Two Is Company (9/?) - The Last Night (NSFW)
Pairing: Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x f!reader
Summary: Your last night in Pittsburgh.
CW: Smut and angst aka this series in a nutshell, vaginal sex, crying during sex, smoking, alcohol, swearing, Robby and reader being infuriating as always.
AN: A huge thank you again to everyone still following this series!! The story isn't over yet, so I hope you stick around for the end of the ride. <3
PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT
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Your last week in Pittsburgh passed in the blink of an eye. Dana bought you a huge âgood luckâ card, getting pretty much every ER worker to sign it (although one particular attendingâs name was notably absent) and you went out for drinks with Samira, Santos, and Whitaker - ordering all your favourite cocktails from the bar that the three of you had often frequented on your nights off. On your last day, you cleared out your locker and turned in your ID badge, before waving goodbye to everyone and heading out. You lingered by the ambulance bay doors, having one last cigarette for old timesâ sake. The smoke mixed with the condensation from your breath as you tapped your foot against the asphalt, waiting for something, someone. When the doors finally opened, your head snapped up expectantly - just a few paramedics heading to restock their rig. He wasnât coming.
You hadnât seen Robby since that afternoon in his office, when he signed you over to County General. Heâd either taken the week off, or gotten really good at avoiding you completely. You didnât care either way. He was a coward. Music played faintly from your phone speaker as you packed the last of your clothes away into a cardboard box. It felt strange seeing your, once cluttered, apartment so bare. Without all the trinkets and general mess, you could see all the scuffed walls and dented floorboards that youâd tried so hard to conceal with strategically placed decor.
The rain came down hard against the windows - it had been a non-stop downpour the entire week. You scanned the living room, mentally cataloguing all the different boxes that were littering the floor: books, CDs, clothes, breakables, more clothes. Your eyes drifted to the fridge, where you had a bunch of photos and concert tickets held up by magnets. As you gently removed them all, you smiled at the faces staring back at you - you and Langdon posing outside an ambulance after your first ride-along, a photo booth strip with Samira, a pic of you and Javadi, complete drenched at Kennywood after youâd begged her to ride the Pittsburgh Plunge - but there was one photo that made your breath catch in your throat.
It was a picture of you and Robby at the 2023 Christmas party. He was wearing a pair of antlers, which you had practically forced onto him despite his grumbling, and you had your tackiest holiday sweater on. What caught your attention was how happy he looked. He was actually smiling - for once - but not at the camera, at you. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in close while you beamed at his side. A part of you considered tearing up the photo, but the sentimental side of you just couldnât do it. Instead, you placed it inside your open box of clothes, on top of all the other photos.
Just as you went to grab a roll of tape, there was a knock at your door. The sound startled you into almost tripping over the box filled with your shoes. Who the hell would be calling at this hour? It was getting close to midnight and still pouring with rain outside. Pizza delivery? You hadnât ordered one. Jehovah's witnesses? Theyâre persistent, but not that persistent. Friends saying last minute goodbyes? Everyone was probably still recovering from all the shots youâd had the previous night. A cold chill immediately filled the entryway as you opened the door and-
Of course it was Robby. Of-fucking-course. After a whole week of acting like the Phantom of the Hospital, not saying a single word to you or even signing your leaving card. He was standing in your doorway, wet from the rain, still wearing his hospital clothes. When he spoke, his voice was rough, as if heâd burned through multiple cigarettes on his way over:
Barely even a word, and yet those two letters made you want to cry. The amount of emotions swirling around your head were enough to make you topple over. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many speeches youâd planned in your head over the last week, but Robby was standing on your doorstep, with his stupid, big brown eyes and his stupid, kind face. So, you settled on the one word you could manage:
You couldnât exactly refuse, not when his clothes were soaked through from the rain. You werenât even sure you wanted to refuse. The anger that had burned inside you last week had faded to a dull ache. It was still painful, but even just the sight of him felt like a soothing balm over the wound that he had left inside you. So, you nodded, and stepped out of the way so he could enter. Robby looked around at your packed boxes - the sight of them seemed to stump him for a moment, like the finality of the situation had only just registered. The only sound in the apartment came from the rain trickling down the window panes. You were trying your best to come up with something to say - a goodbye, one last âfuck youâ maybe - but before you could, Robby spotted the photographs youâd nestled on top of your packed clothes. He reached through the cardboard flaps and pulled out the one of you and him at the Christmas party.
âI remember this.â He said softly. âFirst and last Christmas party I ever went to.â
âRobby⌠if youâre here to-â
Another single word that made you want to cry. âDonât do this.â
âNo!â You shouted, your voice echoing off the bare walls. âYou donât get to do this! You donât get to show up, the night before I leave, and fuck with my head again!â Then, almost a whisper: âYou broke my heart.â
Robby deflated like a popped balloon, his shoulders sagging with the shame of it all. âI know. And I am so fucking sorry, kid. I canât even tell you how sorry I am. That first night on the roof, when this all started, I should have had the balls to say no. I was just too fucking weak to do the right thing, just like I am now. And do you want to know what the worst part of it is?â He lowered himself slightly, forcing you to look him in the eye. âIf there was a time machine that could send me back to that moment⌠Iâd do it all again.â
A choked sound escaped from the back of your throat as his words washed over you. The first night, and every night since then, flooded your mind in a series of flashes. What started as two lonely souls finding comfort in one another had become something that neither of you were ready, or equipped for. This thing between you would never work in the real world. It was something made to exist solely between tangled bedsheets - when life could be shut out by closed doors and drawn curtains. Too young, too old, too reckless, too closed-off. Attending and resident, student and mentor. The months youâd shared together had been nothing but a series of stolen moments masquerading as something it wasnât, something it would never be. Robby was used to hurt, used to the kind of mental strain that would break most. Descended from a long line of European Jews, a survivor of Hurricane Katrina, an ER doctor for over thirty years - it was in his blood. You, however, couldnât stand the thought of looking at Robbyâs face every day, knowing you couldnât have him. Couldnât stand the possibility of having to watch him move on, or having somebody who wasnât him kissing you. Thatâs why you had to be the girl who leaves, the one who runs away. And yet, if you were offered that same, hypothetical time machine⌠youâd do it all again too.
âI can get you back on the residency programme, you know.â Robby offered after a moment of your silence. âIf youâve given up your lease on this place you can-â
Your voice was firm despite how unsteady you felt. You expected him to keep going, try one last time. Instead, Robby just stepped forward and cradled your face with his cold hands.
ââŚI know.â He murmured softly - voice rough with the same resignation that had settled into his bones years ago. But then, his thumb brushed gently under your eye - catching a tear you hadn't even realised was falling - and when he spoke again his voice was softer, more desperate:
âThen just give me tonight.â
How could you say no to that?
Instead of wasting time with hollow words, you pulled him down into a kiss. Seven days had apparently been enough time to make you forget how good his mouth felt against yours, and you found yourself whimpering at the first taste of his lips. There was no hesitation from Robby. He returned the kiss with even more fervour, his hands unable to decide which part of you to hold onto. His damp clothing was cold against the bare parts of your skin, and you found yourself shivering as he pulled you flush against him. The tears trickling down your cheek mingled with the rainwater dripping from his hair - your kisses turning wet and desperate. You gasped into his mouth when Robby lifted you suddenly. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs as you clung to him, and when he spoke, there was barely a millimetre between your lips.
âYou still have that crappy bed?â
Your laugh was breathless, just loud enough for him to hear, loud enough to make him smile. âYeah. Just for tonight.â
Robby stole one last kiss from your lips, before carrying you down the hall to your bedroom. Just like the rest of your apartment, it was nearly bare, leaving just your stripped bed behind. Robby almost tripped on your carry-on luggage, making you giggle as he cursed and fell against the mattress. Your lips were never more than a few inches apart, as you both stripped each down. There was an unspoken rule to take things slow, make it last. Left in just your underwear, you unbuttoned Robbyâs shirt with shaky hands - his own, larger ones taking over for you when it became too much of a struggle. You slipped the fabric off his shoulders, fingers tangling in his Star of David pendant as he dipped his head down to kiss your neck.
A soft sigh of contentment escaped your lips as he gently caressed your skin with his mouth. You and Robby had been together in so many different ways: fast and rough, slow on a lazy Sunday, drunk, pent up with adrenaline after a hard shift, but it had never been this tender before. Robby was worshipping you like you were a holy statue, something that would grant him redemption. As he sucked one last mark onto the side of your neck, you felt the tears fall again. When he was done, Robby pressed his creased forehead to yours and kissed the salty droplets away. âShhh, sweetheart. None of that. We donât have to do this if you donât-â
You silenced his offer with a fierce kiss, fingers tangling in his hair. âI want to. Please.â
He was helpless to do anything but oblige. With slightly shaky hands - hands that never shook, not even when performing internal compressions - Robby reached back and unclasped your bra. You let it drop to the floor, blushing slightly as his gaze dropped to your breasts. There was no reason for you to blush, heâd seen you naked countless times, but his gaze was so devout that you felt more than just your skin was on show. Robbyâs touch trailed up your side, brushing the underside of your breast. When one of his calloused thumbs gently circled your hard nipple, you let out a soft whine that made him suck in a breath. It felt like the first night all over again.
âYouâre so beautiful.â He whispered, before ducking his head to press wet kisses over your chest. His tongue swirled around one of your nipples, making you whimper and arch off the mattress. There was no gruff laugh, or teasing âthatâs it, babyâ from Robby. Instead, he just kissed his way back up your neck, before capturing your lips with his again. When you broke apart, he just stared down at you for a moment, taking in the sight of your hair fanned out around you, your chest heaving from his adoration, and the words came out almost instinctively:
The words youâd wanted to hear from him for so long. Coming out at the worst possible time. Wasnât that just Robby, though? Ending things when you were supposed to be celebrating your presentation, leaving it until the last minute to beg you not to go, being born twenty years too early for you. You looked up at him with a watery smile, the complicated, difficult man youâd been head over heels for since you were a starry eyed med student, and the words came just as easily for you:
âI love you too. You fucking asshole.â
Robby finally laughed, the sound rough with emotion as he kissed you again, lacing your fingers with his. You guided one of his hands down to your panties, letting him feel how wet you were, how much your body still craved his touch. He groaned against your lips as his fingers dipped beneath the fabric, gently teasing between your folds. You reached down to his pants, deftly unbuckling his belt. Before you could reach for the zipper, Robby sat back and finished the job for you. His boxers came off too, letting his aching cock spring back to his stomach. You spread your legs and he slowly pulled off your soaked panties, leaving you both stripped bare for one another. There was a moment of suspended eye contact, another kiss, and then Robby buried himself inside you. You winced slightly at the stretch, your body already forgetting his in the days you spent apart. It all came back to you though, like riding a bike, and you rocked impatiently as Robby let you adjust.
âGod⌠baby, you feel so good.â He breathed against your neck. âFucking missed this.
So had you. The first drag of his cock inside you already had you a whimpering mess. Robby hiked your leg higher up his waist, encouraging you to hold onto him tightly. Your own hands cradled his face, looking deep into his eyes as he moved within you. As you did so, Robby turned his head to press a lingering kiss to your palm, as well as a whispered âbeautifulâ. The two of you made sure to map all your favourite parts of each other - you kissed the freckle right above his clavicle, while his hands explored the curve of your waist. Few words were spoken, it was just skin and heat, and the devastating weight of love that neither of you could pretend didnât exist anymore.
As the rainfall slowed to a light patter, the two of you lost track of how long you spent entwined on your crappy bed. Your racing heart beat in tandem with his as he drove you to the edge and back again. When neither of you had anything left to give, Robby came inside you with a pained groan that you swallowed with a kiss. The smell of sandalwood, and citrus, and hospital antiseptic was almost enough to make you cry again as you buried your head into the crook of his neck, feeling the point of his necklace charm digging into your skin. After he had caught his breath, Robby got out of bed without a word. You heard the bathroom faucet turning on - the one that was no longer leaking thanks to him - and a minute later he came out holding a damp cloth. He climbed back onto the bed, pressing a kiss to your knee before he gently wiped away the stickiness he had left between your legs. A strange part of you almost wanted to ask him to leave it there until morning, but he was cleaning you so tenderly that all you could do was lie back and try not to think about how your heart was breaking all over again.
Robby held you tight against his chest when you both settled under the covers. When you finally dared to look up at him, he was already staring down at you, eyes trailing every ridge and line of your face. Your faces were so close, that when he spoke you felt every syllable ghost your lips:
âChicago is lucky to have you.â
âIâm not so sure about that.â
âThey are.â He said with a soft smile. âYouâre a hell of a doctor. Youâre gonna kick ass out there.â
That got a watery laugh from you as the tips of your noses brushed against each other. You let his words hang in the air for a moment, tracing the lines of his face with your finger before stealing one last kiss from his lips. âIâm gonna miss you.â
âIâm gonna miss you too, kid.â Then, quieter. âSend me a postcard?â
âI will. Iâll write it out with one of those pink gel pens you hated me using during intern year.â
Robbyâs turn to laugh - rougher than yours. âIâll hold you to that.â
Robby didnât fall asleep that night, he just held you close as your breathing eventually evened out. As the first rays of dawn started to creep in through the cracks in your blinds, he gently untangled himself from you and dressed in silence. He didnât let himself look at you as he pulled on his pants, not trusting himself to let you go quietly. It wasnât until he was half-way through your bedroom door that he finally let himself look back. Robby watched the shallow rise and fall of your chest, how peaceful your face looked when you slept. He didnât want to think about how it would crumple when you woke up and found out heâd already left, didnât want to think about you crying. Instead, he just slipped out of the apartment, feeling like a ghost, despite the fact that he was sure you would be the one haunting him.
A month later, Robby returned home to his empty apartment after a brutal MCI - a thirty car pileup on the Turnpike. All he wanted was a shower, a few glasses of whiskey, and his bed, in that order. As he unlocked the front door, he was struck by the wintery chill that had crept into the apartment while heâd been out. Sawyer miaowed indignantly from his makeshift bed on the laundry pile, disgruntled by the lack of treats he had endured during his owner's absence.
âYeah, yeah.â Robby grumbled, as he knelt to pick up his mail. âIâll get to you in a minute.â
He dumped the letters on the kitchen counter as he dug out a can of cat food for Sawyer. After he had dished it up, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and rifled through the mail. Bill, takeout leaflet, another bill, an advertisement for insurance plans for over 50s that made him scoff, and âŚ
Robby tore open the last letter - a small white envelope. Inside it was a postcard.
GREETINGS FROM CHICAGO ILLINOIS
He flipped it over, letting out a laugh when he saw the few words written on the back, in pink, glittery gel pen:
Robby stuck the postcard on his fridge with a magnet, giving it pride of place - right next to the photo of him and you at the 2023 Christmas party that heâd swiped before he left your place. Somehow, he didnât think youâd mind.
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