and, knowing Gloria, she wasn’t going to make it easy for you. Realistically, you understood that Gloria was just another cog in the corporate machine. She rode your ass - and every other medical professional in the system from doctors during residency to technicians and CNAs - because it’s what the big bad CEOs demanded. The hospital functioned on efficiency facilitated by money and if too many bad Yelp reviews arrived it systematically hurt numbers. Bad numbers equaled a bad flow of funds.

Gloria no doubt listened to her bosses during an early morning meeting where they rattled off complaint after complaint that dealt with a showcase of data and numbers. Both, of which, the board constantly claimed, showed the true efficiency of the hospital - not the life-saving measures taken to keep people alive. No doubt its main focus rested on the emergency department downstairs, because, once again, Yelp reviews of massive wait times and poor satisfaction scores outweighed the expertise of attending doctors.

You didn’t envy Gloria’s position of being hated for being said cog in the corporate machine. Her job focused on relaying the demands from the top. Gloria was forever the bad guy to staff whenever they noticed her no-nonsense demeanor coming towards them. It was hard to be sympathetic to her plight when she followed you around like a bloodhound. The woman was relentless.

“The board would like to see if applying additional support down in the emergency department would help alleviate time issues that are keeping patient satisfaction at a tremendous low.”

Absolutely not.

You would rather chew your arm off than be sent down there. Your retreat came to a halt as you turned to face her. There weren't too many places inside the hospital you could go, and you were willing to bet Gloria was willing to follow you anywhere until you conceded. Plus, you came to a full stop in front of the elevator, and no matter how much you’d like to magically teleport yourself inside of it, unfortunately, you were mortal and would just have to wait.

Gloria’s hands were interlocked in front of her middle - eyes drilling miniature holes in you that not that long ago used to make you squirm. That was back when you were just starting your internship - eager back then to make a great first impression. Terrified of being reprimanded for making an unpopular decision or speaking your mind.

“Gloria, I’m in family medicine.”

“Last time I checked you started in the emergency department and helped out in intensive care.”

“Yes, great memory, Gloria. If you also recall, I moved to family medicine where I’ve been for the last couple of years.”

The transfer to family medicine was a hard pill to swallow. You’d grown accustomed to the craziness of the ER. The constant adrenaline rush that required you to always bring your A game. Where the anxiety was at an all-time maxed-out high where a simple mistake cost lives but a quick deduction could save them. Once you’d moved upstairs to help out Dr. Nave’s family practice, it’d been a huge adjustment. Eventually, once your body got used to the monotony of the days, you found you were finally able to sleep. To be semi-normal.

There was no denying, however, that you left something important behind in The Pitt. Something you hoped you could leave there inside its sterile rooms and the overwhelming storm of emotions.

“I’m not asking you to go back down there to answer every trauma call. I’m asking you to take your family medicine knowledge downstairs to help assess triage for minor issues -“

“You mean people who come in for chest colds,” you interrupted.

“ - and help the senior doctors clear out these cases so they can focus on more immediate health care concerns.”

Gloria’s words crushed your small outburst and bore down on your shoulders, keeping you from trying to move away. Her hands were now connected at her elbows, which was her silent way of informing you she didn’t appreciate you trying to talk over her. That no would never be an acceptable answer.

You felt the drag of your teeth against your cheek. The temptation to bite down to relieve your growing irritation was overwhelming but futile. No matter what argument you came up with, you knew Gloria was here to make sure what the board requested was done.

Instead of bloodshed, you eased your frustration out inch by inch through your nose. Your eyes scanned over the shitty egg wash walls while you debated all of your available options, which were a big fat none.

“How long?”

Gloria didn’t need clarification on what you were asking. The way she practically preened like a peacock let you know she knew she’d won.

“As long as the board requires it.”

“I’ll do it just for today,” you interjected, ignoring her raised brow. “Today you can see if pulling me from Nave’s floor makes your charts or numbers move or whatever data it is you all look at. If it does nothing, today is my first and last day going down.”

Gloria considered your counterargument. The sharpness in her eyes brightened; the terms of this new agreement were revised without you knowing the new verbiage. The only thing you were sure of was that you could count on this small verbal agreement being drawn out in document form for you to sign later.

“Alright, Dr. Fullerton. You’ve got a deal. I’m sure the board will agree. Now come on. If we walk down fast enough maybe, you’ll make it in time for shift change.”

She didn’t wait to see if you were going to follow. Why would she when Gloria knew very well you weren’t going to fight it, especially when the main reason for your denial currently wouldn’t be working today.

Anniversaries were never really Robby’s thing.

You would never admit it, but your anxiety was fifteen feet away from grabbing you in a chokehold.

Get a fucking grip.

It had been two years since you left the ER. Two years since Robby and you had called time on seven years together. Seven years of memories filled with all the good and bad, co-parenting Jake, and keeping your relationship secret until it wasn’t. The early years of walking to work together with quick kisses goodbye before you split up just before you turned onto the final street to the hospital. The both of you choose different entrances each time to try and not raise suspicion.

It took Dana four days to figure out the two of you were together.

Dana was perceptive like that. Hell, she’d been the angel on your shoulder whispering hints that Robby just might like you as much as you liked him.

“I told him to ask you out to dinner. He thinks you’ll say no.” “If he did ask, I should say no,” you countered. Your eyes struggle to stay trained on the chart in front of you. “Yeah, but I know you’ll say yes.” “And what makes you so sure about that, Dana?” “Because if you don’t stop giving each other googly eyes from across my nursing station I’m going to throttle you both.”

Robby had only been divorced from his wife for less than a year. You’d overheard snippets of conversations between Robby and Abbot, Dana, or Adamson about custody battles and visitations. The last thing you wanted to do was be a possible added stress to an already stressful situation. At least, that was the bullshit you kept telling yourself to try and stay away.

But Dana was right (she usually was, but you’d never tell her that).

You couldn’t pinpoint a specific time when things started to change between the two of you. The coffee breaks on the roof looking out over the top of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The jokes that caused smiles to crest over his face, rivaled the glow from the sun's early morning rays. He told you later, in the med closet, how the sound of your laughter was something he looked forward to hearing; the warmth of it was enough to keep helping him make it through his shift. A sound he began to crave in the quiet corners of his home. You could still remember the phone calls and early texts. The caution and heavy breaths that harbored a desire that longed to reach out and consume the other. The two of you were equally afraid to be the one to take that first step over the bounds of professionalism.

The two of you knew the dangers of playing with lingering touches and knowing glances. The way you both acted like you wouldn’t ultimately end up burned. You could still recall the way he’d traced his thumb across your lips. The possessive way his eyes followed the motion made the desire for him to close that space, to claim you, to take you, threatened to make you lose all self-control.

Eventually, you stopped listening to the warning signs of all the what ifs; of being the intern and worrying about how it would make you look. When Robby asked you out on that date you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

You didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with someone the way you did with Robby. He was so attentive; he was thoughtful in the most pragmatic ways - packing extra scrubs in your pack. Teaching you how to fish and the differences between the lures and bait. The way he took the time to explain the objects he carved from wood and how much pressure was necessary to create the grooves and pattern. The way his voice would sound as he read to you; the soothing vibrations of his baritone the safest place you could be with his fingers in your hair.

He carved out a life that made it possible for all three of you to co-exist. His son, Jake, becomes the deepest interwoven part of your life you never realized was missing. On days Robby had him, you planned camping trips up in the mountains to hike and fish. To go on museum trips into Jake’s latest hobbies with the two of you making sure to have his game day off to cheer embarrassingly loud for him in the stands. The shared looks of pain from beside each other on the couch while Jake practiced his clarinet upstairs when he thought he wanted to be in the school band. You got lost in furniture manuals, cooking dinners that ended a few times with questionable outcomes, and attempting to bake tarts and pies that led to a one-time usage of the fire extinguisher. The euphoria of loving someone and being loved so fiercely in return made the years feel weightless, and when Robby finally proposed it made so much sense to say yes.

And COVID happened.

The quarantine and the endless amounts of patients that just kept coming - that felt like, no matter what you did, they couldn’t be saved. Family and friends, you both knew were ravaged by the infection. There were no answers. No medical treatments that you knew for sure would be what would save them. It didn’t discriminate and took lives without mercy. You just came to work every day, exhausted, and fighting to do what you could to heal those you could. You showed up every day for your patients.

Then Adamson passed.

There was no denying Robby blamed himself for what occurred with his mentor. It didn’t matter what you said. What Dana, Abbot, or anyone else said. The guilt weighed down on his conscience, pressed so violently, that eventually, Robby cracked under the strain. His grief was all-encompassing and the added loss that should’ve been experienced together, was left for only you to bear - widening the gap between you until it became a chasm.

The last time you’d seen Robby he’d been leaving to go to work. The latest fight - the endless bitter silences that stretched on - tore at the fabric of your being. Fractured pieces you didn’t know how to pick up on your own no longer felt worth fighting for. So, you decided to remove yourself from the equation.

When Robby came home from work that night you were already gone. Your engagement ring and house key sitting on a note that asked him not to contact you. He’d made it clear enough that there was no place for you in the new person that he was becoming - made it clear that your grief would be processed alone.

And so that was how you ended up transferring to family medicine. How you made sure to steer clear of all the places Robby was known to frequent. You ignored, as politely as you could, texts from Dana. Refused to talk about him in a work capacity or to close friends.

The truth was that you were still in love with Robby after all this time. The idea that someone else could ever make you feel as whole - as complete - didn’t exist. So, yes, you only agreed to come back down to the emergency department, where it all started, because you comfortably knew he wouldn’t be here. Dana, you could deal with her by using a little recon - you just needed to stay two steps ahead of her. Langdon was easier to deal with because his loyalty to Robby was absolute, which made you public enemy number one. For you, that meant he’d stay away from you on principle.

You were in the middle of shoving down the growing dread that was threatening to spill out of you when you came around the north hall triage. It was morning rounds. It was the attending's job to give the early morning pep-talk, debrief about patients who came in last shift, and go over the board. What you found waiting for you was what looked very much like a fresh batch of interns and/or med students taking instructions from a doctor you knew painfully well. One that made you question if it was too late to back out and turn tail and run.

“Oh, shit.” Dana huffed the words under her breath, but Robby caught them. The way each one dripped in a warning he should’ve heeded. “Gloria -”

It didn’t surprise him to hear she was here. He’d been warned by Dana but what Robby hadn’t expected was to see you - you - standing beside her.

You who he thought completely disappeared to the point you’d quit the hospital. You, who he thought of in the most inconvenient of times, who haunted him, and you who he wanted to fucking scream and curse at you but also ask how the fuck you’re doing because Jesus Christ…

He didn’t need this shit today.

At least you had the decency to look as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Good morning, Dr. Robby. I’m aware you and most of your emergency department know Dr. Fullerton. She used to work down here previously a few years back.”

“You could say that again,” Langdon muttered.

“I’m sorry why are you bringing a random fucking doctor down into The Pitt?”

The annoyance contrasted with the peaceful professionalism Gloria tried to hold together. But if she was going to bring random doctors down here, God, bring you fucking down here, he was damn sure going to make her work for it. Inch by irritating inch.

“We both know that Dr. Fullerton is not a hospital resident or an attending transfer. As previously stated, she worked down here in this very ED, with you no less. She also holds one of the highest Press Ganey scores in this hospital.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud,” his words ground out like he’d swallowed gravel.

Gloria shot him a warning look as she continued, “-Something I figure she could teach the new students and old physicians here. I’m bringing her down to assist Dr. McKay today in triage.”

“Let me guess - this either has to deal with the hospital's numbers or lack of working bodies down here. Am I right?”

“What a fantastic guess, Robby. It does indeed have to do with the hospitals' numbers and poor patient output. Based on those numbers alone today, if it shows Dr. Fullerton’s presence helps patient satisfaction go up and wait times decrease - even in the slightest - she’ll be staying here. Permanently.”

His jaw ticked violently. He wanted to bristle and tell her where to stick her metrics and numbers. To tell Gloria to get you the fuck out of his Pitt. Somewhere in his brain, his common sense slowly won out. It didn’t matter how much of a fit he threw; Gloria had every intention of making you stay. Down here. With him.

Robby also knew, realistically, that the chances of you driving up productivity were high. You were a damn good doctor. One of the best. Adamson had made sure. Christ, Robby himself made sure. Fuck. The edges of his vision were beginning to tighten in glaring white; he needed to get away before he succumbed to a panic attack.

He should’ve kept looking away, but he was fighting a losing battle trying to keep his eyes away from you. It’d been nearly two years since he came home to find you gone. Two years for him to think of the hundreds of thousands of questions that he would demand for you to answer if he ever saw you again. All those months of burying it all down, telling himself he got what he wanted, only for it to be dredged up, and on a day like today, he was already close to his breaking point.

You looked good. Great, even. Just as gorgeous as the first day he’d met you and begrudgingly, for a split second, he wondered how you saw him. If you were equally as fucked as he was.

“Make sure she stays with you up in triage, Dr. McKay. I don’t want to see her in my red zone.”

He didn’t wait to hear confirmation from Gloria or McKay. He didn’t bother to see if you understood he meant every word he said. You had no place down here. Robby needed to start his shift - to start the normalcy of seeing patients - before he completely forgot why he chose to come into work today.

He needed to get away before all his resolve shattered. The easiest way to keep himself whole was to begin his day. To do his rounds and when he passed you, he did his best to pretend you didn’t even exist.

___________

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! Much love.

#dr robby x reader

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moonlessnight14 · 13 hours ago

Text

Whatever You Say, Fruitcake

pairing : Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader (established marriage)

summary: Myrna’s being Myrna. Somewhere between the chaos, you and Robby manage to come up for air.

warnings/content: Fluff, Hospital setting, strong language, married intimacy, mild sexual tension(?), bodily fluids (mentioned), chaotic workplace dynamics, Myrna.

word count: 1,767, not beta read.

a/n: I’ve written so much smut and angst lately… felt like I needed a fluff filler. Honestly, with everything Robby’s been through too—he deserves one just as much as I do.

Someone left the remains of a hoagie in the trauma fridge again, and now the back hallway reeks of vinegar, cold cuts, and poor life choices.

The smell hits you as soon as you clear the curtain bay—sharp, sour, unmistakably fermented. You pause mid-step. Behind you, Dana makes a strangled noise in her throat and immediately starts waving a clipboard in the air like it’s going to do something other than stir it up.

“If this is Whitaker’s doing,” Dana says, already pinching the bridge of her nose, “I’m pulling him from patients and assigning him to mop duty and moral reflection.”

You snort. “Pretty sure that’s not in the union handbook.”

She’s already striding ahead. “Then I’ll write my own damn handbook.”

Just ahead, Robby moves through the corridor like a man who’s been paged three times too many. Hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, coffee in one hand, a clipboard tucked under his arm, and a look that says he’s thirty seconds from announcing his retirement.

Whitaker’s hustling to keep up, slightly flushed and fumbling with a stack of blank admission forms and a clipboard clearly marked for peds. He’s also holding an empty emesis basin and a bag of saltine crackers.

“I dropped the kid off in Pediatrics like you told me to,” he says, catching his breath. “Then someone threw up on my shoes, I handed over some crackers as a peace offering, and I think I accidentally took this chart on my way out while trying to avoid a loud debate about Paw Patrol and screen time.”

Robby doesn’t even look at him. “Why are you holding a puke tray?”

“Someone in Peds handed it to me. I panicked and said thank you.”

“You don’t work there, Whitaker. You work in emergency.”

“Yeah, well, try telling that to the four-year-old who called me Doctor Crackers and wouldn’t let go of my hand.”

Dana watches Whitaker veer off toward supply, jaw tightening just slightly. “If he volunteers himself into another department’s meltdown, I’m having his badge color-coded for liability.”

You raise a brow. “Is that a charge nurse threat?”

“It’s preventative management.”

Before you can reply, the air shifts—like it always does when Myrna materializes. The low squeak of her wheelchair wheels, the jingle of cheap bracelets, and then—

“Hey, fruitcake.”

Robby slows when he sees her. Not surprised. Not annoyed. Just—ready, in that way he gets when Myrna’s name is involved in a trauma note or a psych hold request.

He hesitates, jaw clenched, clipboard tucked tighter under his arm as he steps in behind the wheelchair—slow and deliberate, one hand on the back like he's guiding a live grenade disguised in costume jewelry.

Myrna is cuffed, of course—standard protocol—but she’s sitting tall like she’s holding court. Her walker is bungee-corded to the back of the chair, and there’s a half-empty Styrofoam cup in the side pocket that no one remembers giving her. She smells like menthols and peach Schnapps. Her lipstick is smeared. Her eyes are sharp.

She cranes her head slightly to look up at Robby and grins with all the self-satisfaction of someone who knows exactly how to ruin your day and plans to do it slowly.

Robby exhales. “Myrna. What brings you in today?”

“I murdered my husband.”

“How’d you do it this time?”

“Meat grinder.”

She shifts in her seat, adjusting the tilt of her chair. When he stops, she immediately starts wheeling herself toward the empty staff breakroom like she owns the place—completely ignoring the Employees Only sign.

“Where do you think you’re going, Myrna?”

“Oh, none of your business, fruitcake.”

His jaw ticks. The clipboard drops half an inch.

“Actually, everything that happens in this department is my business. And you know what? I put up with a lot around here. I take very good care of you. So you can call me Dr. Robinavitch, or Dr. Robby, or you can use my first name, Michael. But I do not appreciate being called fruitcake.”

Dana leans toward you. “He’s two years and one more nickname away from tossing his pager in the East River and moving into a cabin with no electricity.”

You snort. “He can move to the woods if he wants, but I’m not following him into a life of compost toilets and mosquito nets. He’ll be back the second he realizes I’m not coming with.”

Back in the hall, Myrna shrugs.

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings, cocksucker?”

Dana snorts. You press your fingers to your mouth.

Robby takes a breath. “That said, it has a certain whimsical quality I can probably learn to live with.”

“Whatever you say, fruitcake.”

Without missing a beat, she pivots her wheelchair and rolls with precision toward the ambulance bay doors. The automatic sensor doesn’t catch her on the first pass, so she backs up, then rams the base of the door with enough force to jolt the frame—and nearly set off the motion alarm. A “Wet Floor” sign topples in her wake.

Then, slowly, she lifts her cuffed wrists and waves them at the security camera like she’s on parade.

Robby doesn’t move. Just watches her, unreadable.

She pauses at the edge of the exit, half-turned in her chair, chin tilted up like she’s daring someone to try and stop her.

A nurse nearby mutters, “Do we stop her… or let natural selection take it from here?”

You find him later in the breakroom, elbows braced on the table, fingers pressed into his brow like he’s trying to force the day out through his skull. His coffee sits untouched beside a chart he’s clearly given up pretending to read. The overhead light is flickering, unresolved, adding to the static hum that no one has the energy to report anymore.

You slide your coffee beside his and drop into the seat next to him. No words, not yet. Just your knee brushing his under the table—light, intentional, familiar. He doesn’t look at you, but he exhales like you just gave him permission to breathe.

After a beat: “I’m fine.”

You sip your coffee. “Mmm. Then why have you been brooding like a cursed Victorian husband.”

He drags his hands down his face and groans. “She called me a cocksucker in front of the whole emergency department.”

“And you didn’t throw anything,” you say. “Which, frankly, is a win.”

You nudge your foot against his. “Do you want me to fight her?”

His brow furrows. “What?”

“Outside. Ambulance bay. High noon.”

That earns the smallest crack of a smile.

“I’m serious,” you add. “I’m fully within my spousal rights to go feral.”

“Pretty sure that’s not in the HR manual.”

“Pretty sure it’s in the vows.”

He huffs out a reluctant laugh, and you feel the air between you shift. Lighter. Less taut. The corner of his mouth tilts in that way you’ve learned to love—subtle, fleeting, like warmth in a place that rarely allows it.

“Dana probably already has a memo drafted,” he mutters. “Something official—‘Effective immediately, all consults will refer to Dr. Robinavitch as Fruitcake.’”

You grin. “She has. It’s laminated. I signed off on it.”

He shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’m married to you. I take my entertainment where I can get it.”

He finally leans back, posture loosening. “One of these days, I’m torching this whole department.”

“You won’t,” you say. “You love this place too much.”

“I love you. Everything else is negotiable.”

You fall quiet at that, the kind of quiet that makes room for a hand to reach across the table. Yours. His. You’re not even sure. But they find each other easily, like always.

“You were good today,” you say. “The way you handled her. All of it. You didn’t give her the chaos she wanted.”

“She got under my skin.”

“But she didn’t get a reaction. That’s power. That’s control. I'm proud of you.”

He looks at you. Really looks at you. And for a moment, it’s quiet in a way this place rarely is.

“You’re always proud of me,” he says, voice softer now.

You smile, just a little. “Not always. Just when you deserve it.”

A pause. He huffs, but it’s fond. “You should put that on a sticker.”

“Already did.” You nudge his elbow. “Slapped it on your locker right under the one that says ‘Fruitcake of the Month.’”

He groans. “I married a menace.”

“You married smart.”

“You tricked me.”

You squeeze his hand. “And I’d do it again.”

The silence that settles next isn’t heavy. It’s married silence. Full of the things you don’t need to say because you’ve already said them a hundred different ways over coffee cups and night shifts and shared exhaustion.

You glance toward the hallway, then back to him, voice lower now. “Sometimes I wonder how we’re still standing in all this. You, me. This place.”

He watches you for a long moment, then says, “Because you make it worth it.”

A pause.

Then—

“I’m not kissing you in the breakroom,” he says eventually, eyes still on yours.

“I know.”

“But I want to.”

“I know that too.”

Another small smile. “You’re trouble.”

“And you’re mine.”

The moment hangs there—warm and quiet and stupidly rare. It's the kind of silence that only happens when two people know each other too well to need more words.

His pager buzzes on the table. You both glance at it but don’t move right away. Then, like muscle memory, he stands and grabs his clipboard. You collect the two half-finished coffees and toss them without comment.

When you step toward the door, your hand brushes his—not by accident. He doesn’t take it, not here, not with the door just about to swing open. But he squeezes your fingers once, fast and familiar. It’s not affection, exactly. It’s reassurance. A habit. A promise.

You exit the breakroom together.

The hallway feels colder by comparison. Brighter. Louder. Someone’s calling out discharge instructions. A gurney wheel shrieks as it sticks on the threshold. The ER is alive again, like it never paused.

He walks ahead of you, falling back into his role like pulling on a second skin—focused, efficient, slightly intimidating. But you know that look. You know the weight he’s carrying.

When his hand grazes yours again at the hallway bend, he doesn’t pull away right away.

You don’t hold hands. You don’t need to.

But the warmth lingers.

That’s the thing about marriage in a place like this : there’s never time. So you take the seconds. And when you find each other in them, you hold on.

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader

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moonlessnight14 · 13 hours ago

Text

Beside you

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader

Blurb: In the wake of Pittfest you have to prepare to confront your past when you and Jack are called in to help.

WC: 1k

Note: I'm so obsessed with this man. Might write part two!

Evenings like this were a gift. Neither of you are getting ready for a shift or leaving for one, coming home tired or returning to an empty house.

You’re on the couch together, the warm glow of the living room lamps casting soft light. The remnants of dinner are scattered across the coffee table - empty plates, a half-drunk bottle of wine. The only sound in the room is the quiet hum of the TV, playing something neither of you are really watching.

Your head rests on Jack’s shoulder as you trace shapeless patterns on his thigh. His arm rests around your shoulders, holding you close.

“I could get used to this” you murmur as your eyes close.

Jack chuckles softly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Peace never lasts long cause not even a minute later Jack's ringtone echoes through the room. He picks it up from the side table and answers.

“Hey Robby, what's up?” As soon as you hear him say Robby your eyes open, and you look at the clock. 5:50pm. He'd still be on shift, and although you can't hear what Robby is saying you can hear the urgency in his tone which makes your stomach knot. You sit up, and your heart begins to race as you watch Jack's face. The conversation is brief, but the change in his body language is enough. He puts the phone down

“It’s PittFest,” Jack says, his voice almost too soft. “There’s an active shooter. They're calling in staff.”

You don't speak at first, you can't. Your legs suddenly feel weighted as you stand up. Jack also stands and his eyes search yours, he cups your cheek providing some comfort. His expression softens just for a moment before he shakes his head. “You don’t have to come. Robby said he understands.”

You turn your head slightly and kiss his palm. “You know I can't do that” You try to hide the shake in your voice. “I can't sit this out when I know what's happening, knowing I can help” His thumb brushes over your cheek, grounding you, but your mind is already slipping elsewhere.

6 months earlier

The first shot barely registers before the second and third ring out in quick succession. Then—screaming. Footsteps pounding in every direction. A rising, frantic noise that doesn’t stop.

Pain flares hot and sudden in your side, sharp enough to steal your breath. You get down to the ground, your hands instinctively pressing to the wound—already slick and warm with blood.

Around you, the chaos doesn’t slow. Bodies blur past. Shouts echo. Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder. You blink hard, forcing yourself to stay conscious.

You don't know how much time passes before you're getting dragged into the back of someone's car along with other wounded and raced to the hospital.

The ride is fast and uneven, the tires screeching around corners. You are then being pulled from the car and sent inside, a pink slap and around your wrist. You try to listen to what the people around you say but you feel disorientated, a pitchy squeal still ringing through your ears.

“Abbot!”

Robby’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and urgent. It's enough to get him coming over as fast as he can.

“What's going on-” He freezes. Just for a second. Long enough for the horror to register.

Then he moves. He’s at your side, hands already reaching, hesitating, afraid to hurt you, but needing to touch. “No, no…” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m here, I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Your throat is so dry and you're in shock that only a squeak comes from your mouth.

His hand grips yours, thumb sweeping over your knuckles, grounding you. “Stay with me, baby. I’ve got you.”

“Jack,” Robby says behind him, a quiet warning.

Jack closes his eyes for one second. Then he lets go of your hand. He straightens, wipes his face with the back of his glove, and turns to the chaos.

“McKay, get to the red zone. They need hands. Go.” She doesn’t question it—just does it.

“Robby, you’re with me,” Jack says, voice tighter now, cold and clear.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The hospital is quieter now. People still line the halls but the chaos has died down. The weight of everything lingers in the air.

After Jake has checked in on others around he circles round to you. His shoulders fall slightly, just enough to show you that he’s been holding himself upright on pure adrenaline.

He leans on the gurney. His fingers run through your hair. “You scared the hell out of me," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You glance at him, a teasing smile tugging at your lips despite the ache in your side. “C’mon, Jack. I think you’ve seen me in worse shape after a night shift.”

He lets out a laugh, short but real. “Yeah, but at least then you're not bleeding out.”

“Well, next time I’ll try to give you a heads-up.”

He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You're not funny.”

“But you love me?” You murmur, guiding him for a proper kiss.

“I do” He kisses you again. “So damn much” and again.

Now

You don't even have to think, muscle memory kicks in as you both rush to get ready. The drive is fast and quiet. He glances at you briefly. “You okay?”

“No,” you admit. “But we don’t have time not to be.”

When the hospital comes into view, the chaos has already started and your stomach knots. You remember too clearly what it was like arriving in the back of someone’s car, bleeding and barely conscious. Tonight, you walk in on your own two feet.

Jack grabs your wrist as you reach the sliding doors, just for a second.

“You’re not a patient this time.”

You nod. “I know.”

Then the doors open and the noise swallows you both. You gear up and head your different directions.

“Dr. Abbott,” a nurse calls, breathless. “They need you in Trauma 2.”

“I’m going to triage,” you say, already pulling on gloves.

Jack catches your arm before you disappear. “Don't hesitate to come to me if you need something."

You give him a soft look. “I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

“I’m still gonna,” he says.

“I know” You give him a kiss. “I love you”

“I love you too”

#dr abbot x reader

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moonlessnight14 · 14 hours ago

Text

Langdon's gonna give Robby an aneurysm 😆

Push & Pull • Part 2

Pairing: Intern!Reader x Mentor!Michael Robinavitch & Platonic Reader x Langdon

Blurb: Robby has fought his feelings for weeks, but after a teasing push from Langdon, he can't hold back any longer. Confronted in a quiet room, he admits what he's been trying to deny—he wants you. Now, there's no going back.

WC: 2.3k

Part 1 is here

Note: Willing to write Part 3 if y'all want it, thinking about making it smutty but if you don't want that lmk

Robby had been keeping his distance for a few weeks now, and you had let him. What once had been easy and playful had become something else entirely. He had drawn a line, and you felt it. Every time he walked past you without a word. Every time he spoke to you in clipped, professional tones. Every time his eyes skimmed over you like you were just another intern.

Except, he wasn’t perfect at it because even though he tried to act indifferent, his body betrayed him. Like now.

Robby stood across the nurses’ station, reviewing a chart. His shoulders were stiff, the grip on his pen a little too tight. He was aware of you. You could feel it when you laughed at something Dr. Langdon had said.

"You know," Langdon drawled, stepping closer to you, voice low enough for only you to hear. "For someone who's supposedly ignoring you, Robby sure as hell keeps looking over here."

You didn’t turn your head, but you didn’t need to. You felt it.

"You’re imagining things," you murmured, flipping through your notes.

Langdon let out a brief laugh. "Please. That man is suffering."

You finally glanced up at him, arching a brow. "Are you enjoying this?"

His smirk widened. "Immensely." Then, with a sudden movement, he leaned in just a little too close, resting his elbow on the counter beside you, angling his body towards yours. His voice dipped, smooth and teasing. "You know, if he really wants to keep pretending he doesn’t care, maybe we should give him something to really be jealous about."

You smirk and shake your head. "You’re ridiculous."

"Am I?" Langdon hummed. "Because I think it’s working." Langdon leaned in even closer, voice barely above a whisper. "He’s going to snap. Just a little more of my flirting and he'll drag you to the supply closet"

Your pulse quickened slightly “Shut up” You push his arm softly.

You weren’t playing along. You humoured Langdon, sure, but you didn’t lean into it. You didn’t flirt back, didn’t give him more than a casual smirk or an eye-roll. You weren’t interested but Robby didn’t know that.

He only saw the proximity, the way Langdon spoke to you in low, teasing tones, the way your body language remained open in his presence. He saw Langdon Place his hand on your back, and the way you didn’t immediately move away and it was getting to him.

He strode closer and called out your name.

The single word cut through the air like a blade, firm and controlled. You turned, finding Robby standing there, his expression unreadable.

Langdon, for all his amusement, merely grinned. "Dr. Robby," Langdon greeted smoothly. "Something wrong?"

Robby didn’t even spare him a glance. His eyes were on you. "I need you in Trauma 3. Now."

There was no room for argument in his tone.

You hesitated, glancing at Langdon, who winked at you before stepping back. "Better not keep the boss waiting," he murmured. 'Have fun' he mouthed as you began to move.

You exhaled sharply before following Robby down the hall, your heartbeat drumming a little faster than it should have been.

Trauma 3 was quiet. Too quiet, there was no one moving or making orders. The second you stepped inside, Robby closed the door behind you then stood in front of it

You turned, blinking. "Where’s the patient? What's the situ-"

"There isn’t one," he admitted.

Your brows furrowed. "So you dragged me in here for..?" you let the last word drag on a moment.

"Langdon needs to stop."

The words came out tight, clipped. His posture was rigid, his hands planted on his hips, as if he was barely holding something back.

You stared at him, folding your arms. "Stop what?"

Robby exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to keep his patience in check. "Flirting with you."

A slow, smile curves at your lips. "Flirting with me? Since when do you care about that?"

His jaw tightened. "I don’t."

You let out a dry laugh, stepping closer just to push him a little. "Right. That’s why you’re standing here, all tense and brooding, looking like you want to harm someone"

His gaze locked with yours, something dark flickering behind his eyes. "I don’t want to harm him."

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "No? Because it kinda seemed like you did back there."

Robby took a breath, steadying himself. "He’s doing it on purpose."

"Yes, and?"

His brows furrowed. "And you’re letting him."

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. "Letting him? Am I supposed to control how he acts now?"

"You’re not stopping him," Robby countered, voice lower now, tighter as he takes two steps toward you.

You then stepped closer, the tension between you so thick it was suffocating. "You want me to push him away? Why? So you don’t have to deal with how much it bothers you? What if I like the attention from him?"

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

“Talk to him if you have a problem with flirting in your ER then maybe take a look at yourself.” You walk past him and out the door.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of movement and noise, but you felt every second of it. Every time you caught a glimpse of Robby, every time his voice cut through the chaos of the ER, every time you were too aware of the space between you and how deliberate it was, it felt so much heavier now.

You were signing off a chart at the nurses’ station when Langdon appeared at your side. “So,” his voice heavy with amusement, “on a scale of one to he confessed everything, how was it?”

You let out a slow breath, closing the chart in front of you. “He told me to make you stop flirting with me.”

Langdon grinned, his eyes lighting up like he’d just been given the best news of his life. “Oh, that’s beautiful, and?” He urges you to go on.

You turned to face him fully. “And he was seething, Langdon. Trying to act like he wasn’t, but it was obvious.”

Langdon clicked his tongue. “Poor Robby. So close to admitting it, yet still so stubborn.” Then he gave you a look, one full of knowing amusement. “And you? How’d it feel having him look at you like that?”

You ignore his question and fold your arms. “Why are you so hell-bent on making him snap?”

Langdon’s smirk deepened. “Because he wants to.” You frowned, but he continued before you could interrupt.

“He’s dying too. He’s barely holding it together, and every time I flirt with you, it pushes him closer to the edge.” Langdon tilted his head slightly, studying your reaction. “And you? You’re not exactly unaffected either.”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “You’re stirring up something you have no business messing with.”

Langdon gave you a lazy grin. “Or maybe I’m just giving him permission to feel what he already does.”

You met his gaze, trying to gauge just how much of this was a game to him and how much was something else. “Why do you care?”

He hummed, pretending to think about it. “Because it’s rare to see someone like Robby lose control. He’s spent his whole life keeping it together, being the guy who doesn’t crack, doesn’t get caught up in things that aren’t logical. But you?” Langdon’s smirk softened into something almost admiring. “You get under his skin. And that?” He gave a satisfied nod. “That’s something worth watching.”

You exhaled, glancing toward the hallway where Robby had disappeared earlier. The air between you and him had changed. You could feel it.

Langdon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “You know he won’t last much longer, right?”

You turned back to him, brow raised.

“He’s going to break,” Langdon continued. “And when he does, I hope you’re ready for it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Robby isn’t the kind of man who gives himself permission to want something, not fully. You’re the one thing he can’t ignore.” He paused, as if letting you process that before adding, “and you’re making him feel things he’s never allowed himself to fully feel.”

You tilted your head, as you absorbed Langdon’s words. There was something almost fascinating about how he seemed to understand Robby so well.

"He’ll either let you in fully, or he’ll shut you out completely. These lines that he’s drawn? They won’t exist anymore. It’s going to be all or nothing for him."

“Shut me out, you mean like what he's doing now?”

“No,” he said, tilting his head slightly as if considering his words. “What he’s doing now? That’s him trying to convince himself he’s still in control.”

“God, he's gonna hate me” You state, you pinch the bridge of your nose.

Langdon’s laughs softly “He won’t hate you. He’ll hate that you’ve made him feel something he can’t ignore.”

You frowned, trying to shake off the weight of his words. “It’s a disaster waiting to happen.” You sighed, anxiety crawling up your chest. “What if it all goes wrong?”

Langdon shook his head, dismissing your thought. “Then you two will figure it out. You both want this and you're both stubborn, neither of you will just give up easily.” A nurse than calls his name “Gotta go” he gently pats your arm.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The next day unfolded with the same heavy tension in the air. Except today you knew what you wanted. You needed to push Robby over the edge, no matter the result, and Langdon was just the person who could help her do that.

You told him what to do and when to do it. As the end of your shift was approaching Langdon caught your eye, silently asking if you were sure. You give him a brief nod. Robby was on the other side of the nurses station and would have a perfect view.

You stand at the desk, looking through a file when Langdon walks up to you. His hands rest either side of you, keeping you in his vicinity and his chin rests on your shoulder.

“I better not get reprimanded for this you softly chuckle, turning your head towards Langdon.

He smiles at your tone. “You won't.” He then let's his lips graze your cheek.

"You’re playing with fire," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Langdon smirked. "And yet, you’re the one who asked me to light the match."

Before you could respond, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Robby called out for you. You didn’t turn immediately, just felt his presence, the heat of his gaze burning into you. When you finally looked, his grip on the chart in his hands was tight, knuckles white.

Robby didn’t acknowledge Langdon. His eyes were on you. "With me. Now."

You arched a brow, feigning innocence. "Excuse me?"

"Now."

Langdon takes a step to the side allowing you to follow Robby, you go down the hallway and into a small sitting room.

Robby’s hand slammed against the door as he closed it behind you both, his body blocking the exit, trapping you in the small, dimly lit room. The tension between you both felt unbearable, the air thick with unspoken words. He didn’t waste a second before speaking.

“Are you interested in Langdon?” His gaze was hard, his jaw clenched.

You shook your head quickly, desperate to ease the sudden weight of the moment. “No,” you answered firmly, trying to meet his gaze, but his intensity was overwhelming.

He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Then why let him get so close to you? Why let him touch you like that?”

You felt your heart race, knowing what this conversation was really about. Taking a slow breath, you finally spoke, your voice softer now. “It wasn’t me, Robby. It was Langdons idea. He saw how you were at first. Said you seemed happier than normal near me, but then you pulled away. You were cold, distant to basically everyone.” You paused, your throat tightening as the next words came. “He said you deserve something good. That I was that good thing but he knew that you wouldn't allow yourself to let go.” You looked away, ashamed, even though you knew it wasn’t your fault. “I'm so sorry I don't know why I let it happen, I should've told him it was stupid and wrong to try and push you especially after the talk you had with me.” The words just pour out of your mouth.

Robby stood motionless for a moment, just letting you talk. “I didn’t want to pull away, not from you,” he murmured, as if speaking to himself. “I don’t know how to deal with this. With you.” His voice was softer but full of conflict. “Everything between us... it’s not easy. I didn’t want to complicate it.”

You swallowed, your heart aching as you took a step closer to him. “You don’t have to pretend anymore,” you whispered.

He stepped back slightly, running a hand through his hair, as if battling himself. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Every time I try to push it down, it just comes back stronger. You’ve got me all messed up inside. I’ve tried not to feel anything, but I can’t.”

His confession was a raw admission, and it left you breathless. You took another step forward, your voice barely a whisper. “I feel the same way, Robby. I’ve been trying to ignore it too, trying to pretend but I can’t. I want you.”

“I’ve spent years building walls around myself, not letting people get too close” he reasons.

You step forward, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “My plan isn't to make you uncomfortable, I'm not saying let's jump into a relationship right now, just let each other in like we started to. We can take our time”

He nods “Alright, Yeah. We're not in a hurry” His arm pulls away from your comforting gesture and he takes your hand. “One step at a time.” You gently squeeze his hand. “Let's start with dinner. Tonight at mine”

You nod. “That sounds nice”

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moonlessnight14 · 14 hours ago

Text

Push & Pull

Pairing: Intern!Reader x Mentor!Michael Robinavitch

Blurb: The young intern is drawn to her mentor, as they work together in The Pitt but when feeling start to form what started as admiration turns into quiet, unresolved tension.

WC: 2.6k

Note: I don't really know if I like this but I spent to long trying to put it together so have it. I could write a part 2 with a resolution and some spice if it's wanted.

The Pitt never slowed down. The wailing ambulance sirens and the hum of chatter from the waiting room were reminders of the next patient needing help. Machines beeped and voices barked orders, and down one of the halls, a patient screamed - just another night of chaos.

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch practically thrived in it, moving through the madness with a strong sense of calmness. His years of experience made it look effortless—the confidence in his every decision, the lack of hesitation that reassured those around him. In a place where seconds could mean the difference between life and death, he was the kind of doctor people trusted without question.

That is what the interns lacked - experience. They come in wide-eyed and eager to help people, their textbook solutions only getting them so far. Some would crumble under the pressure, others would prove themselves ready. The interns step into the Pitt in crisp scrubs, their gazes flickering between awe and nerves. A quick glance tells Robby everything—most are trying, and failing, to mask their anxiety.

And then, he notices her

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You stood a step away from the rest of the group, taking in everything not with fear but determination, memorising the surrounding area.

Your eyes lock with a ruggedly handsome man—broad shoulders, sharp gaze, exhaustion buried beneath professionalism. You offer a smile, but he doesn’t return it. No flicker of acknowledgment, no warmth. Just a neutral, assessing stare before he looks away.

He walks over to the small group, getting their attention.

“Good Morning, Good Morning. Come on over!” He speaks in a smooth tone with a subtle rasp.

You all step closer and he runs through some key details before sending the group off with himself or the senior residents and of course, your luck lands you with Robby. You follow him promptly into a room. The patient, a teenage boy, his face screwed up with pain, and a soft hold on his ankle. At a quick glance you suspected a sprain - nothing serious.

Robby crouches down, fingers lightly pressing against the swollen area. “What happened?”

“Basketball” the kid grits out “Landed wrong from a jump”

Robby hums, rotating the foot slightly. The boy flinches. “Probably a sprain, maybe a fracture. I’ll order an X-ray”

Then Dana rushes in. “Multiple GSW en route, two minutes out”

Robby immediately stands up and heads for the door, he looks at you.

“You handle this”

“Alone?” The question slipped out, not because you doubted yourself, but because the sudden shift had caught you off guard.

Robby tilts his head, slightly unimpressed. “It’s an ankle, not open heart surgery” and before you had time to answer, he was gone.

You crouch, carefully examining the ankle. Then you press along the leg and the kid growls in pain. There it is. “I’d say it’s a syndesmotic injury.” He looks confused. “Oh, a high ankle sprain. So it’s the above the ankle not beside it.” You tell him a little more before putting in for an x-ray. Once you’ve done that you aid a nurse in another room briefly.

You glance over the patient list when Robby comes up to you. “You figured it out?”

“Syndesmotic injury” you nod. He doesn’t say anything but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Alright, next patient” He looks over the patient list.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The days blur together as the weeks pass, each shift a mix of routine cases and intense moments that seem to stretch on forever. You’ve settled into the rhythm of the hospital, finding your footing in the chaos. Your confidence has grown; you make decisions faster now, with less second-guessing. Robby remains a constant presence, one you can’t seem to escape, and maybe you don’t want to.

At first, it was just respect. Admiration for his skills, his leadership, the way he commands the room without raising his voice. But as time goes by, it’s harder to ignore the small moments, the ones that make your heart skip. The way he stands just a little too close when explaining a procedure, his voice steady but warm. The occasional glance in your direction, like he’s waiting for something from you, and when your hands brush while passing equipment lingers in ways you can’t shake.

· · ��────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Throughout the hospital other staff pick up on the moments and tension too.

Dr. Langdon leaned casually against the counter, eyeing Robby from the corner of his eye as you walked past. He didn’t miss how Robby didn't look away until you were out of sight and neither did Robby.

He quickly averted his eyes, hands gripping his clipboard a little too tightly. He shouldn't do this but every time you smiled, every time you made a decision that impressed him, it got harder to ignore. He shook it off, focusing on the next chart, but the unease in his chest wouldn’t go away.

"You know," Langdon slides up beside him, his voice light but teasing, "for someone who's always so composed, you don't hide it very well."

Robby didn’t even glance at him. "Hide what?"

Langdon smirked, tilting his head. "The way you watch her. The way you get all tense when someone else talks to her. Everyone notices it, It’s almost… endearing.”

Robby scoffed, shaking his head. "You’re imagining things."

"Am I?" Langdon pushed off the counter, crossing his arms. "Because I’ve seen you do it a dozen times now. Hell, I’m starting to think you don’t even realize you’re doing it."

Robby exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I watch all of you. It’s my job to pay attention."

Langdon snorted. "Right. Because you stare at everyone like that." Robby shot him an unimpressed look. "Fine," Langdon conceded, "let’s say you watch everyone. I still wanna know—what is it about her?"

Robby hesitated, rolling his pen between his fingers. "She works harder than she has to. Not because she’s trying to impress anyone, but because she wants to be better. And she’s stubborn as hell too, but I respect that.” He let out a slow breath. "When I was an intern, I damn near burnt myself out doing the same thing, trying to prove to myself that I could do it all." His voice dipped lower. "I see myself in her."

Langdon hummed, considering that for a moment. Then, he arched his brow. "Don’t think you should be thinking about your interns like that, man."

Robby’s jaw tightened. “That is not what I meant.”

Langdon just grinned. “Yeah, maybe. But you do think about her, don’t you? Pretty, young, interested in you—”

"Don't you have patients to attend to?" His tone was calm, but there was no mistaking the warning in it. Langdon chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright.” He pushed off the counter, still smirking as he walked away. “But just so you know, that wasn’t a no.”

His gaze flickers back to you, now leaning against the nurses station for a moment. If ‘everyone knew’ why not go for it a little.

You barely noticed Robby approach until something cold pressed against your arm. You startled slightly, turning to find him standing closer than expected, holding out a bottle of water.

“Here” he ordered, his voice low, steady.

You took the bottle, fingers brushing in the exchange. “If you wanted me to drink water, you could’ve just asked. Coulda got it myself.”

Robby tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking between your face and the bottle in your hand. “Would you have listened?”

You hummed, twisting off the cap. “We’ll never know now.”

His eyes lingered for a second longer, like he was waiting for something. You took a sip, and only then did he seem satisfied.

Lowering the bottle, you raised an eyebrow. “Have you had any water recently?”

The slight shift in his expression was barely noticeable, “I don’t need you worrying about me,” he said smoothly.

You smirked. “Oh, so you can worry about me, but I can’t return the favor?”

“Just drink the water” He looks down at you.

You tilt your head, giving him a playful grin. “Didn't realise I was one of your patients Dr Robinavitch”

Robby’s lips quirked up in a half-smile, his gaze locking with yours. “Well, maybe not but I'll let you know I have a brilliant patient satisfaction score”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so?”

Robby chuckled, a low, almost husky sound that made the space between you feel even smaller. “It’s true”

The playful grin stays on your lips. “I’m sure you have your methods. You should be careful though Robby. Someone might mistake that confidence for something else.”

His gaze lingered on your lips “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing” he said, looking back up to your eyes. “and it's only with you”

You tilted your head slightly, the playful grin still tugging at your lips. “Are you trying to impress me?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Is it working?”

You hummed, tapping a finger idly against the bottle. “I don’t know… maybe I need a little more convincing.”

Robby’s smirk deepened, slow and knowing. “Dangerous request.”

You lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug.

His gaze flicked over your face, assessing, considering. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he shook his head. “Drink your water.”

You scoffed, twisting the cap off but not breaking eye contact as you took a slow sip. “Bossy.”

Robby exhaled through his nose, the hint of a smirk still playing at his lips. “And yet, you listen.”

You lowered the bottle, tilting your head. “Don’t let it go to your head,” you smirk “Michael”

He didn’t respond right away, just let his eyes linger on you for a moment too long before finally stepping back. “See you around, intern.”

And just like that, the space between you as you went your separate ways. Neither of you realized the small group of nurses watching the moment. “My God” one murmurs.

Another glances up from their clipboard, smirking. “He just can't help himself”

A nurse, clearly amused, pulls out a small notepad. “Alright, bets are open. How long before Robinavitch actually does something about it?”

“I say two months.”

“Three.”

Another hums. “I give it two weeks.”

The rest of them scoff. “Please. He’s Robby.”

“Hey No risk, No reward.” She shrugged

Another nurse leans in. “You know he’s going to be the last one to realize it, right?” They all snicker. A senior nurse walks by, shaking their head.

“You people need new hobbies.”

Someone grins. “Admit it—you want in.” They hesitate. Then, under their breath, “Put me down, him admitting, 3 weeks”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Most patients you’ve dealt with so far have been easy to deal with, good behaviour, easy injuries to treat but the calm doesn’t last. You’re standing next to your patient with a scalpel, you know what you’re supposed to do but your trembling fingers betray your calm exterior. You take a deep breath and tighten your grip but it feels like it gets worse. It’s so subtle that no one else probably notices but you do and it’s enough to make you doubt yourself.

“You’re hesitating” Robby's voice cuts through your thoughts, as he now stands next to you. You don’t need to look at him to realize how close he is to you. You open your mouth to offer an apology, some excuse, but before you can speak, his hand is over yours. His large hand encapsulates yours, steadying the tool.

Robby doesn’t take over, you still have control over the situation but he provides a foundation, something to rely on.

“Take a breath” He says, softly enough for only you to hear, almost drowned out by the beeping monitors. You inhale deeply then let it out. He guides you hand lower then you take control, making the incision. Slowly, he removes his hand and gives you a little more room. Once you complete it another doctor steps in to continue the procedure. When it is finished the others leave and you finish up with the patient.

In the days that follow, something shifts between you. Robby, once so present and reassuring, becomes a distant figure. He’s still there, of course, commanding the room, offering direction when necessary. He doesn’t linger after a procedure, no quiet words of praise, no passing smiles or glances. Where before his gaze would occasionally catch yours, steady and warm, a silent understanding, now he looks past you.

Robby's voice was flat as he gave you the next assignment, his gaze moving past you to the patient file in his hand. When you brushed past him in the narrow hall, his shoulder barely grazed yours, and he didn’t even flinch. It was as if the space between you had grown suddenly wide and impassable.

At first, when Robby started pulling away, you refused to let it affect you. You were determined not to let the distance grow between you, not after all the moments that had passed between you. You kept trying, trying to be present, trying to offer that warmth you once did, even when he barely acknowledged it. You’d joke like you always did, still meet his gaze, even though it felt like the space between you had stretched impossibly wide. You tried to keep it light, keep the moments of connection alive, even when his responses were curt, his presence colder, more distant.

You told yourself it was just a phase, that he was busy, or perhaps under more stress than usual. And so, you gave him more. You kept pushing, kept offering those small gestures of care, those quiet conversations, believing that if you just kept being you—the same person who found comfort in the moments between chaos—he would eventually come around. But with each attempt, you felt the distance grow. Robby gave nothing back. He didn’t meet your gaze the same way. His smiles were rare and often fleeting, like he was somewhere else, mentally miles away.

Soon, those quiet moments you once shared became just fragments of what they were, fleeting and almost painful to try and hold onto. You began to notice it in your own actions. You didn’t reach out for his gaze anymore, because it wasn’t returned. You didn’t try to get too close, because he always stepped back, a subtle but clear signal that whatever had once been there was no longer something he was willing to nurture.

At first, you blamed yourself. You tried harder, putting everything into maintaining some semblance of what had been between you. But over time, the effort began to drain you. You found yourself hesitating more, second-guessing your words, your actions. The weight of his indifference began to chip away at you, slowly, relentlessly. You couldn’t give him everything when he gave you nothing in return. You couldn’t continue to be the person who extended herself, who made the effort, only to be met with silence or coldness.

And so, little by little, you started to pull back too. It wasn’t a conscious decision at first—it was more like instinct. You stopped seeking him out, stopped offering up those moments that used to come so naturally. You allowed the space between you to grow, because deep down, you knew it was what you both needed. If he wasn’t willing to meet you halfway, you couldn’t keep giving. You couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine when it was clear he wasn’t letting you in anymore.

The last few interactions between you two were laced with a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment of what had passed between you. The playful exchanges, the teasing glances, all faded into something more distant, more strained. And with that, you let go, piece by piece, until the distance was all that remained between you two, and the closeness that once felt so effortless was nothing now.

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader

524 notes · View notes

moonlessnight14 · 14 hours ago

Text

Pretty Damn Close

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!Reader Domestic fluff/Established Relationship

The Pitt Playlist located here

Synopsis: Mike gets a reminder that he very desperately needed. Word Count: 1,404 Content Warning: None; Reader is in her 30's A/N: I binged The Pitt over a weekend and was immediately enraptured by this man. I haven't posted a fic in a while, so please be kind. Who wants to scream into the void with me about this show?????

Days off were a rarity for both you and Mike, and when they overlapped you feared pigs would start flying across the skies of Pittsburgh. Sleeping in was an even greater luxury, one you were taking full advantage of in the comfort of Mike’s plush be d.

Mike’s arm tightened around your waist as he pulled your back closer to his chest, letting you know that he was starting to wake up. He inhaled deeply, then sighed a release before kissing your shoulder tenderly.

“Morning,” He mumbled against your skin, his beard tickling you as he trailed kisses up to your neck.

“Afternoon,” You chuckled, knowing you both had slept well past one in the afternoon. Mike had gotten home around eight and you both stayed up until the late hours of the night watching the Penguins game at Anaheim and getting frisky on the couch like a couple of horny teenagers. Needless to say, you were both feeling the late night.

“Ah, shit,” Mike groaned, turning onto his back he kept his arm under you so he could tug you to his chest while rubbing his eyes with his free hand.

“Thought you were gonna sleep the day away, Sleeping Beauty.” Mike pinched your side playfully in response to your teasing. “Be nice.” You reprimanded softly while tugging a small section of his beard.

“I am nice,” he grabbed your hand, placing the gentlest kisses to your palm. “Speaking of nice, would it be not nice of me to say we should stay in bed today?”

Jack and Leanne were hosting a barbecue later that afternoon and as much as you also wanted to flake due to your poor choices the night before, you also wanted to not be that friend. Leanne was hosting a get-together for some of the people in her yoga group and invited you and Mike to join in. It wasn't anything crazy, she had said, just some barbecue and drinks while everyone mingled.

“As much as I would love to stay home and have my way with you, it would be a very not nice thing to do, Mike.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not tempted.” He wiggled his eyebrows to butter you up. “We could stay in, order takeout, watch a movie?”

“As tempted as I am to take your offer, any excuse to show off my hot doctor boyfriend to strangers is enough for me to get out of bed.” Mike barked out a laugh he couldn’t contain.

“Hot doctor boyfriend?” He repeated, beside himself.

“Yes, my hot doctor boyfriend. I don’t know if you know this, but I hit the jackpot with you.”

“Did you now?” The playful glint in his eyes let you know he’d play along for now.

“Highly educated, incredibly handsome, thoughtful, compassionate,” You listed off, “A genuinely a good person-”

“-Oh god-” He cut you off, visibly squirming beneath you. He started to shimmy his way to the side of the bed, but you quickly caught him -laughing- while you pulled him back to the spot he previously occupied.

“No! Where are you going?“ Your words were broken by giggles coming from both of you. "Come back!" In a quick motion, you straddled his hips, pinning Mike to the bed.

Your hands cupped his bearded cheeks to keep his gaze on you. “I know it gives you the heebie-jeebies when you have to listen to someone praise the good qualities you have, Mike, but it’s good to hear them once in a while otherwise you lose perspective of yourself to whatever your brain is telling you.”

“I have plenty of some not so great qualities you seem to be sweeping under the rug,” He mumbled once the laughter died down. His fingers twiddled with the hem of the t-shirt you slipped on in the middle of the night -the frayed edges keeping his attention.

“Like what? You don’t rinse your dishes when you put them in the sink? You leave the same cup on the same corner of the coffee table every single day? That you’re moody sometimes? I think that comes with the whole Emergency Room Attending Physician thing you have going on -just an observation.” Holding your hands up in mock surrender, Mike leveled you with a look.

“I am also nearly twenty years your senior,” This was a point he brought up out of self-consciousness. You knew it ate at him, even though you didn't see the problem. It took quite a bit of convincing on your part when you began seeing each other that it wasn’t as weird as his brain was making it out to be. A man -who was 48 when you met- dating a then 33 year old was hardly considered robbing the cradle.

“Which makes you even hotter,” You shut him down, not giving him a second to dwell on it any longer than he obviously already had. “Quite frankly, had you been any younger, I wouldn’t have even glanced your way." Mike snorted. "You’re just making my case for me.” He rolled his eyes.

“We’re not going to get into the psychology of that,” He chuckled.

“Because you are not a psychologist." You poked Mike on the tip of his nose. "Just because I’m in a happy relationship with an older man does not mean I have daddy issues. I happen to love my father very much, and he also happens to like you.”

“Because we're so close in age,” His quick response had your jaw on the floor. Mike’s bright grin let you know that he had succeeded in making you squirm just as you made him. Tit for tat, if you will.

“You think you’re clever, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“I have my moments,” You hummed at his response, his grin still beaming up at you. His hands had moved from playing with the ends of your shirt to gently rubbing your hips down to your exposed thighs.

“Which is exactly why we’re having this conversation. We’re well past due for it, actually.” You could tell the direction of this conversation was killing him, but he needed to hear these things. He gets so stuck in his head sometimes that he begins to spiral, taking your relationship with it -unintentionally. You knew he needed to hear every word that left your mouth, and understand it for the truth that it was.

Mike wasn’t perfect, but he was pretty damn close.

On the flip side, Mike spent so long thinking he’d never get to have a person that loved him as much as he loved them who didn’t care about his crazy hours, being called in to work on the few days off he had, missing plans or holidays, not seeing each other with the exception of a few hours at night when he came home dead on his feet.

His career -and personal lack of balancing his work and personal life- was usually the relationship killer in his experience. Other factors surely came into play, but at the end of the day most women wanted the doctor, but nothing else that came with it and Mike didn’t blame them.

Then you came along -introduced to Mike through Jack and his wife Leanne- and it felt effortless from the second his hand met yours when you shook it. He didn’t want to believe it then, but laying in his bed with you now made him realize that you were the last piece to the puzzle. The shape that had been missing.

It was hard to date later in life, as Mike found out through reality check after reality check. Most people wanted to get married, have kids -to build a life. He was pushing 50, running himself ragged at the hospital, and the idea of a baby this late in life sounded like an actual nightmare. While you were in your 30s -still young enough to pursue those things- you didn’t want kids; however, you loved Jake as if he was yours, just as Mike did. Neither of you had any blood relation to the teen, but that didn’t stop you from loving the kid fiercely. He had that effect on just about anyone he met.

That was enough for Mike. As long as he had you, he was more than happy because you fit in a space he didn’t think anyone else would or want to.

Gratitude was something Mike thought about a lot more these days. He felt it when he woke up next to you nearly every morning when you started staying overnight at his place more and more often, and as you leaned down to tenderly kiss his lips, he thanked whoever was listening that you had fallen into his life when you did.

“Now get up,” You kissed Mike once more, knocking him out of his thoughts. “Jack will have your ass if you bail. You know he hates having people he doesn’t know over. God knows Leanne is trying to put the poor man in an early grave with the socialization. He needs someone he knows there.” Mike let his hands fall to the bed as you crawled off of him and scampered over to the en-suite bathroom with a fond smile.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be sure to throw the life preserver out for him.” He ran a hand through his hair, letting his head rest back on his pillow for a few moments more before you popped your head out of the bathroom. "I owe him that much, at least."

“As a good friend should. Another good quality to add to the list for our next talk.”

“Enough!” The bathroom door closed milliseconds before a pillow had hit it, but Mike could still hear your giggling from inside.

#dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader

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moonlessnight14 · 16 hours ago

Text

Nothing like a second chance romance 🥰 especially when it makes sense why they split up but still love each other

rose scented scrubs

ex-husband Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x f!reader

the post-divorce love confession fic of my dreams, word count 5.5k

ps I know Dana said it was her last shift in one of the episodes but idc deal with it I had to write her.

It was a few hours into your book when you realized you’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

It had been the first cafe to catch your eye, advertising a yummy pastry you’d been aching to try on a beautiful late Saturday morning. Only after you’d noticed the fourth person in scrubs at the counter did you realize your mistake. The cafe had two entrances - one on the busy street you came in on, the other right outside of Pittsburg Medical Center.

Current workplace of your ex-husband.

You hadn't been near the hospital in months. When you'd been married (the past tense of it a hard pill to swallow, let alone think), you would drive by the hospital on your way to work, leaving early so you could stop by and get a kiss from the man who'd already been up since 5am. After the papers were signed, ink dried and heart broken, you told yourself to revel in those extra twenty minutes of sleep. Now you could drive straight to work, no pit stop needed, and all you had to give up was your marriage.

An almost-kid in black scrubs burst through the door, scanning his phone like his life depended on it. With his flustered expression, he looked like the stereotype of a country boy losing his way in the big city. You checked the clock - 3pm. A little over halfway into the usual twelve-hour shift from 7 to 7. The knowledge sprang up unbidden, carved into your brain by how long you’d lived and breathed it. “Hello! Can I get one black coffee, no cream or sugar, two lattes, regular milk…” he ended with a total of ten drinks, an amount the barista behind the counter barely seemed flustered by. At least for one of them, it wasn’t their first day on the job. He ended up near your chair and the urge to ask was too great, desperation clawing its way out of your throat.

“Are they making the interns get drinks now?” You quip, immediately cursing yourself. There was absolutely no reason to interact, who knows if he’s even in Robby’s department, why- “Yeah, actually. We had a pretty rough time last month, so the admin staff is giving us a new food and drink stipend instead of more staff.” He laughs to himself before remembering that you're a stranger, his cheeks apple red. “Are you a doctor?” He asks. Now it just sounded creepy if you said no, but there was absolutely no chance you could say yes. “No, but I’ve got friends at the hospital.” Friends being Dana, who forces you into monthly mental health check ins where she stares at you until you cry.

“Who’s your friend? If you want, you could stop by with me. I haven’t memorized her name yet, well it’s only my first month, but the front desk worker is super nice, especially since the ER is slow right now.” You gulp at the pit (figurative, not literal) that you’ve dug yourself into. Of course you had to talk to the ER intern. It couldn’t have been Peds, where they’d invite you to say hi to cute babies from the NICU glass? You’ve done it once or twice, bored of waiting on Robby and making friends with all the nurses.

You open to give your refusal and apologies but get interrupted by the barista shouting “Dennis!” Three containers of drinks appear out of nowhere, and you can’t help but cringe at how Dennis has no way to carry them all. He’s currently attempting to balance one on top of the other, and your duty as a Good Samaritan suddenly becomes clear. The thought of seeing Dana, and perhaps Collins or McKay if you’re lucky, makes your heart swell. Robby will be easy to avoid if you stay vigilant. Tucking your book into your tote, you stand and prepare yourself for battle. It’s easy to make your way to Dennis, who looks like a circus performer, and grab two of the drink trays. “C’mon, kid. Let’s caffeinate these people.”

It feels like a dream you’ve dreamt a thousand times. Walking into the ER, looking fabulous with your makeup just right and your best perfume on. Dropping off a sick friend and running into Robby, stunning him with your six-month post-divorce glow up. Or maybe it’s a year later and you bring in an injured and scandalously younger boyfriend to show him what he’s missing. After those dreams, you always wake up empty, soul heavy. In other ones, it’s you on the gurney, letting him prove to himself he can save the people he loves, that you’re not just another Adamson. A romantic revelation that would fix those last hollow months of your marriage, grief and regret heavy on his tongue but never making its way out. Those end in tears, your face wet when you wake.

You’d never imagined this - your best weekend leggings and your favorite tote swinging from your shoulder as you follow in what has to be Robby's baby intern. You nod at the woman behind the counter, a new person you don’t know. She seems about to stop you from going in but then you hear a clear voice yell your name. So much for an in and out mission.

McKay greeted you with a warm smile, taking one of the drink trays from you as she nudges your shoulder. “Long time no see!” Her friendly tone makes you ache with regret. You’ve kept up with Dana only because she forced her way into your new, solitary life. It felt uncouth to reach out to McKay or Collins, like it would seem a ploy to get back to Robby. Shame ruins through your veins at your actions, or lack thereof. “Hey, I’m sorry for the ghosting. Been going through some stuff. I like your new bangs!” She doesn’t let you distract her, brows staying knitted at your second sentence. For once, you hate how determined she can be, her maternal instincts knowing no bounds. “What stuff?” McKay pulls you off the side, ignoring the drinks in both of your hands that are definitely in demand.

“Well, I’m sure you already know.” You roll your shoulder forward to emphasize your point. It’s pretty clear what you’re talking about, but the word ‘divorce’ feels too ugly to mention between you two. She doesn’t seem to get the memo, looking you up and down like she’s expecting the answer to pop out of the sweater you’re wearing. “I don’t get paid enough for you to waste my time being all facetious.” You snort, but the anticipation of your next words sobers you quickly. “Moving out, finding a new place, all the paperwork. It’s been a lot, but I should’ve kept up and I’m sorry.” Her lips purse in confusion. There’s a strain around her shoulders and you hate that this talk might be causing it, probably reminding her of her own divorce. “Did something happen at your old apartment? We don’t talk personal lives too much, but Robby would’ve mentioned a flood or something. Or did you guys finally get a bigger place?” The thought of that lightens her eyes, a rare smile you don’t see too much in the ER. Your heart sinks.

Robby didn’t tell her.

Of course, he left the hard stuff to you, once again. “Cass…” you trail off, unsure how to continue. Once again, you’re saved by an interruption. “What are you doing, robbing my best staff and not saying hi?” Dana appears, her short white-blond hair framing her face like a stern angel. You’ve haven’t seen her in a month and a half since she took some time off to deal with personal stuff after a particularly rough shift. She’s never been a big texter, so you anticipated more information at your future catch up, planned for next week. “I ran into one of the interns looking lost in the cafe over and simply had to help.” You tease. Your eyes meet hers but immediately look over her head, searching for him. Wherever she goes, he’s not far behind, always paying his dues in following her wisdom.

“He’s in Trauma 1, helping a drowning victim.” Fuck, you’re caught. Dana smirks at you like she’s inside your head. McKay’s eyes twinkle like there’s something romantic about to happen and you mourn the fact you’re about to give her yet another reason to not believe in a man, again. “I wasn’t looking for him, I was looking for Collins.” You bite, ignoring how McKay’s confusion has reached an all time high to your right. To distract them both, you push the drink tray forward. “I think there’s a hazelnut latte somewhere in here for you, Ms. Busybody.” Dana narrows her eyes as she finds the drink you’re talking about, plucking it out with precision. One drink down, three to go and then you can leave. That intern, Dennis, is nowhere to be found. You’d leave the drinks on the desk, but you know that would be a hazard in so many ways. Plus, some person would probably grab a drink that’s not theirs and you can’t be responsible for pandemonium - you know what lack of caffeine can do to a healthcare worker. Thankfully, the white lids read their contents: black coffee, hot tea, and…hot chocolate? Maybe there’s a kid who needed some comfort.

“Do you know who the rest are for?” You question. Dana shrugs and you can sense some ulterior motive behind her eyes. “Sounds like a question for Whittaker.” That must be Dennis. In the crowd of gurneys and scrubs, you can’t seem to find him. “The hot tea is for Collins and the hot chocolate is for Javadi, one of the interns. Of course, you know who the black coffee is for.” Double fuck.

You had hoped it was someone else who had a taste for black sludge, but unfortunately only one doctor does. Cowardly, you turn to McKay and give her your best try of puppy dog eyes. “Do you mind passing these out?” She snorts, clearly amused. “As if I’m getting between you and Robby mid shift. I remember last October all too well.” You stiffen at the memory. Surprising the staff with pumpkin cookies you’d baked, shrieking when Robby had grabbed you by the hips and ordered you into an unused storage room. How McKay had opened the door (“looking for supplies, I swear I did not want to see any of that”) with your hand in your husband’s scrubs and your leg, chilly in a skirt for easy access, wrapped around his waist.

“I see Collins. It was nice seeing you, McKay.” It’s a rude goodbye, but you can’t stomach anything more. Collins’ signature red jacket is easy to spot as she comes out of one of the nearby rooms, conferring sternly with what seems to be another intern. They just keep multiplying.

“Like I told you, you wait for my instructions, you don’t just intubate because-“ Your eyes catch and the emotional weight around your shoulders sags a bit more. She sends the intern off with one more warning before greeting you with a slight smile. “I heard you needed a hot tea.” You brandish the drink tray like a shield. She takes the cup delicately, taking a small sip and sighing in delight. “I haven’t seen you in six months. Work trip or something? Robby’s been worse than usual.” He didn’t tell her either. It’s starting to look like the only people who know about your divorce are you, Robby, and Dana. It begs the question why, but you’re not strong enough to answer. You know Collins would be a good person to confide in, but you don’t want to drop a bomb on what looks like an exhausting day. Her outward mask might be tough, but once you got over the awkwardness of her being Robby’s long-ago fling, you’ve always been able to see right through it.

“Something like that. You okay?” You move her off to the side before she can get swept into another case. She gives you another one of those barely-there smiles, and you ache to think that she’s been struggling with something, maybe worse than you. Maybe she sees something reflected back, because in a rare move, she opens up. “I had a miscarriage a month ago.” On instinct, you find an empty chair to set the drink tray on before sweeping her in your arms. She doesn’t like to be touched by many, especially at work, but she makes an exception for you.

“Oh, Heather.” It’s all you can say. She doesn’t cry, too battle worn and aware of the eyes on her, but the breath she takes is a near thing. After a few seconds, she pulls back, tight lipped and eyes shining. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there, but this isn’t about me. Oh, honey.” You murmur. You squeeze her hand, trying to impress on her all the things you cannot say. Heather Collins doesn’t like empty platitudes, so you don’t try to give her any. For a second, she squeezes your hand back before her mask slides back into place. “Thank you. Robby’s been kind, let me go home early the day it happened and pick the best shifts. It seems he kept it secret, so I’m thankful.” You don’t mention that the last time you talked to him was six months ago in a lawyers office. You know Robby and even if you were still together, he would’ve taken this secret to the grave. One of the things you love about him.

She switches the topic to you, asking about your supposed trip, but a miracle, or rather a group of interns, rumbles past you. You might not be a doctor but they’re easy to spot, unsure or overconfident, spilling unhelpful advice like gospel. “Hey! Any of you Javadi?” You call out. The girl nearest you whips her head around like you just cursed her name. She looks barely past college, hair pulled back into a ponytail of midnight black. “Me. I- that’s me.” You bend down, plucking the hot chocolate out of its tray and handing it to her. Her eyes are bright and thankful, like it's a winning lottery ticket instead of a drink. “Thank you! I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, Doctor…”

“Robby!” The middle intern says, her posture stiff with self-confidence. “Um…” you trail off, looking to Collins for help before remembering she doesn’t know. “I heard Princess and Perlah talking. You’re Robby’s wife, right?” All you can do is gape at the gall of her, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Collins restrains a laugh, unhelpful, and the other interns are looking at you like you’ve hung the stars. What in the world do you-

“Indeed. Last time I checked, this was a hospital to learn, not gossip. Keep it moving, you three.” His voice is like melted honey, warm and gooey and too comforting to name. Collins mentions something about a patient, taking her leave with raised eyebrows. It’s hard, but you try not to acknowledge the voice behind you as you watch her walk away. Only when her red jacket disappears from view do you turn.

He doesn’t look good. It’s what you said you wanted, of course, but the truth is, you’re just concerned. There’s dark circles under his eyes, almost covered by those black rounded glasses of his. A few new grays grace the side of his head, stark against the rest of him. The wrinkles on his face make him look aged, not the wise wizard you forced him to be for Halloween a few years ago. His scruffy beard dots his jawline and the ache to feel it is so deep, you fear it’ll never leave.

“Hi.” You whisper shyly, a knock-kneed girl instead of the woman you are. He smiles that gentle smile of his, crow's feet unapologetic, and it seems to turn back time. Just yesterday, you might’ve been making dinner together or cuddling on the couch. “Hi. I heard you’ve got a drink for me?” You nod, not trusting your voice as you point to the chair in between you. Deft fingers find his cup and pull. It’s hard not to watch them work, not to trace the calluses and the nimble movements. “Since when do interns order you around?” He asks, taking a second to gulp down his coffee. You stare at the movement of his throat, so many dirty memories making themselves known in the back of your head. “I’ve been demoted, I guess.” It didn’t mean to come out like that but it’s clear that’s what he thinks, a sudden frown appearing on his face.

“Is something wrong? Some paperwork I need to sign?” He asks in a burst. Your stomach churns at the rejection and instinctively, you take a step back. He seems to try to follow you, but the leg of the chair stops him. “No, I just - It’s funny, I guess. I was at that new cafe across the street and ran into an intern who looked like he needed help and well, I figured it would be nice to see Cassie and Heather, so here I am.” You end your rant with a shrug, instantly regretting every decision that led you here. Of course you were going to run into him. There wasn’t any other path, not for you. And of course, he just thinks you’re here for paperwork. He’s clearly moved on, even if he looks like he’s hurting. It’s time you do to.

“Well, that’s all my drinks, so…” Trailing off, you look around desperately for help. The Pitt seems to be against you, everyone following their standard practice of leaving you two alone when all you want is to be away from him. “How are you?” He whispers like a secret, voice raspy but sure. Emotion swells in your sternum instantly at his question. Soft eyes take your awkwardness in stride as he steps around the chair until he’s on your left, back to the Pitt. The familiarity of it is like a bullet to chest. “I’m fine. You?”

Robby shrugs, letting you trace the lines of his shoulders under that familiar sweatshirt. "Rough couple of months, to be honest." You blink at his honesty. That same honesty that led to that fateful conversation - you'd served him the divorce papers, but he was the one to suggest lawyers and due process. The papers were meant to wake him up, make him realize how much he needed to fix this, but all they did was end things.

"I wanted to see you. Dana wouldn't give me your new address, something about not being ready. Plus, I think you blocked me," he laughs at himself like it's funny, what he's admitting. A thousand questions form, 'why' and 'when' and 'what'. You'd blocked him and deleted his number the moment the papers finalized, knowing you weren't strong enough to truly recover if you could talk to him. It looks like he didn't do the same, and a rare burst of hope shines through the fog that's made itself at home in your brain. You gape, no words coming to you.

One of those hands, strong and capable and not yours, raises to push his glasses up his nose. You freeze.

It's still there.

Three years ago, ring shopping to find a perfect band. He got a black plastic version as well, something he could wear to work without worrying about blood or a rogue patient. That same black band still graces his ring finger, a blaring alarm that things aren't what they seemed.

"Michael." There's nothing else to add, your eyes still trained on his hand. Of course, all-seeing as he is, he picks up on what you're looking at right away. He's quiet, face worn with contemplation. "Why?" You ask, voice wavering. Tears form in an instant, choking any air in your lungs. "I couldn't take it off," he admits, somber. You think of your own ring, tucked away in your new bedstand that you had to build yourself. "I don't understand," you rasp.

"Baby, I've been-"

"Robby, we need you!" A voice breaks through the bubble you're in. Without realizing, you've become almost nose-to-nose, curling your hands to your chest in an attempt to not touch him. He sighs, pulling back a little, and it's like losing the warmth of the sun. "You know where the staff lounge is?" He asks, smiling when you nod immediately. "Wait for me. I'll be there soon." He hands you his coffee and rips himself away, already reaching for a hand sanitizer station.

In the staff lounge, your book sits unopened on the table. It's hard to do when your mind won't stop whirling, wondering if you've gotten this all wrong. The door bursts open and you snap up, hopeful, only to shrink a little when you realize it's not him. You recover quickly, not wanting to seem rude in a place you're not supposed to be in. "Hi, Kiara." You've only met her once or twice, but she's the kind of comforting soul you'd remember. She gives you a smile and then beelines for the electric kettle in the back. "Mrs. Robby, how are you?" You gulp at her question, realizing your ex-husband truly told no one about his divorce. "I've been better, but nothing I can't handle. You?" It's hard not to be honest when she's so easy to talk to, pulling out a chair for her to wait for her kettle. "One of those days. A mother just lost her child, so I'm making her a hot tea." Despite the dark news, the tight-lipped smile she sends you seems genuine. You ask about the ER overall and she tells you about the mass-casualty event that happened last month. You know a bit from Jake's mom, checking in on him through her instead of wanting to bother a grieving teenager who'd already been frustrated about the divorce.

As the kettle finishes, the door bangs open again. This time it is Robby, who looks flustered but sends you a smile anyways. It's like licking a spoon of brownie batter - secretive and a little wrong, but delicious anyways. You shouldn't have waited, should've left when you could, but deep down you need your questions answered. Kiara passes him with a cup in her hands, whispering something into his ear as she leaves. "I will." Robby replies, making you frown at the secrecy. Usually, if they're discussing a patient, they'll do it in front of you without names. Whatever that was had to be personal, and you're too emotionally raw not to ask.

"What was that?" You mutter, a little unkindly. Robby takes a seat, and you push his coffee cup towards him. His knee taps yours in thanks and stays there, its presence bewildering but not unwelcome. "She told me to use the communication skills we've been talking about." A laugh bursts out of you and you regret it instantly, your knee pressing into his. "Since when do you have communication skills?" You chortle. That's one of the things he might have at work, but never in a relationship. It used to be a joke between you, how you had to pry his true feelings out of him at the beginning of your relationship, but it turned to bitter satire in the end.

A heavy hand lands on your thigh, burning its way through the thin fabric of your leggings. "I know my communication has been...lacking," you hold back a snort, "but after last month, I've been talking to Kiara. Seems like I should've been following my own advice all this time." He admits, squeezing your thigh at the end of his sentence. Wide-eyed shock works its way through your veins. He actually addressed the major reason you said you wanted a divorce. The contentment you feel is like a nugget of gold, there for you to hoard and keep safe from judgement.

"Robby, that's wonderful. I'm proud of you, really." You exclaim, finding his hand on your leg and covering it with your own. The silicone of his ring digs into your fingers, and you let it. "I like it better when you call me Michael." He confesses. His chair squeaks as he turns towards you, shifting positions until his knees bracket yours on either side. His free hand raises to cup your face, familiar fingers petting your hair and your skin.

"Why are you wearing your ring, Michael?" You blurt, the need for his answer too great to hold back. Your ex-husband sighs, leaning forward until his face is all you see. On instinct, you reach out to take off his glasses and set them on the table. He always complained they hurt his nose, so he only wears them when reading. You brush the imprint left behind, smoothing down red marks and tracing the places you used to kiss every morning.

"You're still the love of my life, sweetheart." He confesses as you stiffen. He takes the lead, guiding you out of the chair and onto the worn couch on the far side of the room. It's easier to sink into his hold here, your face and your heart in the palms of his hands. Yells echo through the door, giving you an out to slide back and interrogate.

"That's how you treat the love of your life? You barely talked to me for months, Robby. You refused to go to therapy or marriage counseling and..." What you leave unsaid is too hurtful to bare. An old insecurity that was watered by months of loneliness, Robby picking up shifts to skip out on weekends together. "And what, baby? Don't hold back now." He practically demands, tugging your legs into his lap so you're under the full force of his stare. "And you started skipping weekends with me. Taking shifts when we were supposed to go on dates. Smelling different, like perfume instead of disinfectant." You whisper the last part, staring at your hands in your lap.

He laughs. An actual laugh.

You try to push off of him, but he tugs you until all the fight drains out. "I really fucked this up, haven't I?" He states. Robby almost never swears, so the use of one makes you pay attention. "Will you stop being an asshole and tell me what you mean?" You pout, upset that your emotions are getting brushed off. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip that juts out, tucking it back until he touches your teeth. "Detergent, baby, I swear. They found some awful cheap laundry detergent for our scrubs. I had some bad luck for weeks, fluids on me every day." He reasons, but you refuse to believe it. He knows you too well, of course. Robby tilts your chin until your eyes catch on a box of Rose Detergent for Hospitals, Clinics, and More near the trash can.

"This is what I mean, Michael! This kind of shit was in my head for months but I couldn't talk to you." He sobers instantly, that constant forlorn expression of his making itself known on his face. Robby interlaces your hands, laying his in your lap. Against your will, it grounds you. "The administration had wanted me to do a post-COVID remembrance for all the workers we lost and I just couldn't. Couldn't look at you without being reminded that I lived when so many better people died. I felt like I didn't deserve our happiness, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry." Only when he brushes your face do you realize it's wet. This is what you wanted for months, to hear the thoughts in his head instead of his sarcastic quips or his no-nonsense tone. This was your husband.

He held you to his chest, letting you calm down to the sound of his heartbeat. There's a compulsion under your skin, wanting to bind you two together until you don't know where you end and he begins. Ambulance sirens and pattering footsteps and shouts of pain all fade away when you work your hands through his scruffy beard, admiring the glints of silver that show here and there. "You might be a doctor, but you're an idiot." He nods, letting you curl further into him. "I don't regret divorcing you, because I am not doing your emotional labor for you." Another nod, this one shorter and more serious. "But I'm willing to try again, if you want to. The right way, where we go to counseling and actually talk." Finally, a grin. It changes his entire face, muscle and sinew rearranging into the man you once knew.

He doesn't have to answer. His kiss does it for him.

It's soft and tentative, barely there. A surge of anger sinks through you at how utterly bull-headed he's been. You push into him until his back hits the sofa, climbing him until your pelvises meet in a kiss. You pour months of resentment into your kiss and he meets you halfway, muscles under you tensing as you clash. "You asked to get lawyers." You bite his jaw as you say it, a fact you've been stewing over. "Wanted to make sure you got my money." He squeezes your ass, pulling you into him until you roll your hips over his cock, barely contained by his scrubs. This isn't the place for your first recoupling, but with how the couch is out of the way of the window over the door, and that no one seems to be looking for him, it'll do for now.

"Such a stubborn old man." You gripe, then gasp as he nips your neck. Robby lays kisses to your jaw, trailing down to your neck and sucking hard like a teenager. Broad hands urge your hips to grind, fucking yourself in his lap as you chase satisfaction. It's been so long since you've had an orgasm, every attempt reminding you of Robby. "Pretty sure you used to call me something else, baby." He mutters, one hand leaving your waist to sneak under your sweater. He finds your nipples hardened and achy, pulling one out of your bra cup and rolling it between his fingers. "I only call my husband that." You whine as your clit hits just the right angle of his clothed cock, bucking faster in his lap.

"Everyone around here knows you as my wife." He shoots back, pinching your nipple to emphasize his point. You find the crook of his neck and lay your forehead there, panting as your thighs burn with their ministrations. His hand on your waist flattens, fingers inching closer to your front but not where you need them. It's clear he's waiting for something, his thumb tracing the outline of your panties as he stays there. The longing to give in is too great.

"Please, Daddy. I need to come." You moan, not letting shame make its way into your head. You can feel him grin against you as his thumb finds your clothed clit, rubbing small circles as you keep bucking. It's what you needed, release creeping over you until you collapse in his arms. He moves his hips a few times into you until you complain of overstimulation.

"Think I just came in my pants." He mutters as you pull back. Giggles erupt from you, turning into snorts as you take in the pained expression on his face. Dr. Michael Robinavitch, coming in his pants like a teenager as his wife straddles him.

"Good thing they have scrubs. And a new rose detergent, I heard." You sass, squealing as he pinches your nipple, still cupped in his hand. He rights your clothing as you calm down, tucking your bra back in place and untwisting your leggings. "You're lucky I love you." He pecks your forehead before resting his own against it. You close your eyes in satisfaction, relieved to have filled this year-old hole in your heart. "I love you too, Michael." Your breaths mingle for a few moments, peace in the middle of the most unpeaceful place in Pittsburg.

Someone bangs on the door. Dana smirks at both of you like she predicted this was coming. "Two GSW's on the way, five minutes." You both sigh at getting caught, yet again. At least it was Dana. "Just enough time to get new scrubs." You cheer. He laughs, moving you both to a standing position before pecking your forehead again. "Put your address in my phone." He orders, fishing out his phone from where it fell into the couch cushions. "So forward, Doctor." You laugh as you type into his familiar phone. "I'll be over with takeout around 7:30, Mrs. Robinavitch." You grin.

"With your luck, it'll be 8 o'clock."

"Will you still wait?"

"Always."

this got away from me but wow it was necessary

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader

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moonlessnight14 · 17 hours ago

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A Ray of Fucking Sunshine

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: patient violence, needles, injury, HIV mention, Santos

A/N: I literally cannot stop writing about this old man omg. But I love him. And he is a Good Man. Just some good fluff between an attending and his resident.

—

“I need a doctor!” A voice emerged from one of the exam rooms. “Please, I need a doctor!”

You looked up from your computer and over to Dana, who rolled her eyes. “Is it my turn?” You asked with hesitation.

The Pitt had been flooded as usual, and one of the psychiatric admissions was still being boarded in an exam room until a bed was available upstairs. Fred, the middle-aged opioid addict, was currently going through withdrawals, and he made sure everyone on the floor was aware. You felt bad for him because you know addiction is not entirely the fault of a patient, but Fred was verbally abusing every person who walked through the curtain to check on him.

Dana chuckled and walked over to your chair. “You’re up to bat, champ.” She patted you on the shoulder. “Think you’ll need backup? I can go in with you.”

You sighed and rubbed the aching dark circles under your eyes. “Not if he’s restrained. I’ll be fine.” You mumbled, kicking back on the floor so your chair rolled away from the desk.

You swung your stethoscope around your neck and walked through the curtain. There was Fred. He came in with tremors and sweats, but the withdrawal medication seemed to be helping for now. “Hey, Fred. I’m Dr. (L/N). What’s going on?” You asked, taking a seat on the stool next to the bed.

Fred shook his head. “No, I don’t want a fucking nurse. I want my doctor!” He screamed.

You squinted at his loud voice. “Sir, I am a doctor. Now, how can I help you?” You asked again, with the same patience as before.

“Give me my fucking medicine right now, bitch. I’m not playing any games.” He growled.

You moved to the computer to look up his chart. “I think Dr. Langdon already gave you medicine about thirty minutes ago. What symptoms are you having?” You replied calmly, not taking his anger to heart.

“I want my fucking pills.” He hissed, struggling against the fabric restraints tied to the gurney.

You turned to look at him and sighed. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that for you.” You turned back to the computer to search for the time on his next medicine. “I know you are feeling really bad right now, but the pills will not help you in the-”

You were cut off by your head being yanked back by your hair with strong force. You let out a startled scream and twisted around to look at Fred. He had gotten out of one of his arm restraints, and before you could cry out for assistance, you felt pressure on your cheek. Naturally, your eyes squinted shut when you saw a hand coming at you, so you didn’t see that he was wielding a scalpel. Before you could open your eyes, a closed fist knocked you to the ground.

“I told you to give me my fucking pills, you cunt.” He snarled and spat on you.

The curtain swung open to reveal Langdon and Robby, who both looked ready to tackle Fred if he was free. You crawled away from the bed and shakily stood up.

“Dana, call for security!” Robby yelled out as he and Langdon grabbed Fred’s free arm and tried to tie it back down to the rails of the bed. The metal clang of the scalpel dropping to the tile fell deaf on your ears.

You ran out of the room as a security guard bumped into you, causing you to stumble. Luckily, Dana was there to catch you. “Hey, I’ve got you.” She assured you. But then she stood you up straight, seeing red streaks on your face and dripping to your neck. “Oh, holy shit.”

You felt numb. Numb to everything. Even the pain in your face couldn’t bring you back to reality. “I just…” You mumbled, looking around. All of the nurses and doctors had their eyes on you. It was overwhelming, and the fluorescent lights started to burn your eyes.

And then your cheek began to hurt. The pain seeped across your face, and hot tears pricked your eyes.

You didn’t even realize that Dana had snatched gauze from a patient’s room. She pressed it to your cheek firmly. “Collins, get over here!” She called out.

You sat down in the chair you had abandoned only two minutes before. Collins ran over to you and tilted your head up with a gentle hand.

“Oh, sweetie, what happened?” She asked sincerely, lifting the gauze delicately.

You winced as fresh air hit the cut. “I don’t know. I think he hit me. And he pulled my hair.” You responded, still in shock.

Collins winced at the wound and replaced the gauze. “I don’t know, that looks like a pretty deep cut.”

Before long, the med students and interns surrounded your chair. You reached a hand to your cheek and carefully pulled the gauze away, finally seeing how much blood had flooded the cloth.

“Oh, shit. That definitely needs stitches.” Santos commented.

If you could roll your eyes, you would have. But you were focused on not puking your guts out in front of the team.

“I shouldn’t have turned my back to him.” You mumbled.

Mohan shook her head. “No way. That is not your fault. Sure, never let a patient get between you and the door. But you shouldn’t have to keep eyes on the patient at all times to ensure your safety.” She redirected.

You closed your eyes, but you could hear others agreeing with her. The pain and attention was too much to handle. You just wanted to be alone. So, you stood slowly. Dana held a hand to your back as you did.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked. “You might need a CT.”

You looked to her sluggishly. “I just need some air. I’m just going to the empty room.” You said before quickly escaping from the crowd.

You swished the curtain open and shut. The light above the bed was out, perfect for some peace and quiet. You sat on the bed and crossed your legs. The pain from your cheek was becoming more unbearable by the second as the adrenaline wore off. You closed your eyes and pressed the gauze harder against your skin.

You were incredibly embarrassed. Maybe you were too naive. Fred had a history of violence toward healthcare workers, and you still turned away from him. Trusting him as innocently as a child would. It wasn’t the first time that you underestimated a patient. Langdon always chastised you for being too trusting.

The curtain opened, and you could see the light from the Pitt through your closed eyes. “Dana, please let me have a minute.” You begged.

“I think she’s already given you two minutes.” Robby’s voice responded.

You opened your eyes, and you saw Robby standing in the doorway with a suture pack in his hands. “Oh. I’m sorry, Dr. Robby.” You responded, slightly embarrassed.

Robby smiled and shut the curtain behind him. “No need.” He said and stood over the bed. “Why don’t you let me see what we’re working with?” And tapped your hand holding the gauze.

You moved your hand away from your face and winced. “It’s fine. Just stings a little.” You lied through clenched teeth.

Robby chuckled and shook his head. “No, ma’am. That’s gonna need at least five stitches.” He said.

You watched him move to the side of the room and grab a syringe of lidocaine and some more gauze. He turned the overhead exam light on, and you furrowed your brow at the brightness.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he sat down on the bed next to you. He titled your chin up and began patting down your neck with the extra gauze, cleaning the blood that had dripped from your cheek.

Honestly, you weren’t okay. You felt like you had been taken advantage of, but you didn’t lose anything besides your pride. And a few precious minutes of charting. You felt silly for thinking that a hostile patient wouldn’t lash out at you, even though he had screamed at someone as sweet as Mel King. You felt the tears prick your eyes again, and your bottom lip quivered.

Robby stopped cleaning your face as soon as he met your eyes. “Oh, no. Sweetie, please don’t cry.” He begged and tilted your head back. “The tears are gonna make the cut hurt even more. Just wait for me to inject the lidocaine.” He said.

You swallowed thickly, taking in shaky but deep breaths. You felt his hand grab one of yours and squeezing tightly. “I’m sorry.” You managed to whisper.

Robby made quick work of the cleanup and grabbed the lidocaine syringe. He pulled his black-rimmed glasses out of the pocket of his scrub top and placed them on the bridge of his nose. “Don’t apologize, dear.” He let go of your hand to place his on under your chin to stabilize your head. “Okay. I’m about to inject the lidocaine, and it’s going to burn like hell for a few seconds.” He warned, peering over his glasses to meet your gaze.

You saw the syringe in his hand. The needle wasn’t that big. You knew that. You gave the same injection to patients every shift. But as the needle slowly moved closer to your face, your breathing hitched, and you pulled away from his grasp.

“No, no, I can’t.” You struggled to say through labored breaths.

Robby held his hands up, as if to show you that he wasn’t going to make a sneak attack with the syringe. “(Y/L/N). Look at me. Look at my eyes.” He said, lifting his glasses to rest on the crown of his head.

And so you did. His dark chocolate eyes were framed with permanent laugh lines. Even when he was in a pissy mood, he would smile with sarcasm or exasperation. You didn’t even realize that your breathing had slowed as the silence grew between you. Robby placed the lidocaine syringe on the tray next to the bed, but never broke eye contact.

“Tell me what’s going through your mind.” He said.

You didn’t answer immediately. It almost seemed like a trap. Admitting your insecurities and shortcomings to your boss that he could use as leverage or blackmail whenever he saw fit. But something about his face seemed sincere and almost…worried.

“I’m just…embarrassed. Overwhelmed.” You whispered, finally admitting it out loud.

Robby nodded. “Okay. Those are reasonable feelings to have after an event like that.” He affirmed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. “No. I’m sorry for being a bitch about the lidocaine. I’m ready now.” You said quickly.

Robby reached for the syringe again and placed a hand under your chin. “Okay. I’m going to make a few injections around the cut. It’ll be over before you know it.” He said and tilted his glasses back down.

You closed your eyes and waited. The needle inserting wasn’t painful, but the lidocaine burned like a motherfucker. You furrowed your brow, trying not to scrunch your face in pain.

“That’s a good girl.” Robby praised as he inserted the needle into your skin again.

Oh. That wasn’t something you expected to hear from him. You opened your eyes to see Robby meticulously moving the needle around your cheek, his mouth open just slightly in concentration. You hoped that your face had already been flushed from the anxiety and pain because you could definitely feel the heat rising up your neck. Suddenly you realized just how close Robby was to you. Even while you both sat at the edge of the bed, he was all but cradling you as he worked.

“And done. How does it feel?” He said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You raised a hand to your cheek and pressed gently. “Oh. I don’t feel anything.” You said, huffing a small laugh.

“Great. That means I can start sewing you up.” He said.

Robby opened the suture kit and began to sort out its contents. You watched him grab the utensils he needed and the suture thread. “Thank you for doing this.” You said.

He turned back to you, ready to start suturing away. “It's the least I can do. I’m upset that one of my residents got attacked under my watch.” He responded, inserting the suture needle. But you didn’t feel it. “After this, I’m gonna write you a prescription for a PEP antiretroviral and do some blood tests.”

Your eyes widened. “For HIV?”

Robby met your eyes for a moment before looking back to your cheek. “Yes, Dr. (Y/L/N). Fred is HIV positive. And while we don’t think the scalpel he cut you with had his own bodily fluids on it, your health comes first. We have to treat because of the risk, even though it’s slim to none.” He explained.

Your heart fell to your stomach, and the tears that you managed to hold back before began to spill over your eyes. “I’m so fucking stupid.” You breathed.

Robby pulled tightly on a suture before beginning the next one. “Hey. Don’t talk like that.” He said. “This is not your fault.”

Your lip quivered, and you looked to the ceiling to try and stop more tears. “Langdon is right. I’m fucking naive. I shouldn’t have ever turned my back to Fred. I knew what he was capable of.”

Robby sighed heavily and tied off the last suture. He placed the instruments back on the metal tray. But then he grabbed one of your hands and lifted his glasses with the other. “You are a good doctor, (Y/N). You are not naive. You are one of the last good people around here.” He said honestly.

Your cheeks flushed again, but you shook your head. “I need to start thinking more like Langdon, like Santos, like…like you.” You said.

Robby frowned, almost in disappointment. “I don’t want you to ever be like me. You are a ray of fucking sunshine, and you make everyone around you smile. Even me.” He said. “As soon as you walk in the room, it gets brighter.”

You smiled slightly. “I can make you smile?” You asked shyly.

Robby chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, you do.” He replied. “Sometimes you’re the only good thing about my day. The days where you’re off and I’m here…those are a lot darker.”

You watched your attending fidget with his hands in his lap nervously. You placed one of yours over them. Robby looked up to you, and you felt a real connection this time, deeper than holding each other’s gaze. He held your small hand in both of his.

“Well…you’re making a really shitty day turn into a good one.” You said.

Robby smiled, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled. You didn’t realize how close the two of you had naturally inched towards each other until you could feel his breath on your nose and smell his scent. A mixture of coffee and what had to be Old Spice deodorant.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first. But Robby’s lips pressed against yours in a sweet, gentle kiss. His nose brushed against yours, nuzzling your uninjured cheek. You grinned at the feeling of his mouth peppering small kisses across your face.

“Does this make it better?” He asked in between little kisses.

You placed a hand on his neck, fingers reaching up to stroke his hair. You finally pressed your forehead against his to catch his eyes. “All better, Dr. Robby.” You said before giving him another kiss.

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader

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moonlessnight14 · 17 hours ago

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👀

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

My Ko-Fi :)

—

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

#michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader

766 notes · View notes

moonlessnight14 · 20 hours ago

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A Lesson in Vulnerability | one-shot

Resident!Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x resident!f!reader

Summary: A pregnancy scare forces you both to lay your cards on the table.

Note: This one took awhile lol, I had it in my head since ep9, but it took forever to get it right (still not thrilled with it), plus it took a backseat once I started Companionship. Not positive how Dr Robby would behave as a resident, so I drew some inspiration from Noah’s ER character, Dr. John Carter (legal controversy aside, I think both characters might’ve had a similar residency experience before moving in different directions. I love and appreciate both characters separately, as their respective shows are different entities. Had they gained the rights, then perhaps our beloved Dr. Robby might’ve instead been our dear Dr. John Carter, but honestly I am living for Dr. Robby right now so I can’t say I’m upset it’s not a reboot).

This one-shot might be inspiring me to make a series, or just jump into some John Carter fics lol

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: afab!reader, established situationship, foul language, pregnancy scare, anxiety, angst, some fluff, residency stress, hurt/comfort, vague smut, loss of a patient, medical inaccuracies, Robby having a hard time expressing his feelings, it’s the 90’s, those brown eyes oof

not beta read

You forgot how it had started — a lingering touch here and a few flirty comments there. Either way, you had ended up in Michael Robinavitch’s bed all the same. It had started with just a night every so often, but then it was after nearly every shift you had together; and now it was leaving a few extra clothes at his apartment so you could stay the night.

Part of you wondered if there was something unspoken about your relationship, but you did not want to be the one to mess with a good thing, or risk breaking it. All you wanted to focus on was your future; what hospital you might want to work at when your residency was over or if perhaps you would move states. You had worked too hard to get hung up on a guy.

But he made it so hard to focus on much else in his company, with those dark brown eyes looking at you like you were the only person in the room, the memory of his touch on your thighs, your hips seared into your mind. For all the stresses of residency, it was nice to forget in the comfort of his touch.

His lips on your throat, his beard tickling you, hot breathy voice in your ear, the feel of his hands on your skin, exploring down, down, down—

“MVA inbound! Three victims, five minutes out!”

You snapped back to reality, pushing your things into your locker and getting to work. It was easy now to fall into pace with the other residents and attendings, after nearly seven months of hard work of being an R2.

The senior attending of the ER, Dr. James Long, called you over to assist in tending to the first patient wheeled in. You hated the way your eyes searched for Dr. Robby, an R3, before you started working on the patient.

Time passed in a blur after that, intubating the more critical of the MVA victims, while the two others were evaluated and deemed lower risk, all three waiting to be brought up to get imaging. While you kept one eye on the MVA patients, you also stepped in to do a few stitches for a mother who had slipped while making lunch.

There was rarely ever a lull, so you stepped away when you could. You quickly found your way into the staff lounge, looking for a pick-me-up and perhaps a protein bar. It was the perfect place to take a deep breath — the one patient had been touch-and-go for nearly a half hour, and the adrenaline was slowly leaving your system.

“Hey,” Robby greeted, seemingly having the same idea as you.

You smiled back at him, opening the protein bar.

“You want to come by after your shift?”

You were thankful you were chewing so you did not jump at it. You tried to stay casual. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He smiled, and you swore it could light up any room he was in. You hated how rare they were, but in the environment of the ER, you couldn’t say you were surprised.

The rest of your shift did pass quickly, but not easily. Two gunshot victims passed under your care, though only one was serious, but not life-threatening. You heard from one of the nurses that Robby had lost a patient, a thirteen year old boy and your heart constricted. You had gone looking for him after that, finding him with the boy’s parents, their heart-wrenching cries making the ER go silent.

He had brushed you off each time you approached him after that, his once warm demeanor frozen over.

—

You met Michael at his apartment, picking up take-out on your way over, knowing you both barely had time to eat during your shift. Lately, your nerves had invaded you whenever you had gone to his place, and you tried to keep it buried deep. Something that had started out so easy had turned into a situation that turned your stomach into knots.

While he had been expecting you, he still stood stiff in the doorway. His brown hair was in his eyes, he moved a hand through the tousled mess atop his head, but his eyes were tense.

Trying to trade casual conversation over dinner, you kept your eyes on the hockey game on the television. Somehow not looking at him made it all worse — the tension in the room thick while you both stepped around the obvious. At least, until you couldn’t.

“Are you okay? I heard—”

“I’m fine.” He snapped, tossing his fork into the container of his food.

You raised your eyebrows at him. He didn’t shut down all the time, but he was a champion at deflecting, especially after you had gotten to know him. Likely due to the fact that now you knew him outside the ER, it was easier to see his tells: the twitch under his eye, the partial wince in his right cheek, the rubbing his neck. It was all easy enough to see that he was not okay.

“Michael…” I worry about you got stuck in your throat.

He let out a huff of air, “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Your stomach rolled, a small wince crossing your face. To be fair, you never opened up to him very much about your own stresses, or patients lost, but you just told yourself you compartmentalized well. The time at the hospital was completely separate from your personal life — which was why you never called him Robby outside hospital walls.

A rush of faces of the handful of patients you had lost flickered through your mind.

If you were so good at compartmentalizing, then why was emotion constricting your throat?

As if sensing your sudden shift of your mood, he grabbed your hand, “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

You wanted to accept that, you really did — to keep that status quo, to ensure nothing changed between you.

“You really should.”

He scoffed, withdrawing his hand. “I’m not sure I should be taking advice from Queen ‘I don’t talk about anything personal ever’.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his tone, “That’s not true.”

He rose to his feet, picking up his take-out container, “Right. What about when you lost your last patient? You shut me out for days.”

You got to your feet, pointing a finger at him, “That’s not fair! We’re talking about you right now, not me.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he stalked to the kitchen, “Aren’t we always.”

“Excuse me?” You followed after him, frustrated now.

“Whenever this shit comes up, you deflect—”

“I deflect?” You scoffed, “Watch out everyone, king of deflection is here.”

He went silent, narrowed eyes watching you. “Are you done?”

For whatever reason, that seemed to set you off more — nerves in your belly long forgotten. “I’m just getting started,” you told him. “What? You expect me to care about you and not make sure you’re okay?”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and with so much more meaning.

“I’m not doing this with you tonight.”

You took a step back, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. You felt like your heart had shattered — you knew pushing too hard too soon would fuck everything up.

“Fine.” You told him, moving to get your things. “See you at work, Robinavitch.”

You slammed the door behind you before you could see if he had made a move to protest. You were thankful he did not get to see your tears.

—

After a fitful night’s rest, you woke up feeling queasy. More queasy than any amount of nerves in the past had made you feel — and that was saying something. You nearly threw up on your first day as a first year resident.

You tried to calm your racing thoughts about the night before and Michael, but your heart still felt tight in your chest. You only suffered a bite of your breakfast before you gave up, deciding to just head into the hospital and face your day head on.

The early morning passed slowly, each moment flooded with the anxiety raging through your system. You had no idea what had made it this bad, and part of you wondered if you could convince your attending to send you home so you could try to sleep it off.

While tending to a young woman presenting with UTI symptoms, your stomach rolled uneasily. Your mouth watered, and the nausea did not relent. Quickly assuring the woman that her tests would be back shortly, you dashed to the nearest bathroom, ignoring a look of concern on the charge nurse’s face.

You thankfully made it into one of the stalls before you emptied the confines of your stomach. There was not much in it, and the bile burned your throat.

After a few moments, your stomach settled — just enough that you felt you could get back to work. Hunger ebbed its way in, which you found to be a relief from the queasy onslaught. You figured you would see what was in the staff lounge once you wrapped up with your patient.

Heading back to East 5, you grabbed the test results, eyes quickly scanning over her file. Pregnancy test and urine analysis, the urine coming back positive for e. coli. The pregnancy test also came back positive.

Damn, how were you going to break that to her? Pregnancy tests were more or less routine for most cases brought into the ER, to ensure medications given wouldn’t hurt the fetus.

You wondered if she knew already, or if it would come as a surprise.

When you presented her with the results, she took it well.

“I figured, honestly.” She told you. “My period was late and I’ve been feeling sick. I meant to take a test, but I wanted to figure out the UTI first.”

You smiled at her, “The antibiotics we’re prescribing will be pregnancy safe. Twice a day for seven days, with a meal. Stay hydrated, too. I’m also giving you something to relieve some of your discomfort. It’s a two day prescription, take three a day. I can give you one now, then you can take the next one in six hours.”

When you left, you stood at the charge desk for a few moments. When you spotted Robby writing up his charts, a thought struck through you. You were late, uncomfortably late, and add in the nausea this morning? You felt sick all over again.

You rushed back to the bathroom, but nothing came. You and Robby were always safe, but condoms broke, accidents happened. Fuck. You could feel your residency slipping through your fingers. You were still shaking when you made your way to the staff lounge.

Robby was there, taking in your appearance, “Are you alright?”

“We need to talk. Privately.” Was out of your mouth before you could think about it.

His eyebrows raised, “About last night—”

“No, not that,” though you thought it might be a good idea to discuss that, too. You glanced quickly towards the hall, moving to close the door. You stood still in front of it, words escaping you.

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I think I might be pregnant.” You told him in a whisper. “Possibly. Maybe.”

He blinked owlishly at you, “What?”

You didn’t know if he didn’t hear you or was still processing. “I didn’t even realize, I’m nearly a week late — and I’ve been sick all morning. I think it could be—I could be—” You couldn’t say it again, tears springing in your eyes.

It wasn’t necessarily career ending to have a kid during your residency, but the only person you had known that went off to have a baby as an R4 had not returned. She had told you she planned to come back, but also did not want to wait too long to start her family, tugged simultaneously in both directions. Could you make the sacrifices necessary to make both work? Did you even want both to work? Would Michael—

“We can—we can take a test. Yeah. Tonight, after shift.” He said, his brown eyes avoiding you, hands tucked into his pockets. “We can figure it out then.”

“Figure it out then?” You asked incredulously. “This could end my career! This could—oh god—” You moved to lean against the wall, clearing your throat, “You don’t have to—”

“I’ll be there.” He said, cutting you off, voice soft. “I’ll get a test and meet you at your apartment.”

“My roommate will be home, can we go to yours?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab the test on my way home. I’ll meet you there.”

You nodded your head, “Thank you.”

Part of you just wanted to get it over with, grab a test from the closet and take it right in the bathroom. You could be discreet, you wouldn’t even need to involve Michael, but part of you feared any number of your co-workers catching you with a test and no patient. That, and the fear of knowing crept into your mind.

—

The drive to his apartment was agonizing. Your stomach had not once stopped rolling, and you were distracted all day, nearly catching a left hook of a patient in withdrawal. So much for being good at that compartmentalization thing. Perhaps Michael was right — you deflected just as much as he did, or you just flat out ignored your feelings and buried them.

This whole situation was going to force you to vocalize your feelings, wasn’t it?

You waited in your car until Michael pulled in, and you felt like your limbs had grown heavier while you had waited. The weight of what could be awaiting you pushing all the air from your lungs.

Once inside, neither of you spoke. You just took the pharmacy bag from him and went into his bathroom. You stared at the box for what felt like forever, thinking it was funny how lines on a stick were going to determine your future. After using all three in the box — not wanting to risk a false positive or negative — you opened the door.

“Box says fifteen minutes.”

He nodded, checking his watch. He moved closer to you until you were crowded in his tiny bathroom. His eyes flickered to the countertop where all three tests sat on top of some toilet paper, before they met your gaze. You couldn’t hold it, looking back at your hands.

“Whatever it says, I’m not going anywhere.” His breath fanned your face, the scent of antiseptic still clinging to his scrubs. Underneath was the smell of his cologne, sandalwood and vanilla, and something unmistakably him. You missed when that scent of him clung to your skin, too.

You tried to smile, still not meeting his eyes. “It’s okay if you did. You don’t owe me anything.”

He tipped your chin up so you would look at him, “How could you say that after everything?”

“Last night,” you reminded him. “I clearly don’t know you and you don’t know me. Not personally anyways.”

Michael’s brow twitched. “What if I wanted to?”

Your mouth grew dry. “Please don’t. Not if it’s out of some misguided sense of duty over this.”

“It’s not.” He told you, hands moving to hold your face, his fingers finding the back of your head, thumbs on the sides of your cheeks. “I promise it’s not.”

You swallowed, cheeks burning, but you couldn’t find any words. The silence that used to hold the safety of quiet, now stood tense and firm between you.

“I’m shit at talking about my feelings and deflecting, you’re right. But I won’t stand here and pretend I don’t feel something for you. Like I don’t care about you. I—I just figured not talking about it was easier. But last night, it fucked me up; thinking we parted without you knowing how I felt.”

You sputtered a shocked intake of air, “What?”

His dark brown eyes held you steady, slowly absorbing your fears until you reached out to touch his chest. His heart pounded beneath your palm, but it steadied yours.

His gentle smile came easily, “I’ve been trying for weeks. I chickened out every time.”

You exhaled an amused breath of air, “You chickened out? I didn’t want to make this complicated.”

He searched your eyes, flickering between them like he was trying to read you.

“It’s kinda funny.” You said, smiling at him. “I’ve been trying to do the same thing all week.”

He kissed you, lips warm and soft, hands holding your face. His heart thumped below your hand, like an anchor in a storm, your other hand curling around his wrist. After all the anxiety of the day, and the anguish over the night previous, relief finally washed through your system. The familiarity of his beard scratching against your skin, his careful hands enveloping you in a sense of safety.

You moved just enough to speak, “I’m sorry about last night. You were right, too. I just never want to burden you with my problems after I know we both had a tough shift.” You told him, noses touching, breath intermingling.

“I want you to know that you can.” He stressed, thumb caressing your cheek.

“I will if you will.”

He smiled. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” He kissed you again, harder this time…hungry, his mouth taking in your bottom lip.

You lost yourself in the warmth of his body, the soft tendrils of his hair in your hands, the feel of his tongue in your mouth. You clung to him like he was a liferaft. It was easy to forget your troubles like this, worries of the day lifting off your shoulders.

Your blood pressure spiked when you remembered the tests on the countertop. You pulled away, breathing quickly, still wrapped up in his arms.

“What if it’s positive?” came your quiet voice.

“Then I suppose I’d have to marry you.”

You almost thought he was serious, if his tone hadn’t been so light, so close to a jest. You rolled your eyes, pushing him away, but you smiled. “I never took you for a traditionalist. A shotgun wedding, seriously?”

“Be a great way to meet your folks.” He added with a smirk.

“Get real.” You laughed, “As if I’d marry a resident. Are you even a real doctor?”

He mocked offense, but chuckled, bringing you closer to him again, “I’ve got my stethoscope and everything.” After a few beats of his heart, he added, “But seriously, we’d figure it out. Take time off, or…I don’t know. We’d make it work.”

“I don’t want to look.” You admitted to him.

“Whatever it says, we’re in this together.”

It was reassuring to hear him say it again. You nodded, removing your hands from his body and taking a small step back. You took a long breath, staring at him.

“On three?”

Your head bobbed in agreement, swallowing thickly.

“I mean it. Whatever it says, I still care about you. I want you in my life.” He told you earnestly.

“I want you in my life, too, Mike.”

He counted down slowly, holding your gaze. The anxiety returned, but he held you grounded beside him, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

Negative. Negative. Negative.

A singular line on each displaying that you were not pregnant.

You released the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. Thank fuck, echoed in your head. The stress you had been under could explain away the lateness of your period, and the queasiness was explained easily by your anxiety. It seemed like those three little tests tied all your worries up in a neat little bow. You had been honest about your feelings, which took away the gnawing anxiety, Michael reciprocated your feelings and you weren’t pregnant.

He sighed in relief next to you, taking another long breath through his nose. “Well as much as I was looking forward to that shotgun wedding, maybe now we can take our time—”

You looked over at him, eyebrow quirked.

“—take you on a proper date first.”

You grinned at him, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

[ Alternate Ending ] coming soon

special shoutout to Dr Robby for getting me off my hiatus, first Companionship and now this lol

current tense fought me the whole way through this, which is weird considering I usually write in past tense. so if you saw a current tense error, no you didn’t.

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