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night vision - chapter 4

michael robinavitch x jewish!f!reader

Chapter summary: An unstoppable force (you, trying to do your job) meets an immovable object (a stubborn, resentful Robby). Shit ensues, fingers are pointed and harsh words are shared. Tags: the pitt spoilers, female reader-insert; jewish!reader (no physical descriptions other than wearing glasses), PTSD, age gap (reader's in her mid-20's/early 30s), slow burn, mutual pining, two idiots in love, angst, fluff, smoking, eventual smut (minors do not interact), reader did not outgrow her goth phase, medical innacuracies, shameless self-insert, cursing, tags might be added as I write, not beta-read, english is not my first language Wordcount: 4347 A/N: our reader just can't get a break.. it's gonna get worse before it gets better, but it's gonna get better, i promise! i don't think robby is, as a character, the asshole he is in this chapter, and he will return to his default settings, i promise,, but we gotta address the problem he has w women. once again, I wanna thank everybody so so much for the likes, comments and reblogs/replies, they're appreciated and encouraged!!! and once again, if I forgot to put you in the taglist, just let me know!!!

Previous / Next

As the days blurred into weeks, you were slowly getting adjusted again to the day shift, trying to balance work with music, attending Shabbat services every Friday night and the occasional dinner with Jack. He crashed on your couch for the first time after your breakdown in the morgue back in 2020, and it became a habit ever since his partner passed away. Every once in a while, you would order takeout, have dinner with him at your place until he passed out in front of the television watching a movie or reading some random book from your extensive collection. You had each other’s backs and God knows Jack could use the company, even if at first it felt weird to feel such kinship to someone younger than him. However, he did appreciate how your age frequently shed a different light on his own pre-made perspectives (often by making fun of him, having a darker sense of humor than his), and in time, Abbot started to see you as some lost daughter from his past that made his way back to him. You quietly managed to get ready without disturbing him too much, aware of how much of a light sleeper he was due to his military training, and left to work feeling more introspective than usual. Nearly getting late for rounds, the day shift wasn’t exactly growing on you, mostly because of a certain attending doctor that was riding your ass like you were some green med student fresh out of the anatomy lab. Every time you thought you were breaking through his avoidant façade, trying to build a smoother work relationship (or at least that’s what you told yourself), he made sure to keep you at arm’s length, whether by criticizing the speed you worked at or by downright berating you in front of your colleagues. You were getting more self conscious, returning to the same mindset you had in your last year of med school, always worried about your own performance in front of your peers, and even worse, trying to appease the audience inside your own head. It took you years of therapy to cover that small keyhole inside your mind, to genuinely be yourself without concerning what others may think, and day by day, you could notice that feeling creeping back in, undermining your own self-confidence. Your own voyeur. You sauntered to the hub and felt your phone vibrate inside your pocket as you were reading the board, quickly answering Jack’s text. Have a good shift. tks. get some rest You heard Robby’s voice before you saw him, startled as you quickly pocketed your phone. “You’re not cherry-picking cases, are you?” “No, not really,” you offered him a tired smile while grabbing an iPad, heading to North 15 before Princess could stop you in your tracks, pushing a groaning Earl on a wheelchair.

“What happened?”, you inquired while following the nurse with a concerned look. “Someone found him near the hospital on the ground,” Princess answered and you helped her get Earl on the gurney, earning a curse from one of your frequent flyers. “Slipped on a goddamn piece of newspaper, busted my arm– hey, you’re that night doc!” Earl greeted you while grimacing, nursing his left shoulder. His jacket was also ripped and bloodstained, and you instinctively made room for an incoming Robby. “That would be me, yeah,” a tender smile made its way between your lips while you gave the nurse a pair of scissors, trying to assess Earl’s forearm wound. Jesse and Mateo were right behind him, steadily getting to help your patient. “You cut my clothes, you’re getting me new ones, doc,” you exhaled through your nose and went for a suture kit. “That’s a nasty cut, Earl–” “We’re gonna need an x-ray to see if you broke anything,” Robby interrupted you and you quietly sighed, rolling the round stool near the gurney. With a quick look and a nod, you silently asked Princess to page Radiology, quickly sanitizing your hands before putting on gloves. “That means no sandwiches for a while, not until Ortho gets here too,” you chirped with a lopsided grin, and Earl’s reaction was nothing short of what you expected, a dissatisfied grunt leaving him. “You know who’s on call today, Princess?” you looked over your shoulder for a moment, and the smile on the nurse’s face was already starting to unnerve you. “Doctor Stavros. He’s already in the ED for another consult, I’m gonna get him.” Princess quickly left the room – too giddy for your own liking – and you dropped your head, negatively nodding with another sigh. “Is something wrong?” Robby questioned you with one eyebrow raised, and you answered him with a negative nod. “No, doctor Robinavitch. Earl, you’re gonna need stitches. I’m going to numb the area and you’re going to feel a light burn, okay? But I’m gonna make it quick.” You tried to fight off your souring mood at the mention of your ex-boyfriend with an honest smile while explaining the procedure to Earl, filling the syringe with the lidocaine solution. “Anything you say, doc. And I didn’t know that was your name, doctor Robby. Why’d you call him like that, doc?” You shrugged, starting to numb the area around the cut on Earl’s forearm, while feeling the apparent disinterest disguising curiosity coming from Jesse and Mateo while they were running lines and pushing pain medications around you. “Because that’s his name, Earl. The same way I don’t call doctor Mohan “Mo”... or Javadi “Dee”. Does it hurt?” You lightly touched the places where you injected the analgesic, trying to gauge your patient’s reaction to pain. “Not at all.” He eyed you curiously, and gladly took some ice chips from Mateo. “Thought your name was Robert, doctor Robby.” Robby faintly chuckled while assessing Earl’s arm, and you retracted the needle driver when he reacted to Michael’s fussing, trying to push your attending doctor away. “Quit that, doc. It hurts.” “Sorry, Earl. But I think you might have broken your humerus, the big bone in your arm. Let’s hope you’re not gonna need surgery.” You couldn’t help but softly chuckle too, nodding once again while stitching up the cut in your patient’s forearm. “What’s so funny, doc?” Earl queried. “Your name’s not Robert, is it?” you lifted your gaze towards Michael, trying to stifle your giggles at the ridiculous thought, and he crossed his arms, fighting off a smile.

“You don’t know my first name?” His tone conveyed a half-hearted offense, a slight frown making its way on his forehead. You shrugged once more, finishing the knot without looking. “Well, you kiiiinda didn’t remember my name either.” “I guess that’s fair. No, uh, my name’s not Robert,” he rubbed his face, “It’s Michael.” “Michael. Okay.” You took Robby in for a second before readjusting your glasses with your shoulder, almost finished with Earl’s cut. Your patient seemed very entertained with the short interaction, rather engrossed as if he was watching a rom-com unfurl ahead of him, and Michael tried to snuff the butterflies inside his stomach, wide awake after listening to his name coming out of your mouth in such a gentle way. Earl glanced at Jesse and Mateo, and the duo tried to look busy, sharing knowing looks, until Princess busted that little bubble, entering the room followed by the Radiology techs and a tall man in black scrubs, with tanned skin, curly hair and a million-dollar smile that seemed to grow after seeing you. “Oh, fuck me gently with a chainsaw…” you mumbled to yourself while making another stitch on Earl’s cut, and that earned a wide-eyed glare from your patient. You nodded, trying to convey a silent you don’t wanna know, while avoiding eye contact with your ex. “Glad to see you’re still always in a great mood,” Alex chirped and you pretended he wasn’t even in the room, leaving the needle driver and the tweezers on the inox tray. As the radiology crew got Earl ready to take the x-ray of his arm, your ex offered you the lead apron. You quickly put it on and crossed your arms, keeping your eyes focused on your patient and your expression as blank as you could. “You still mad at me, honey?” Alex asked you in a low tone, and he was far too close to you to Robby’s liking, even if the attending doctor couldn’t hear what the other man was saying to you. By judging your face, you were a few seconds from punching the Orthopedist. “Lemme take you to that lebanese place you like on Willow Avenue–” “Hell will freeze before that happens, doctor Stavros. Drop it.” You hissed at him before making your way to the x-ray machine, quickly taking a look at the image on the screen. You took a deep breath, trying not to mind the various pairs of eyes focused on you and Alex. “Well, mister, uh, Thomas, it looks like you’re not gonna need surgery,” Stavros finally directed his attention to the patient, but shortly got back to talk down to you. “It’s a proximal humerus fracture. Immobilize for three to four weeks, NSAID prescription and schedule an appointment with physical therapy. Call me when there’s a real surgical consult.” Alex didn’t even introduce himself to Earl, and he sure went back to being a prick once you turned him down, getting out of North 12. Robby’s answer made you even angrier, shooting his gloves at the trash can before leaving the room.

“You heard him. Holler if you need anything.” You took another deep breath, your jaw tight with anger, but resigned yourself to a curt nod. “Mateo, do you think you could get Earl a sling and a sandwich, please?” “No–” Earl was about to correct you, but you raised a playful eyebrow before finishing his sentence. “No egg salad. I remember.” “You got it, doc.” Mateo gave you one of his smiles and you quickly left the room as well, excusing yourself while making a beeline to your ex. “A quick word, doctor Stavros?”

“You know you don’t need to be this formal with me, right? What made you change your mind?” He folded his arms and smiled at you, and if you didn’t know better, you could think it was sincere. “I swear to God, if you ever pull this shit again in front of other people, I’m gonna murder you in your sleep.” You pulled him to the side and kept your voice down, trying to avoid getting any more attention than you did in front of Earl. God knows you hated the drama, and you were pretty sure word was already getting around. Across the room, Robby was trying to pay attention to the case Santos was presenting, but your expression looked too distressed to be read as any sort of interest towards Stavros. He didn’t know what to feel. Was he jealous because you apparently had history with another handsome, younger doctor? Was he frustrated because he felt you were too out of his league? Angry because he looked like the biggest asshole in the hospital? An ortho bro? Because if that was the kind of men you used to date– “Doctor Robby?” Santos tried to get his attention, and he quickly got back to the conversation before the intern could see where he was staring at.

“Yeah?”

“You with me?”

“Yeah. Go on.”

Across the room, you were almost internally foaming at the mouth with rage. “You in your period today? You always get cranky when you’re on your period,” Alex said while walking towards the elevator, pushing the up button.

“God, you’re such a fucking ass. Go back to playing with hammers and nails upstairs, dipshit.”

“It’s way better than the shit you pull down here.” He had the audacity to look upset while answering you, and with another sigh, you left him, trying to calm yourself while making your way to the hub.

Princess, Heather and Dana were talking and your arrival interrupted their conversation, way more interested in what had just happened. The head nurse stared at you over her glasses with a raised eyebrow, folding her hands over the desk before asking you, “Trouble in paradise?”

“Ugh, it’s… nevermind.”

“You with that pretty doctor?”

“God, no. We used to date a few years ago.”

“And what happened?” Princess inquired with barely contained curiosity.

“He cheated on me with some med student.” You shrugged, grabbing another iPad from the rack, and the three women grimaced at the same time. You pressed your fingers against your eyes for a moment, taking one more deep breath. “Let me tell you, my neediness has taken me to places I wouldn’t go with a gun.”

“You could say that again,” Collins quipped while they shared a short laugh, quickly glancing at Robby. You tried to get on with your day, grabbing a cup of coffee in the doctor’s lounge before seeing your next patient, not allowing Alex’s appearance sour your day. You wouldn’t allow it.

Before you could notice, it was nightfall. Between gunshot wounds and kids with colds, the day blurred into a multitude of faces, half cold cups of coffee left in the sink and a couple of granola bars quickly ingested in-between patients. You avoided Robby and felt for Samira as he bent his knees to get on the same eye level as her, knowing too well what it is like to be patronized by the attending doctor. You were making your way to South 20 before the bet board in Dispatch caught your attention. AMBER ALERT: FRANK LANGDON Beneath the crude title, dozens of Post-It notes were glued to the board, with different reasons why Langdon was missing from the Pitt. eloped with a patient, $20 got caught getting freaky in the break room, $15 kidnapped on the appalachian mountains while hiking, $10 You didn’t realize your feet had brought you inside the dispatch room before Ahmad called you, bile burning deep in your stomach, a mix of shame and rage brewing in your chest. Robby made you feel like shit for taking Langdon’s place and folks had the gall to bet on why? “You good, doc?” “Whose idea was this?” “Dave. Why? You wanna bet too?” You started to rip the Post-Its from the board, crumbling them on your hand before pocketing them. “No, no, nope. We’re not doing this.” “Hey, doc, take it easy–” “Ahmad, you know I love you, but this is just distasteful, man. I just know there’s better things to bet on.”

You looked over your shoulder after erasing Frank’s name from the white board, and the figure of Mel King sporting a somewhat relieved expression and a sad smile made your heart break a little further. You nodded your head and she got back on her way, and Ahmad’s protests were background noise as you left the dispatch room, and once again, something diverted you from your assigned patient. A middle-aged woman was passed out on Behavioral Room 2, and every instinct you owned told you to check on her. “Hey, Kim,” you called the nurse as you entered the room, and she promptly followed you. “Whose patient is this?” “Um, Whittaker, I think.” “Could you get him for me, please?” you pleaded before pressing your closed fist against the woman’s sternum. “Ma’am, can you hear me?” The lady didn’t answer. You tried to feel her jugular pulse on both sides of her neck. Nothing. “Fuck, fuck–” you pressed the code blue button above the gurney and started chest compressions, and it didn’t take long until Kim entered the room followed by Whitaker and Robby. “Get the crash cart, now! Why is this woman coding in Behavioral Two, for Christ’s sake?”

“I-I dunno! She came in complaining of shortness of breath, said she had panic attacks since 2020!” Whitaker answered you in a desperate tone while placing the defibrillator paddles on the woman’s chest. “She’s in V-fib. Charge to twelve-hundred.” You read the EKG out loud while Kim and now Dave were getting lines in, interrupting chest compressions when you head the Clear! from Dennis. “Still fibrillating,” you sneered while staring daggers at Robby, who was now trying to intubate the patient after Dave pushed rocuronium and ketamine in the IV access. “You see a woman complaining about chest pain and jump to the conclusion that she’s just anxious? She’s clearly over fifty!” you hissed at Michael while performing the chest compressions. “Hold chest compressions,” he simply ignored you while introducing the tracheal tube. “Bag her.” “Just so you know, Whitaker, women are twice more likely to die of heart attacks than men,” you angrily exclaimed while he defibrillated the patient again. Because of bullshit like this. “Sinus rhythm.” The med student choked, dropping the paddles while you finally stopped chest compressions. He stared at you with pleading eyes, and at the same time, he was mentally thanking you for keeping him from losing another patient for a silent heart attack. “CBC, CK and troponin levels, a twelve-lead EKG and page Cardiology.” Robby’s request was final, and as Dave was drawing blood from the patient, you couldn’t help but stare at her. Red button shirt, black slacks, orthopedic shoes. Fine lines between her eyebrows and crow’s feet on the corner of her eyes, filled with wisdom and carved by laughter. She could’ve been your mother. That was the last proverbial nail in the coffin. You were done with putting up with Robby’s shit after something like this, and you closed your hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “A word, doctor Robinavitch?” Your tone was ice cold as you left Behavioral 2. Kim and Dave shared a quick wide-eyed look as Michael followed you into Behavioral 1. He folded his arms and you pulled the curtain as you felt nurses and doctors trying to peek through the windows. “Yes?” “Do we have a problem, doctor?” “I don’t know, do we?” he squinted at you, trying to keep his composure, but it was clear he was simmering underneath the nonchalant surface, one hand holding his nape, the other inside his scrubs’ pocket like he couldn’t be bothered to talk to you. “How could you possibly overlook something like this? It’s a middle-aged woman–” even if you were pissed off beyond recognition, you managed to keep your voice down, trying not to attract even more attention. “We got nineteen patients on the board and another thirty on triage, and on top of that, I gotta pick up your slack, Mohan’s slack–” “Pick up my slack? We’re swamped with patients because we gotta present to you every kid with a runny nose and a bruised knee!” “And you still manage to fuck those up, don’t you, doctor?” “See, this is what I’m talking about. You clearly got a problem with me– you think I don’t see the way you’re patronizing to Samira, to McKay– how you look at me like I’m fucking responsible for Langdon quitting?” you pointed your thumb towards your chest, finally getting everything off of it, tired of putting up with Michael’s bullshit for two weeks straight. Robby scoffed, “Why, just because I don’t give you special treatment like Jack does?” That felt like a slap to your face. You stopped in your tracks and recomposed yourself, trying to keep your cool. “I do not need special treatment, doctor Robinavitch, and I really resent you for bringing doctor Abbot into this. You’re the one who keeps telling us to reach out if you need help, and yet–” “Oh, for fuck’s sake, can’t you see–” “I am not done talking!” You raised your voice for the first time in your residency, and that seemed to stop Robby in his tracks, slightly wide-eyed. You could hear how silent the ED got, and with a deep breath, you kept on talking, your tone once again calm, even if you were fuming on the inside.

“You’re condescending, you treat me like I’m some goddamn med student, berating me in front of my peers, making me question every decision I make. And you’re clearly more experienced than me, that’s not where this is coming. I know my place, but everyone, everyone–” you pointed towards the door, your voice slightly breaking, “looks up to you in this fucking place, doctor Robinavitch, and it’s really fucking hard to our jobs when you clearly doesn’t trust us. I need you– we need you to trust us. And I don’t know what happened to you, but you gotta stop trying to carry the whole goddamn world on your shoulders.”

“And you’re saying all of this because, what, I corrected you in front of other people? What, you wanna be coddled–” he walked towards you and you kept your ground.

“You know that’s not the problem–”

“Because I don’t wanna be your friend? Is that it? Because I treat you just like everyone else?”

“I don’t ever wanna be your friend, doctor Robinavitch,” you didn’t realize how close you got to Robby, staring up at him and almost feeling his breath against his face. Your expression was hard as ice and your words cut through him in a way he still couldn’t process. And you kept going.

“I don’t give a fuck about Langdon– I mean, I hope he gets better or whatever and come back to work as soon as possible, and you can start looking for someone to work in his place because God fucking knows I can’t work for someone who doesn’t trust me. You need my help? Fine, you got it, but you can either do like everybody else does and leave your fucking problems at the door, or I’m done.”

Your heartbeat was through the roof, your chest coming up and down as you kept eye contact with Robby. His own eyes unconsciously trailed down to your lips and yours did the same. The whiplash from the argument followed by such a close look of his handsome face was almost making you lose your balance, and Michael had to close his own hands in order not to pull you towards him and finally close that distance.

But he couldn’t. You fucking hated him, and that was his own fault for being an asshole in order to keep you away.

And you couldn’t help but to pick up the pieces of your heart in every way, so confused with not knowing why you weren’t enough, why you couldn’t be enough– in every fucking aspect.

The spell seemed to break after you listened to someone behind the door to Behavioral 2, and if looks could kill, Robby would be dead on the floor before you pulled the curtain and left the room.

“Show’s fucking over,” you rasped as you stormed out and Dana was dumbfounded, staring at a wrecked and surrendered Robby. Fighting to keep the tears from falling, you quickly made your way to the locker room, grabbed your backpack and left the Pitt through the emergency exit, punching your card before leaving.

At least your shift was over.

You slammed your car door and gripped the steering wheel like a vice, trying to pace your breathing back to normal. Popping the glove compartment open, you lit a cigarette and took a huge puff, wiping the tears from your face with your other hand.

“Fuck– fuck!” You slammed your fists against the steering wheel before turning the ignition on, parking your cigarette between your lips before hitting the gas and finally going home.

You were soaking in lukewarm water inside your tub when your phone rang, a few candles lit around you, your ashtray fuller than usual. “Am I fired?” your voice cracked when you answered the call, and you once again wiped a tear from your face, lowering the volume coming from your vinyl player in the living room with the remote controller. “God, no,” Abbot conveyed concern through his voice. “What the hell happened, kid?” “I– I’m just so tired, Jack. Tired of second guessing myself. I miss working with you.” “I know you do. But what happened?” “I just lost it. Robinavitch has been up my ass every single day, and he missed the most simple MI, Jack. It… it could’ve been my mother on that gurney.”

Jack sighed on the other side of the phone. “From what I’m getting, you weren’t all that wrong, but… he’s been going through some things, kid. What would you do if you had to pull the plug on me?” Jesus Christ.

You took a sip from your cheap red wine and sighed.

“Because that’s what happened with Robby during COVID-19. He feels responsible for Adamson's death. And recently he lost his ex-stepson’s girlfriend on his shift. She got shot at Pittfest, didn’t make it. Kid threw it in his face, said it was his fault.”

“I didn’t know that, Jack, but that doesn’t give him a free pass to make his problems everybody else’s problems.”

“And that’s why you’re not fired.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I did.”

“Shit. He already feels you give me special treatment.”

“And I made it very clear that I don’t.”

You took another sip from your wine, putting Jack on speaker before leaving your phone on the bathroom floor in order to get more comfortable in the bathtub. “Just… get some rest and come back after your day off. Talk to him. He’s not usually this seven-headed beast he seems to be with you.” “Will do.”

“I also heard that prick Stavros paid you a visit?”

“Oh, please, I almost forgot that had happened, Jack.”

“Fucking hell of a shift, huh?”

“That’s what I get for working the day shift.”

He chuckled, “Try to get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Jack. And you have a good shift, y’hear me?”

“Aye, aye.” He hung up and you pressed play on the remote controller, not caring if the volume was too loud or if the neighbors would complain. You needed the comfort only Janis Joplin and wine could provide you, and the lyrics to Maybe resonated within you more than you deemed acceptable.

dividers: @wethairjoel (bat divider) @cafekitsune (moon/stars divider)

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