Sorry but why does every fanfiction with older men have to be age gap? And why does the reader ALWAYS have to be a pale, white, skinny, petite barely legal woman with a bratty personality?? And why do we suddenly loose subplots and major information that has EVERYTHING to do with the setting we're in
Like im not kidding i saw a fic saying "she shyly glanced down unto her ballerina flats" BALLERINA FLATS. in an apocalypse? Like i get you want your little princess moment but can we do that without tettering on the edge of pedophilia? Ive yet to see a fic with an older man where the reader has a somewhat acceptable age group compared to the character... what happened to bad ass personalities where the reader is ACTUALLY strong and not just a weak woman in need of saving.
Summary: Harry misses you while away on a job in London.
Set After:
Sugar - You’re Harry’s first stop when he makes it back to New Orleans.
Bourbon (NSFW) - The things you and Harry get up to with a 10k bottle of bourbon… it’s sinful.
Court Days - Court days are your favourite days.
The Corkscrew - You realise Harry isn’t the person you thought he is when you see him on a date with another man.
A Southern Man - Harry and you discuss his revealation.
Say It With Flowers - Harry gets a surprise when he discovers a dozen red roses sitting on your breakfast bar.
Cherry (NSFW) - Harry finds a way to help you relax after a busy couple of days.
Colic - Harry steps in to help you with a horse that has colic.
Love Me Like A Sailor (NSFW) - Harry didn’t realise he had a thing for women in uniform…
Leather (NSFW) - Harry knows you like the taste of leather in your mouth.
Winter in London, it’s nothing like winter in New Orleans. Harry can feel the chill setting in his bones as he lets himself into his hotel room at three minutes past midnight, the snow still clinging to the shoulders of his dark overcoat.
They’ve been scoping out the British Library this evening.
A first edition that was donated by a billionaire who’s also arms dealer.
He strips out of his coat, hanging it up on the back of the door before he retrieves his phone from the pocket.
It six pm in New Orleans and he’s hoping you’ve finished up with the horses by now. He hits the button for Facetime, the app ringing as he smooths down his damp hair and loosens his tie a couple of notches.
Your face appears and something settles in his chest at the sight of you. You’re seated in the porch swing he had Eliot fix up for you, your hair falling around your features from where you must have pulled it out of its usual braid. He can’t see if you have your hearing aids in, so he starts his greeting in sign language.
You respond enthusiastically before pointing at him, drawing your hands in towards your chest and dropping them down to indicate the word ‘tired’.
“Well darlin’ that’s because I don’t sleep so well without you.” He vocalises the words as he signs, huffing out a laugh as you roll your eyes. “It’s true. I can’t wait to come back home, nestle up in that bed of yours.”
Harry, he’s a cuddler and there’s nothing he likes more than being tangled up in your sheets, your arms wrapped around him.
“Soon.” You sign to him before blowing him a kiss.
He ends the call, collapsing back onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling.
Soon… can’t come quickly enough.
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Before You - Pope was in a dark place before he met you.
The Professional - Pope meets the love of his life when Smurf hires her to crack a safe.
Ethical Thieving - You introduce Pope to a new skill set.
Made For You (NSFW) - Pope’s sexual encounters have always been paid for… until you.
Go - Pope doesn't realise he has options, not until you.
The Gift - Andrew recieves an unexpected Christmas gift.
Compulsions - You realise something isn’t right in Pope’s world
The Octagon - Smurf decides to show you the real Pope Cody.
The Bathtub - After the fight at The Octagon Pope returns to the beach house to claim his prize, only to discover a change of plan.
Two Weeks - Two weeks is too long for Pope to go without you.
The Skatepark - Pope reacts badly when you try to share your feelings.
Wild Boys - Pope gets a phone call he doesn’t expect in the middle of the night.
The Journal - Pope accidently comes across your journal after an incident with Smurf.
Crazy (NSFW) - Pope's always been crazy but now he's also a man in love.
Tomorrow - Pope's family always fuck up the good in his life.
Do Over Day (NSFW) - Pope tries to make up for the day before.
Everything - Pope's family life clashes with your time together.
Positive - Pope didn't expect for it to happen sooner rather than later.
Four Bullets - Smurf finds out about you and Pope, leading to dire consquences.
Misery (feat: Baz Cody) - Baz starts to notice there’s something wrong with Pope.
The Gruffalo - Pope finally lays eyes on you for the first time in months.
Kill The Queen - Pope tries to come to terms with Smurf’s death.
Night Thoughts - You and Pope discuss your fears about becoming a parent.
Existential (NSFW) - You and Pope have another first in the aftermath of Smurf’s death.
Today (NSFW) - You and Pope both wake up excited for the day ahead.
Freya - There’s a reason that the wedding has to happen before the birth of your daughter.
Picture Perfect - Pope shares a quiet moment with his new daughter.
Pope could spend hours watching his daughter.
A month in and he’s already memorised every single one of her motions.
The way she shakes her hands and kicks her feet when she wants picking up, the purse of her lips when she’s hungry, the scrunch of her face when it’s time for a diaper change. She’s a miracle, his miracle and he tells her that every single night when she falls asleep in the bassinette he’s put on his side of the bed, those tiny snores emitting from her cute little nose.
“I don’t think there’s ever going to come a day when I don’t find that endearing.” He tells you as he strips off his jeans and climbs into bed alongside you.
You prop your head up on your pillow, your hair falling across your features. He reaches out, his fingertips tucking a stray strand back behind your ear, his wedding ring glinting in the light. His thumb grazes over your cheek, an ache building in his chest as he thinks about his own history, how he was pick pocketing at six, fighting Smurf’s battles by eight. You were already turning tricks at that age, being sold to your father’s friends to fund his habit.
He doesn’t understand how any parent can do those things to their kid. He didn’t before his had his own and now… There was something toxic inside of Smurf, something fundamentally broken inside your father.
The two of you, you’re not like them. You’ll never be like them.
“You and me, we never really got to be kids.” His voice is rough as he presses his forehead to yours. “But her… let’s make sure that she does ok? Let’s make sure she gets the childhood she deserves.”
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at my work we have a whiteboard where we write questions for the salon to answer and this week it was “who is your hear me out” and i said shawn hatosy (context: i am 26 and he is way too old for me which is why he’s a hear me out) and learned my coworker is also feral about him and got to show her the new pictures that dropped
Summary: The only thing Jack wants for Christmas this year is to make his wife smile.
Companion piece to:
Tummy Tingles - Jack feels his first flush of desire since Maria's death.
Go Your Own Way - Jack struggles with his feelings for you.
The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.
Courting - You don’t realise that Jack’s courting you.
A Compatibility Issue - Things get tense between you and Jack when he struggles to get a handle on his feelings for you.
Closed Door - You and Jack address the issues between the two of you when you run into each other at an unexpected place.
Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.
Because Of You - Jack realises he's starting to heal in more ways than one after you spend the day taking care of him.
Balance - Jack reveals his feelings for you but they come with complications.
Ugly - Jack sees your scar for the first time.
Three Days (NSFW) - Jack spends three days making you his.
Messy - John doesn't mind getting a little messy when it's with you.
Off Limits - An awkward start to the day leads Jack to make a claim on your affections.
This Old Cowboy (NSFW) - Jack’s jealousy gets the best of him when a member of the transplant team flirts with you at a hospital benefit.
The Go Bag - Your relationship with Jack takes a turn when you discover another go bag in his car.
Nadine - Jack's sister in law is a real piece of work.
Hawaii - Jack discovers who he really is when you book a trip to Hawaii.
Silk (NSFW) - Jack loves the sight of you in silk.
Sucker - Jack pulls out all the stops in order to win an important race.
Boston - You reflect on the past after your ex-husband makes an appearance on a trying day.
This God Damn Fucking Day - Jack steps into the fray with things get messy between you and you ex-husband.
Misdemeanour - Jack's forced to step in when you get arrested because of your ex-husband.
Fishtail - Jack helps you decompress in the aftermath of your ex-husband.
Love Language (NSFW) - Jack has his own unique love language.
What Puts You On That Ledge - Jack finds away to pull you off that ledge.
Champagne Gold (NSFW) - Jack never thought he'd marry again.
Masochist - You and Jack have an indepth understanding of one another.
Seven Shades of Fucked Up (NSFW) - You know exactly how to get Jack off.
Part of the Job - Violence has always been part of the job, but this time it hits a little too close to home for Jack.
Pittfest - Jack's day turns into a nightmare when he recieves a notification from the hospital regarding a mass casuality event.
Snapband - Jack's worst fear comes true during a mass casuality event.
Blood (NSFW) - Jack takes care of you in the aftermath of Pittfest in his own special way.
Life Raft - Jack reaches out when he sees that you're struggling.
Bread - Jack finds his own way to cope with almost losing you at Pittfest.
Overcompensating - A problem with Jack's prosthetic leads him to overcompensate during his shift.
Good Boy (NSFW) - You use alternative methods to get Jack to agree to take care of himself.
A Goddamn Miracle Worker - You always know the perfect way to take care of Jack.
Mood - Jack reacts badly when you surprise him with a trip to Germany.
A Force of Nature - Jack makes a suggestion regarding Germany.
Germany - Jack’s put through his paces when it comes to his new prosthetic.
Accessory - You tell Jack the real reason you won’t attend Jana’s party.
A Bad Night - Jack doesn’t mean to ream out a dying woman.
Jack doesn’t remember the last time he saw you smile. He expected it to come back during the first blush of the holiday season but there hasn’t been any sign of it, not even a twitch in the left-hand corner of your mouth when he cracks a joke.
That’s what happens when your best friend is dying, when you’re caring for her around your own shifts to give her life partner a break.
When he picks you up from Jesse’s and Jana’s tonight, you’re despondent, exhausted. Jesse had called earlier in the evening, letting him know Jana taken a turn. The nurse is hoping that she’ll be able to hold on until the spring so that she can see her roses bloom in the garden for the last time but Jack, he’s honestly not sure she’ll make it.
“I’m sorry.” Jack finds himself saying as you sit in the passenger seat, your forehead resting against the window. “I can’t imagine how tough this must be.”
“She told me to stop moping tonight.” You murmur, watching the world pass by through the glass. “That I should get out and enjoy myself, I don’t even know what looks like anymore. I don’t feel anything, just this numbness…”
And that’s the dangerous part, Jack knows that from experience. It’s what’s landed him on the edge of that roof time after time.
Your head perks up as he turns onto your street. Your eyes turning into saucers as you focus on the huge, vibrant green inflatable thing that’s standing eight feet tall in your front yard. It towers over the white picket fence with a jaunty Christmas hat perched on it’s head.
“Is that the fucking Christmas dragon?” You ask him as he slows the car to pull into the driveway. “Did you put the Christmas Dragon outside of our house?”
The Christmas Dragon has been a long standing tradition between the two of you since your first holiday together. The hardware store near his old place used to put one up every year and you’d lost your damn mind when you laid eyes on it, making him detour that way when the season came around. It had closed for good in this summer but Jack, he’s still good friends with Jed. The other man had sold it to him at a steal earlier this morning.
“Must have been Santa.” He says drily as he switches off the engine.
“Does Santa come with a stethoscope and a portal ultrasound for all those ‘just in case’ emergencies?” You bat back and he can already hear the lightness in your voice.
“Must do.” He responds unfastening his seat belt.
“Jack…” You say and there it is, that smile of yours, illuminating the car, chasing away the darkness. “Thank you… I don’t know why but the dragon, it makes me so fucking happy.”
“Well, you’ve been a good girl this year.” He says as he leans across the console and steals a kiss. “And you deserve something that makes you smile.”
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Also, I'd just like to point out something. He's in a no passing zone and there's no way he can see traffic is clear on the other side of that hill.
Abbott is gonna whip off his prosthetic leg just to beat Robby upside the head with it if he hears about this. The only question is, should HR file that as a kick, punch, or weapon violence?
You swept into PTMC like you owned stock in the place, expensive sunglasses coming off with a practiced flick, heels clicking clean and confident across the tile.
Lupe looked up and her face lit like she’d just been handed gossip and a coffee.
“Well, look who it is,” she said, grinning. “The Princess of UPMC. We haven’t seen you in a minute.”
You leaned an elbow on the counter, smiling like a woman who absolutely had seen a minute, and had decided she didn’t like it.
“You know me, Lupe,” you said. “Always a surgery keeping me from this wonderful establishment.”
Lupe snorted and buzzed you through. Her eyes dropped over you, head to toe, and she made a pleased little noise.
“You look like you’re dressed for a date.”
“I am,” you said, strolling past. “My date didn’t show.”
Lupe’s mouth fell open in a perfect, scandalized O. Then she clicked her tongue like a judge.
“Ooo, he’s gonna get it.”
You waved a hand, airy. “He’ll survive. He’s a big boy.”
You moved through the department with that easy warmth you carried everywhere, waving at familiar faces, trading quick hellos, until you hit the Hub.
Dana glanced up from her tablet, her expression easing into something amused.
“Well don’t you look like a million dollars.”
“Quite a few grand at least,” you agreed, resting your elbow on the desk.
Dana’s eyes narrowed with delighted suspicion. “Is it Versace day?”
You lifted one shoulder. “I like to look nice on dates.”
Dana hummed, already solving the mystery. “He forgot.”
“He did.”
“How much trouble is he in?” she asked, smiling like this was a harmless sport.
You sighed, dreamy and dramatic. “A terrible amount. I was really looking forward to the tomahawk pork chop at Altius. I didn’t even eat lunch in anticipation.”
Dana laughed under her breath. “Want me to call him?”
You shook your head. “No. He’ll pop out eventually and see me.”
The universe, apparently eavesdropping, obliged.
Robby came around the back curtain, moving with that brisk, lived-in ER pace, tired shoulders, sleeves pushed up, stethoscope bouncing lightly as he headed for the station.
You didn’t even have to raise your voice.
“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you drawled.
He looked up.
Saw you.
And in about five seconds, his face cycled through: surprise, relief, horror, guilt, and right at the end, something soft that tried to break through all the rest.
“Shit.” He checked his watch like it had betrayed him personally. “Oh, fuck. No, no, no, no.” He looked up again, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I’m—I’m so sorry.”
Dana, without looking up, murmured, “Told you.”
Robby ignored her completely and stepped in close, still talking like he could fix it fast enough if he just explained hard enough.
“We had a four-car collision roll in, and then trauma got backed up, and I looked up and—” He swallowed. “I should’ve texted you. I didn’t even—”
You reached up and smoothed a stray piece of beard hair back into place, gentle as a benediction.
“Hi,” you said simply.
His shoulders dropped an inch, like your hand had physically pulled the tension out of him.
“Hi,” he breathed back, still miserable. “You look…you look incredible.”
“And you look like you’re running on spite and caffeine,” you said, your thumb brushing lightly beneath one of his eyes. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”
That hit more than the missed reservation. His jaw flexed once, and honesty showed anyway.
“Not much,” he admitted. Then, quieter, like he was trying to keep it just between you two even in the middle of the ward, “I don’t sleep great when you’re not beside me.”
Your expression softened, and you rose on your toes to press a quick kiss to his mouth, short, sweet, deliberate.
“Okay,” you murmured when you pulled back. “You still owe me a fancy dinner.”
“I know,” he said immediately. “I’ll remake the reservation. Tonight, if they can fit us in. This weekend, if they can’t. Whenever, you name it.”
“Mhm,” you said, enjoying the way he looked like he’d walk into traffic to make it right. “But I also ordered pizza for the entire ER.”
Robby blinked.
“You what?”
“So,” you continued, bright and unbothered, “you don’t have to worry about feeding me a fifty-eight-dollar pork chop and a fifteen-dollar sangria.”
His face crumpled with equal parts gratitude and guilt. He leaned his forehead to yours for a second, eyes closing.
“I feel like an asshole.”
You snorted. “You’re not an asshole. You’re an ER attending in December.”
“That’s not—” He exhaled hard. “We’ve had this planned for almost two months.”
“I know.” You nudged him gently with your forehead. “Am I a little annoyed we lost the reservation? Yes. Am I going to stamp my feet and accuse you of never making time for me? No.”
Your fingers slid into the hair at the nape of his neck, grounding him. He breathed out again, slower, steadier.
“You’re a wonderful man,” you said softly, “and you save lives every day. And I’m very happy you’re my boyfriend, missed reservations and all.”
Color crept up Robby’s neck in a way that always made him look younger than he felt. He shifted, self-conscious.
“You’re the neurosurgeon,” he muttered. “You’re the wonderful one.”
“Yeah, and I pay two-hundred grand in malpractice insurance,” you deadpanned. “So I think we’re both suffering.”
That got a rough little laugh out of him.
“And yet,” he said, looking you over again like he couldn’t help it, “you still haven’t killed anyone.”
“Don’t jinx me,” you warned, swatting his arm.
He smiled, small, real, and then his eyes went soft again.
“I do feel crappy,” he said. “You got dressed up. You came all the way over here.”
You lifted your brows. “I’ll look beautiful eating pepperoni pizza in the staff lounge with you. We’ll call it even if you come over tonight and grovel.”
“Oh, we will?” he said, a spark finally reappearing. His arm slipped around your waist as he guided you toward the lounge, where two delivery drivers were being herded in by a nurse with the energy of a bouncer. “You want me to grovel?”
“Keeps a man honest,” you said, poking his side.
“Uh huh,” he murmured, but the corner of his mouth tugged up.
Inside, the lounge was chaos in the best way, paper plates, laughter, exhausted people eating like they’d just come up for air. You greeted everyone easily, and Robby watched you do it the way he always did, like you were sunlight he didn’t know he was allowed to have.
You built two plates, balanced, practical, and generous, and handed him one.
He led you to a quieter corner. You sat, crossed your legs with effortless elegance, and set your bag in your lap.
Robby was still standing beside you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to sit yet.
You dug around in your bag, made a triumphant little sound, and pulled out a small box.
“For you,” you said, holding it up.
Robby’s brows lifted. “What’s that?”
“First night of Hanukkah,” you said, smiling. “Happy Hanukkah.”
His eyes went wide in that way they did when you surprised him with effort. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” You tipped your head. “You said you’d do Christmas with me. So, I’m doing this with you. Besides,” you lifted your chin, smug. “I didn’t spend half a year reading about Jewish traditions and recipes for nothing.”
He snorted. “Of course you did.”
He opened the box.
And went perfectly still.
“…No,” he breathed. Then he looked up at you, appalled. “Sweetheart.”
You smiled, pleased with yourself. “Yes.”
Robby shut the box like it might bite him. “No. Absolutely not. Take this back.”
“I will do no such thing,” you said, offended. “It’s yours.”
“That watch—” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “That watch costs seventy-five—”
“I know how much it costs,” you interrupted calmly. “I bought it anyway.”
His eyes went wide again, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was that helpless, overwhelmed look he got when you loved him too loudly.
“You can’t just—” he started.
“I can,” you said, matter-of-fact. “And I did. Consider it an apology for all the galas and fundraisers I drag you to. Now you can hold your wrist up and look expensive and pretend you’re enjoying yourself.”
He let out a strangled noise that was half laugh, half groan. “Jesus.”
“You’re welcome,” you said sweetly.
Robby stared at you for a long beat, then finally opened the box again, slow this time, like letting himself have it was the hardest part.
His voice went quiet. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Yes, you do,” you said softly. “It is a very handsome watch. For a very handsome, very overworked man who forgets dates because people keep slamming their cars into each other.”
His throat bobbed. He nodded once, like he trusted you more than his own instinct to refuse.
And then you, because you were you, made it worse.
“I also may have gotten you something very stupid for later in the week,” you added lightly.
Robby’s eyes narrowed. “Define stupid.”
You smiled, innocent as sin. “The Omega Seamaster James Bond one.”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
“You—” he whispered. “You bought me the James Bond watch?”
“Mhm.”
Robby’s face lit up so fast it was comical, like a kid trying not to look like a kid and failing spectacularly.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “You did?”
“I did.”
He stared at you like you were unreal. Then he leaned down and kissed the top of your head, lingering.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick. “Jesus. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, babe.”
He set his pizza plate down like he’d suddenly forgotten it existed, then pointed at you.
“Don’t move.”
You leaned back in your chair like a queen granting an audience. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
He disappeared for a moment, weaving out of the lounge with purpose.
You took a bite of pizza and chatted with the nearest nurses, letting them tease you about your outfit, letting them tease him about the missed date, until Robby came back with a folder tucked under his arm, wearing an expression so smug it should’ve been illegal.
“What’s that?” you asked.
He handed it to you like he was presenting evidence in court. “Your first night gift.”
You opened it…and gasped when you saw the scans.
“You didn’t.”
“I did,” he said, clearly delighted with himself. “I subjected myself to an MRI for you. Like a man who loves you and also has access to radiology.”
Your heart did that stupid, warm thing it always did around him. You lifted one of the sheets, holding it up to the light like it was art.
“Oh my God,” you breathed reverently. “Your brain is beautiful.”
Robby blinked. “Out of context, that sentence is horrifying.”
“Hush,” you scolded, eyes still on the image. “Don’t ruin my moment.” You traced the air near the page like you could touch the anatomy without smudging it. “Look at this. Gorgeous. Clean. Perfect. No weird nonsense. No little surprise lesions. Your thalamus is immaculate.”
“My thalamus,” he repeated, helpless.
“And your vessels?” you went on, blissfully enamored. “Pristine. I’m framing these. I’m bringing them to a conference. I’m going to stand at a podium and be like, ‘This is what a man looks like when he drinks too much coffee and carries an entire city’s trauma on his back.’”
Robby let out a laugh that cracked right down the middle into something softer. He reached out and cupped the back of your neck, thumb warm at your jaw.
“We are such a weird couple,” he murmured.
You lowered the scan, holding the folder to your chest like a treasure. Your eyes met his.
“I love you,” you said.
His expression gentled completely, tired, grateful, and undone.
“I love you too,” he said, and kissed your forehead like a promise.
“And tonight, when we get home,” you reminded him, “you’re lighting the first candle.”
His brows lifted. “In my house?”
“In your house,” you confirmed. “I bought candles. I found the blessings. I’m going to absolutely butcher the Hebrew, and you’re going to laugh at me, and then you’re going to teach me.”
You swept into PTMC like you owned stock in the place, expensive sunglasses coming off with a practiced flick, heels clicking clean and confident across the tile.
Lupe looked up and her face lit like she’d just been handed gossip and a coffee.
“Well, look who it is,” she said, grinning. “The Princess of UPMC. We haven’t seen you in a minute.”
You leaned an elbow on the counter, smiling like a woman who absolutely had seen a minute, and had decided she didn’t like it.
“You know me, Lupe,” you said. “Always a surgery keeping me from this wonderful establishment.”
Lupe snorted and buzzed you through. Her eyes dropped over you, head to toe, and she made a pleased little noise.
“You look like you’re dressed for a date.”
“I am,” you said, strolling past. “My date didn’t show.”
Lupe’s mouth fell open in a perfect, scandalized O. Then she clicked her tongue like a judge.
“Ooo, he’s gonna get it.”
You waved a hand, airy. “He’ll survive. He’s a big boy.”
You moved through the department with that easy warmth you carried everywhere, waving at familiar faces, trading quick hellos, until you hit the Hub.
Dana glanced up from her tablet, her expression easing into something amused.
“Well don’t you look like a million dollars.”
“Quite a few grand at least,” you agreed, resting your elbow on the desk.
Dana’s eyes narrowed with delighted suspicion. “Is it Versace day?”
You lifted one shoulder. “I like to look nice on dates.”
Dana hummed, already solving the mystery. “He forgot.”
“He did.”
“How much trouble is he in?” she asked, smiling like this was a harmless sport.
You sighed, dreamy and dramatic. “A terrible amount. I was really looking forward to the tomahawk pork chop at Altius. I didn’t even eat lunch in anticipation.”
Dana laughed under her breath. “Want me to call him?”
You shook your head. “No. He’ll pop out eventually and see me.”
The universe, apparently eavesdropping, obliged.
Robby came around the back curtain, moving with that brisk, lived-in ER pace, tired shoulders, sleeves pushed up, stethoscope bouncing lightly as he headed for the station.
You didn’t even have to raise your voice.
“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” you drawled.
He looked up.
Saw you.
And in about five seconds, his face cycled through: surprise, relief, horror, guilt, and right at the end, something soft that tried to break through all the rest.
“Shit.” He checked his watch like it had betrayed him personally. “Oh, fuck. No, no, no, no.” He looked up again, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry. I’m—I’m so sorry.”
Dana, without looking up, murmured, “Told you.”
Robby ignored her completely and stepped in close, still talking like he could fix it fast enough if he just explained hard enough.
“We had a four-car collision roll in, and then trauma got backed up, and I looked up and—” He swallowed. “I should’ve texted you. I didn’t even—”
You reached up and smoothed a stray piece of beard hair back into place, gentle as a benediction.
“Hi,” you said simply.
His shoulders dropped an inch, like your hand had physically pulled the tension out of him.
“Hi,” he breathed back, still miserable. “You look…you look incredible.”
“And you look like you’re running on spite and caffeine,” you said, your thumb brushing lightly beneath one of his eyes. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”
That hit more than the missed reservation. His jaw flexed once, and honesty showed anyway.
“Not much,” he admitted. Then, quieter, like he was trying to keep it just between you two even in the middle of the ward, “I don’t sleep great when you’re not beside me.”
Your expression softened, and you rose on your toes to press a quick kiss to his mouth, short, sweet, deliberate.
“Okay,” you murmured when you pulled back. “You still owe me a fancy dinner.”
“I know,” he said immediately. “I’ll remake the reservation. Tonight, if they can fit us in. This weekend, if they can’t. Whenever, you name it.”
“Mhm,” you said, enjoying the way he looked like he’d walk into traffic to make it right. “But I also ordered pizza for the entire ER.”
Robby blinked.
“You what?”
“So,” you continued, bright and unbothered, “you don’t have to worry about feeding me a fifty-eight-dollar pork chop and a fifteen-dollar sangria.”
His face crumpled with equal parts gratitude and guilt. He leaned his forehead to yours for a second, eyes closing.
“I feel like an asshole.”
You snorted. “You’re not an asshole. You’re an ER attending in December.”
“That’s not—” He exhaled hard. “We’ve had this planned for almost two months.”
“I know.” You nudged him gently with your forehead. “Am I a little annoyed we lost the reservation? Yes. Am I going to stamp my feet and accuse you of never making time for me? No.”
Your fingers slid into the hair at the nape of his neck, grounding him. He breathed out again, slower, steadier.
“You’re a wonderful man,” you said softly, “and you save lives every day. And I’m very happy you’re my boyfriend, missed reservations and all.”
Color crept up Robby’s neck in a way that always made him look younger than he felt. He shifted, self-conscious.
“You’re the neurosurgeon,” he muttered. “You’re the wonderful one.”
“Yeah, and I pay two-hundred grand in malpractice insurance,” you deadpanned. “So I think we’re both suffering.”
That got a rough little laugh out of him.
“And yet,” he said, looking you over again like he couldn’t help it, “you still haven’t killed anyone.”
“Don’t jinx me,” you warned, swatting his arm.
He smiled, small, real, and then his eyes went soft again.
“I do feel crappy,” he said. “You got dressed up. You came all the way over here.”
You lifted your brows. “I’ll look beautiful eating pepperoni pizza in the staff lounge with you. We’ll call it even if you come over tonight and grovel.”
“Oh, we will?” he said, a spark finally reappearing. His arm slipped around your waist as he guided you toward the lounge, where two delivery drivers were being herded in by a nurse with the energy of a bouncer. “You want me to grovel?”
“Keeps a man honest,” you said, poking his side.
“Uh huh,” he murmured, but the corner of his mouth tugged up.
Inside, the lounge was chaos in the best way, paper plates, laughter, exhausted people eating like they’d just come up for air. You greeted everyone easily, and Robby watched you do it the way he always did, like you were sunlight he didn’t know he was allowed to have.
You built two plates, balanced, practical, and generous, and handed him one.
He led you to a quieter corner. You sat, crossed your legs with effortless elegance, and set your bag in your lap.
Robby was still standing beside you like he wasn’t sure he deserved to sit yet.
You dug around in your bag, made a triumphant little sound, and pulled out a small box.
“For you,” you said, holding it up.
Robby’s brows lifted. “What’s that?”
“First night of Hanukkah,” you said, smiling. “Happy Hanukkah.”
His eyes went wide in that way they did when you surprised him with effort. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” You tipped your head. “You said you’d do Christmas with me. So, I’m doing this with you. Besides,” you lifted your chin, smug. “I didn’t spend half a year reading about Jewish traditions and recipes for nothing.”
He snorted. “Of course you did.”
He opened the box.
And went perfectly still.
“…No,” he breathed. Then he looked up at you, appalled. “Sweetheart.”
You smiled, pleased with yourself. “Yes.”
Robby shut the box like it might bite him. “No. Absolutely not. Take this back.”
“I will do no such thing,” you said, offended. “It’s yours.”
“That watch—” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “That watch costs seventy-five—”
“I know how much it costs,” you interrupted calmly. “I bought it anyway.”
His eyes went wide again, but this time it wasn’t panic. It was that helpless, overwhelmed look he got when you loved him too loudly.
“You can’t just—” he started.
“I can,” you said, matter-of-fact. “And I did. Consider it an apology for all the galas and fundraisers I drag you to. Now you can hold your wrist up and look expensive and pretend you’re enjoying yourself.”
He let out a strangled noise that was half laugh, half groan. “Jesus.”
“You’re welcome,” you said sweetly.
Robby stared at you for a long beat, then finally opened the box again, slow this time, like letting himself have it was the hardest part.
His voice went quiet. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Yes, you do,” you said softly. “It is a very handsome watch. For a very handsome, very overworked man who forgets dates because people keep slamming their cars into each other.”
His throat bobbed. He nodded once, like he trusted you more than his own instinct to refuse.
And then you, because you were you, made it worse.
“I also may have gotten you something very stupid for later in the week,” you added lightly.
Robby’s eyes narrowed. “Define stupid.”
You smiled, innocent as sin. “The Omega Seamaster James Bond one.”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
“You—” he whispered. “You bought me the James Bond watch?”
“Mhm.”
Robby’s face lit up so fast it was comical, like a kid trying not to look like a kid and failing spectacularly.
“Oh my God,” he breathed. “You did?”
“I did.”
He stared at you like you were unreal. Then he leaned down and kissed the top of your head, lingering.
“Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick. “Jesus. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, babe.”
He set his pizza plate down like he’d suddenly forgotten it existed, then pointed at you.
“Don’t move.”
You leaned back in your chair like a queen granting an audience. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
He disappeared for a moment, weaving out of the lounge with purpose.
You took a bite of pizza and chatted with the nearest nurses, letting them tease you about your outfit, letting them tease him about the missed date, until Robby came back with a folder tucked under his arm, wearing an expression so smug it should’ve been illegal.
“What’s that?” you asked.
He handed it to you like he was presenting evidence in court. “Your first night gift.”
You opened it…and gasped when you saw the scans.
“You didn’t.”
“I did,” he said, clearly delighted with himself. “I subjected myself to an MRI for you. Like a man who loves you and also has access to radiology.”
Your heart did that stupid, warm thing it always did around him. You lifted one of the sheets, holding it up to the light like it was art.
“Oh my God,” you breathed reverently. “Your brain is beautiful.”
Robby blinked. “Out of context, that sentence is horrifying.”
“Hush,” you scolded, eyes still on the image. “Don’t ruin my moment.” You traced the air near the page like you could touch the anatomy without smudging it. “Look at this. Gorgeous. Clean. Perfect. No weird nonsense. No little surprise lesions. Your thalamus is immaculate.”
“My thalamus,” he repeated, helpless.
“And your vessels?” you went on, blissfully enamored. “Pristine. I’m framing these. I’m bringing them to a conference. I’m going to stand at a podium and be like, ‘This is what a man looks like when he drinks too much coffee and carries an entire city’s trauma on his back.’”
Robby let out a laugh that cracked right down the middle into something softer. He reached out and cupped the back of your neck, thumb warm at your jaw.
“We are such a weird couple,” he murmured.
You lowered the scan, holding the folder to your chest like a treasure. Your eyes met his.
“I love you,” you said.
His expression gentled completely, tired, grateful, and undone.
“I love you too,” he said, and kissed your forehead like a promise.
“And tonight, when we get home,” you reminded him, “you’re lighting the first candle.”
His brows lifted. “In my house?”
“In your house,” you confirmed. “I bought candles. I found the blessings. I’m going to absolutely butcher the Hebrew, and you’re going to laugh at me, and then you’re going to teach me.”
Week 9 Can you believe it's been 9 Sundays since Noah Wyle became an Emmy winner? It may have taken time, but we are here now! I remember watching the Emmys when I was younger and rooting for as I called him Dr. Carter to win. When he didn't I would get so upset I would cry. My mom would say, "Don't worry sweetheart he'll win one day." 9 weeks ago I got to share his first win with my mom cheering with me. And she said, "See I told you he would win one day." It may have taken a few decades but I was so happy I screamed and jumped up and down I'm shocked no one called the cops. Hey if my neighbors can scream and shout at the TV during the Superbowl then I can scream and shout when my favorite TV Doctor wins his first Emmy.
