In which the universeâs plan to stop Michael Robby Robinavitch from leaving for his Sabbatical is not by destroying his motorcycle, but by dropping an unconscious girl on the rooftop of the pitt. In the middle of his break down too.
C.W No use of Y/N. Reader wakes up in the pitt, literally though, she wakes up on the rooftop, Michael Needs a hug, Michael is Down Bad, age gap, Older Man/Younger Woman, Kind of sugar daddy robby, he likes to take care of reader, it gets him going, Forced Proximity, female reader, tall reader, reader has a dimple and age gap. Lmk if I missed something!
SUMMARY: just bits and pieces of an age gap relationship with robby (1.4k words)
CONTAINS: age gap (reader mid 20s), mentions of past messy relationships, this man is greying and it is staying, one (1) paragraph of smut, fluff
i just really wanted to write something for robby and an age gap thing that didn't feel too icky sue me
Youâd met Robby when youâd brought your little sister into PTMC with a high fever and a rash she wouldnât stop scratching. He remembered you being frantic and panicked, trying to call your parents while they were across town. Youâd been babysitting for them whilst they went to see a movie theyâd been desperate for the release of, an unfortunate downside to living with your parents after finishing your degree.
After youâd determined they werenât going to answer for about another hour, Robby had turned his attention from your sister to you. Heâd made you breathe with a grounding hand on your shoulder. Heâd calmly explained everything to you, asking each time if you understood. If you didnât, heâd explain again, a little slower, until youâd got that your sisterâs rash could be cured with some simple antibiotics.
Robby had watched the way the tension left your shoulders, the little tears gathering in the corners of your eyes disappearing with a relief so enormous you swore your heartrate dropped to normal again. Heâd sat with you and your sister until your parents came, occasionally having to rush out to help with a different patient, but always coming back to you.
When youâd left that night, exhausted and grateful, heâd internally cursed at never asking for your number.
He was there again when you brought your very drunk friend in after sheâd fell over in her heels. You were sober, and more frustrated at having to sit in a hospital when you would have rather been anywhere else. But then when Robby turned out to be the one checking your friend over, the frustration ebbed away. Enough that when heâd sorted out the girl you were with, youâd felt confident in giving him your number. You couldnât be so frustrated at her after, not when sheâd helped you get a date with him.
Your first date with him was unlike any other youâd been on in ages. You were used to cinemas and football games you couldnât care less about. You werenât used to dinner in the fancy part of town. Half the food seemed too expensive to even consider, but when Robby ordered with ease a burger three times the price of the one youâd eaten the night before, you decided to get the carbonara. Slightly cheaper than his, but still way too much. Youâd seen him raise a brow, but he hadnât commented anything.
Instead, he asked you about your degree. He wanted to know why youâd taken it (to appease your parents), what you wanted to do with it (you had no clue) and what you actually wanted to do (a question to which you had a myriad of answers). It was the first date youâd been on in a while that wasnât spent entirely talking about who was sat opposite you. In fact, Robby only lightly touched on why he became a doctor. He said it made him feel old, and he didnât want to feel old with you.
But he learned that it was inevitable for it to crop up in your relationship.
When he paid the bill for your meal, he said he had to as he was not only the man taking you out, but also almost thirty years older than you. To be fair, it wasnât something guys your age often did for you. Theyâd almost always expect you to pay your half, and sometimes ask you to pay their half too. But Robby had done it like the money never really mattered. Maybe it didnât.
Youâd run a hand through his hair when you were round his, admiring each grey strand as if it were actually something special. He remembered asking you once if he should dye it, only to watch the pure look of horror on his face. You started changing the channel when ads for hair dye came on the TV, and routinely checked his cupboards to make sure he hadnât secretly bought some. He thinks his glasses are something to hide too, claiming he didnât need them despite having to frequently squint at what he was reading. When youâd found them hidden on his bedside table, youâd practically forced them onto his face and made sure to thoroughly show him how much you appreciated them.
Sometimes heâd make a reference and youâd stare at him blankly until he realised youâd probably never seen the show he was referencing. Youâd do it with him too. Sitting on his couch and scrolling through TikTok, youâd mutter sounds beneath your breath that had Robbyâs head snapping up to meet your gaze in confusion. Heâd been stumped on âbeekeeping ageâ until heâd caved and asked Santos about it, much to his immediate regret.
It was way too clear when you moved in with him. Robby watched you make his home brighter and more colourful. You didnât take it over, you just made a space that was his into yours and his. But now he slept in a bed with teddies, and fell asleep to movies youâd never seen before that heâd seen when they came out. Your record collection merged with his, bringing a lot more pop to his collection than he ever thought there would be. He had to help you with the instructions on how to build a wardrobe so that you actually had space for your vast collection of clothes that somehow managed to spill into his drawers too.
Youâd encouraged him to go to therapy too. It was after heâd had started an argument with you that you just wouldnât tolerate. Youâd glared at him, arms folded across your chest as you stated that grown men went to therapy and little boys ran from their problems. It had been the first time someone had managed to get through to him. Maybe it was because youâd sounded infinitely older and wiser than him, or maybe it was just because you were right. Either way, heâd scheduled an appointment by the time heâd made you an apologetic breakfast the day after.
When you decided to go back to college for a degree you actually wanted, Robby had praised you to no end. Heâd said it was good you were doing it then, because he proved that you couldnât teach an old dog new tricks. He told everyone about what you were doing now, and would sit up proofreading your essays when you refused to put them through any sort of AI checker for fear of that somehow proving you used it. Heâd buy you snacks when you wouldnât move for hours whilst researching for endless hours. He never pulled you from it; he wouldâve hated anyone doing that for him even when he needed it, and he assumed the same was true of you. Instead, Robby would open his arms when you would finally collapse into bed, listening to you mutter explanations sleepily.
What really amazed Robby was your insatiable energy despite it all though. He put it down to you being in your twenties and so eager to live your life, but he really didnât know where it came from. Heâd walk behind you as you ran through fields on weekends when you insisted the city was the last place on the planet you wanted to be. He watched you sing along to every song on the radio at the top of your lungs, insisting he join in with you, which he always reluctantly did. It was worth it though to see the smile split across your face.
He was always sore after fucking you too. He hated to blame his age, but⊠it was definitely his age. Every part of him would ache after putting all his energy into work. It was why heâd gotten used to you riding him instead, which heâd had to learn you loved after he actually did put his back out once. Robby did thank himself for finding it out later however when your insatiability carried into sex too. That and the collection of vibrators heâd bought you for Valentines (which heâd found entirely weird, but youâd adored, and that was what counted).
And afterwards, heâd always tuck you into bed, whispering, âI love you, sweet girl,â into your hairline.
The best part was your smile, slightly out of it, as you whispered back, âLove you too, old man.â
In truth, you would've already forgotten the reason why your boyfriend was mad in the first place if he wouldn't keep bringing it up. All you really do know is that you just want to end the night after a cute date by going to bed and cuddling with him, face nuzzled into his big hairy chest and completely cozy.Â
"I'm just saying he didn't draw hearts on my cup," Robby stresses for about the tenth time tonight.Â
"Oh my god!" you laugh, giving him an incredulous eye roll from your seat at the vanity, finishing taking off your makeup. "It's company policy for Starbucks baristas to just doodle random shit on their cups."
"Did it have to be hearts, though?" Oh, your handsome, sweet, stupid man and his stupid jealousy was going to be the death of you someday.
"I don't know!" you huff, getting up to throw away the makeup wipes and start changing into your pajamas. The grumbles and pouting had been cute earlier while you enjoyed your caramel frappe and fed some to Robby while he drove, but now he was starting to irritate you. "I'll let them know next time that my boyfriend's the one who likes heart shapes on his coffee cup."
"It's not about the hearts!" he scowls. "It's the principle."
Alright, that's it.Â
You turn to glower at him, but before you can really get too annoyed with Robby, an idea strikes. You've seen a few videos online of other girls trying it, so why not give it a shot, too?
Robby's still talking when you begin toying with the hem of your tank top and eventually start to lift it over your belly button. His voice falters halfway through a sentence once he spots what you're doing, and your eyes crinkle when you see how his nostrils flare and his eyes narrow.
You only continue staring at Robby while his cheeks begin to flush and he starts to pointedly keep his eyes on yours, your pout slowly tugging away into an impish smirk, batting your lashes just as a cherry on top.
"You can't justâŠ" Robby grits, face slowly growing redder by the second. "Stop it."
"Stop what?" you say innocently.Â
And you have the nerve to tilt your head, like you don't know what, you fucking bratâ
"You know what."
"Do I?"
"Yes, you fucking do," he snarls. You giggle, continuing to slowly drag your tank top over your chest, every inch revealing even more than the last. "Drop the attitude. And the shirt."
"Okay!" you squeal, grinning and pulling the thin fabric over your head, throwing it at Robby's chest. Your tits are free from their confinement, and you bite your lip at him while they bounce against your chest. Robby could cum from the sight of your nipples alone and he thinks that's what pisses him off the most about the situation. Because you know that. "Like this?"
You're bent over the edge of the bed in a matter of seconds, and your delighted moan from the feeling of his stiff cock behind his jeans rubbing against your ass is muffled by the pillow your face is buried into.Â
"Ohoho, you are in big trouble, little girl," he huffs against your ear. You pull your head up from the bed and look back to give him a dazed grin.
"Try me, old man."
Your squeal rings out through the bedroom when his palm cracks against your ass.
Dry humping, pathetic!michael, kind of sub!michael, no kissing as a punishment
Thinking about Michael pressing his body down on yours, crotch flat against your right thigh and hard cock poking at you but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of paying attention to any part of him and keep your eyes glued to the tv in front of you.
It wasnât a big fight, not really. But thereâs nothing hotter than seeing your big bad and much older boyfriend pout at you because you keep turning your head to the side every time he tries to kiss you.
Never one to give up, he leans in once more and whimpers when you tip your head to the left. âIâm sorry, sweetheart. I didnât mean to hurt you.â
He is not, you both know that, not because he enjoys being an asshole to you but because of the way things play out afterwards. The way itâs happening now.
He dives in again and his lips meet the soft skin of your cheek, a groan of desperation leaves his mouth when you keep quiet.
Your canines flash for a second when you sink them in your lower lip and you will yourself to not make a sound when his hips start moving against your thigh.
His movement is hurried and lacks the familiar rhythm of him on top of you and the sound of his whining this close to your ear causes your thighs to tense in effort to keep them from rubbing against each other.
Nonsensical words spill out of his lips in rhyme with his stuttering hips but you pay them no mind as you dig your nails in the bedsheets.
He doesnât get to feel the luxury of your skin on his, not this time. Because if he wants to make a habit out of this, then you are going to make it harder for him until he learns to use his words.
Thick muscular thighs tense and the graying coarse hair littering his shaft tickles the bare skin of your legs. âI-Iâm close-fuck, Iâm sorry baby, it wonât happen again.â Gosh, he sounds wrecked and the hot drag of his cock is making you dizzy.
You reach a hand up to close it around the david star necklace dangling from his neck and tug at it, a satisfied hum vibrating out of your throat when he obeys without any words from you.
âYou gonna use your words next time?â You whisper against his lips, hot breath mingling but still not touching him. âOr is this going to become a routine? Pick up a fight and then hump my leg in apology, hm?â
He moans in your mouth but knows better than to try and close the distance between you, even if the sight of your full lips moving a hair away from his is so tempting.
âWant my lips on yours, pretty boy?â You chuckle at the eager nodding and repeated uh-huhs but still donât kiss him. âI can do that, but youâre going to cum for me first.â
âFuck, youâre being so cruel right now.â Big doe eyes bore into yours begging for some sympathy because you know he can never let himself go without kissing you but you donât break.
Instead, you let go of the necklace and shoot your hand up to dig into his cheeks and smush his lips together, puckering them just how he hates. âLet go, Michael.â
Thereâs no sight more beautiful than a man like Michael turning putty on top of you, brown eyes rolling to the back of his head as your fingers block him from dropping his mouth open in a loud moan.
The sound that comes out of his chest is raw, enticing a shiver down your spine as his warm cum paints your thighs.
When you see his eyes come back to yours, dizzy and unfocused, you bring him closer to praise him gently. âThere you are, attaboy.â Your lips tickle his as you speak.
âI love you.â You murmur but donât wait to hear him say it back as you finally catch his lips with yours, a smile breaking over your face when his cock twitches in neediness.
⥠pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader x michael rabinovitch
⥠synopsis: broken & hopeless, you let go of the prospect of living. but like so many others who made a heartbreaking decision in a moment of absolute darkness, your mind changes. when jack tries to save you...will he succeed?
⥠content: angst, hurt/comfort, depression, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, accidental injury with a scalpel
⥠a/n: based off this request, ty! | i also listened to the song 222 by Vyva Melinkolya ft. Ethel Cain on repeat while writing this & i think it's kinda fitting & makes the work impossibly sadder lol
The at times calamitous ambience of the ED served strictly to unmoor and unsettle you during your first few weeks between its off-white walls. The patients flowed in like a raging riverânever-ending, and never a trickle. Instead, a gush. All at once until you were drowning beneath it. When you looked around, however, you took comfort in your fellow fish; you weren't alone, not as long as they swam against the current alongside you.
It'd felt like another world upon a strange planet, in truth. One with much beeping, serving as signals both good and bad as people with do-good hearts raced to save patients from the malicious claws that meant to drag them away from this plane of existence. And there was the awful bright overhead lighting which casted the unthinkable in an eerie glow. Necessary for visibility, but unpleasing to the eye. Some places stock their troffers with bulbs meant to mimic the sun instead, you hear.
That had sounded like a nice idea to you, but something unlikely for PTMC to ever implement. They don't seen to much care for the happiness of their employees.
The thrill of the catchâhaving an epiphany during an odd case, and grabbing hold of a diagnose others were so far from discovering, made you feel invincible, and all the trials and tribulations thus well worth it in the end, however. You were saving lives. How many others can say the same about their occupation? Most otherwise work in trade or retail or from cushy corner offices. Which isn't to say that they're not all vital bees in the buzzing hive which is the world, but they're no Michael Rabinovitch or Dana Evans or Jack Abbot.
Local rockstars to you they are. Or...were.
That began before long, too: burnout. Your days turning into a monotonous, psychologically draining cycle. No more do you walk out the Pitt's doors and it feels like you're coming back through them again, greeted not by smiles and welcoming sentiments, but by screaming, ungrateful patients who just keep dying.
Covid leveled your world and ripped the rose-colored glasses from your eyes that you once wore so happily. It ingrained such trauma within you that you didn't know where to put it.
There was no time for therapy.
Not that you probably would've gone had there beenâmaking such an appointment was like accepting defeat; admitting that something had gone wrong with you.
That your brain was sick.
You power through the nightmares; the fleeting reminders of things you'd rather forget when a machine beeps a certain way, or an item of PPE flashes in your peripheral as a co-worker pulls it on. It'll move through you eventually, you tell yourself; work its way out of your system just like a virus or a nasty cold.
It won't last forever.
Or...you'd thought as much, anyway.
Lately, for the last few months, things have gotten exceptionally hard. You're both sleeping and not. When you get home, it's all you really want to do. As of late, you forgo dinner in favor of it. The scale in your bathroom reflects this change.
Runway models should really invest in giving healthcare a go for awhile instead of diet pills, you think. It'd work faster.
When you do rest, however, it's fitfully. You toss and turn, toss and turn. No more does your head hit the pillow and it seems like your alarm is screaming at you to get out of bed to get back to it.
You're withdrawn at work. Talking expends energy. Effort, even. Not that you want to conserve it. You just don't much like people anymore.
They've changed. At once they were so friendly. Human beings you liked talking to. Now, you'd rather drink bleach than carry on any sort of conversation at length. The same kind of goes for patients. You've thus been faltering in your bedside manner, and little handout review sheets reflect it. Something new enacted by those at the top of the hospital.
There's no thanks for the good you do, only chastisement for the bad. Bad, bad, bad. That's what you are.
You think maybe others can see it: this grotesque thing that's broken inside of you. You can't fix it. Not when you're not wholly sure what it is. Just...a part that can't be reached, you suppose. It's okay, though, if people don't want you around. You've never been terribly good with them, you think. Always saying the wrong thing, or making the moment needlessly awkward by inserting yourself where you clearly were never wanted.
They're happier, it seems, with you removed from their everyday.
The thoughts begin as mere daydreams in time, since you find yourself with little else to do in the quieter moments: pills, razors, rope, a speedometer climbing well past ninety. You toy with them like a Rubik's Cubeâturning them this way and that, figuring which best suits you.
It becomes sort of exhilarating, reallyâknowing that there's such an incredibly easy way out of it all. And that it's always there, awaiting you. Like a friend. Something you can both lean and rely on.
You like that fact.
That peaceful feeling becomes...very hard to escape once it's implanted itself within your mind like a hard to pull root from a noxious weed. As in, impossible.
It haunts your steps in the hall, sits with you in the staff lounge, visits with you at home... It even comes with you to the toilet, it's so prevalent.
You could always take a bottle of pills from work. Ones that would just let you drift off to sleep. Peaceful and painless. No better option, in your opinion.
You tuck the thought away for possible later use.
You throw yourself fully into your work and turn on blinders to anything outside of it. You let yourself become a machineâmerely doing as you are bid without quarrel. It seems to please people when you go along with them; are at their beck and call and always of agreement with their opinions and assumptions. It's strange how different social hierarchy becomes when you've set aside any personality of your own.
But you're not perfect. Sometimes your mind becomes fuzzy. You think maybe it's atrophying. And that equates to the occasional mistake.
Abbot dislikes when you give a patient double the dosage of a medication of what he instructed you to. It made them a little sickâsome vomiting and a seizureâbut they survived. Meanwhile, he'd pulled you aside and you stared while occasionally blinking as he told you why what you did was so dangerous.
Bad, bad, bad.
At one time, he'd liked you. Gave you extra attention and often let his hands rest on your shoulders or lower back. One time he caressed your cheek, which had made it warm pleasantly in response. Now that you're no longer his shining star, thoughâhaving burnt out so long agoâyou think he'd rather you weren't around.
You should do something about that fact.
"We cannot afford mistakes like that, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that opens us up to?" He questions. Pressing one finger to the other, he supplies you an answer so you don't have to come up with one. You're glad for that.
You don't think you could if you tried.
"Lawsuits, a revocation of your medical license, an inquiry by the Medical Board..." He trails off after counting off so many digits.
You nod. "I understand, Doctor Abbot," the girl devoid of light and life says. "It won't happen again. I promise."
He gives a smile and a nod, pats you on the shoulderâa gesture which you flinch away from since you really dislike being touched lately for some reasonâand tells you that that's exactly what he wants to hear before walking away from you.
You should just kill yourself.
It's what you think anytime you screw up now. Drop and break a glass at home? Suicide. Get berated by a superior at work? Suicide. Take too long to go after a light has turned green and a driver behind you honks their horn? Suicide.
Such a burden you've become. Maybe you've always been? You're not sure. You hope not, but if so, you wouldn't be surprised.
You start making preparations before your big, metaphorical trip.
Typing away on a computer, you drown out the hubbub of your surroundingsâchoosing to instead focus solely on the digital chart before you. When your eyes begin to grow a bit blurry, however, you glance up and idly watch as individuals in blue and black and grey scrubs come and go.
You pick Doctor Robby to observe for a bit.
You'd adored him at one time. For awhile, actually. You liked how tall he was, and his neatly trimmed beard. His Carhart pants and how he commanded authority while still being gentle in instruction. The timbre of his voice reverberating through your ear canal when he stood close as you tended patients sent chills up your spine. It was like finely ground coffee: dark, but nevertheless smooth and tempting.
When he started calling you by various pet names around the Pitt, you'd stupidly humored yourself by believing that perhaps he felt similarlyâhad a hidden crush, same as you. You'd become almost certain of it one night when he gave you a ride home because your car wouldn't turn over due to a corroded battery.
Your heart had rhythmically thumped away between your breasts as you watched his hands turn the steering wheelâhalf hoping he'd take you home with him like a stray.
He never did.
Now, he doesn't so much as give you a second glance.
Maybe it makes you a narcissist to have assumed there was a mutual attraction. Not everyone wants you. In fact, no one does. If only you'd figured it out sooner, you would've saved yourself so much trouble in chasing after those who only wanted to get far away from you.
You lower your head then turn to the left where Santos sits with a recorder, dictating her own patient's chart. You wait until there's a pause, then speakâtake your first steps in making your plan a reality.
"Hey, Trinity?" You ask quietly.
Swiveling around in your direction from atop an office chair, she toys with her recorder. "Yeah?"
"Do you like records?"
Her brows furrow. "Yeeeah. Why?"
You shrug indifferently while typing a few more words. "I'm getting rid of my collection. I thought that maybe you'd like to have them."
Her brows raise in surprise. "I mean, how much are you asking?"
You shake your head while hitting the space bar. "No charge."
She scooches closerâsure that this is too good to be true. "Wait. Are you actually serious? I mean, vinyl is like stupid expensive right now. You wanna just give yours away? To me?"
You nod. "I don't listen to them anymore." Picking up your phone, you wave it haphazardly before tossing it down with a thud. "If I want to listen to music now, I just stream it."
You look at her over your shoulder. "They're just collecting dust. You can have them all. Do whatever you like with them. Keep them, sell them, gift them." You shrug. "Makes no difference to me."
She beams at the prospect of furthering her collection, and for entirely free, at that. "Yeah, hundred percent I want them."
You save the chart you've just completed. "They're in my trunk. I'll get them to you once our shift is through."
For the next two weeks, you continue on with offloading your life onto others. You give Samira your clothes in multiple garbage bags. Mel your books, McKay some decorative figures you kept on your bookshelves for her son, Javadi your jewelry and accessories, and the nurse's station your stationary in all its organized glory.
When Dana tries showing concernâasking as to why you're doing this, sarcastically asking if you're movingâyou shrug it off and tell her it's just a bit of spring cleaning.
She frowns, knowing that it's the tail-end of summer.
Once your apartment is nearly devoid of any sign that you once lived in it, you cry from joy.
You're so close now. Just a few more loose ends, and you'll be ready to go.
Abbot is the first to go out of his way to speak to you. He deems it goodâgreat, evenâthat you're in a better mood today. He's heard...troubling news. Spring cleaning, you'd called it to Dana. But sometimes people just choose to declutter their lives, right? Especially in this line of work, it's way too easy to let your living space become an absolute wreck because you can't be bothered to expend the energy to clean it up on a regular basis.
Makes it easier the less you've got to deal with. And when you practically live in scrubs... Well, who needs dress clothes, right?
Bumping his shoulder against yours, and sending your fingers flying across the keyboard you stand at, you begin backspacing to fix your typos.
He doesn't like those.
"You seem better today," he remarks. "That's good. Got some big plans after work or somethin'?" He asks curiously.
You smile with warmth. If you were the sunâwhich, here in the Pitt, at one time you wereâhe could stand within the light your rays provide for forever. "I do," you say quietly, with cheer.
He raises a brow and his lips tug into a smirk. "Oh yeah? What's that?"
You shrug. "It's a surprise."
He leans in close. "Not for me, is it?" He whispers.
You turn to him, and he nearly stumbles back. The tone of your voice and your general demeanor... They don't match the vacant look in your eyes whatsoever. They don't... They don't even look like they're yours.
"You're a good doctor, Jack," you say while gently resting a hand against his upper arm. "I don't think I've ever told you how grateful I am that I was given a chance to learn from you. PTMC is really lucky to have you here."
His brows furrow and the smile slips from his face. "Sweetheart, you're starting to freak me out here."
Couldn't even do that right, you think. Just further confirmation that you're indeed making the right choice. "I'm sorry," you say while stepping away. "It won't happen again. Have a nice evening, Dr. Abbot."
You give Mel an unexpected hug before she's due to head home for the day. She stumbles back, hesitates for a moment, then returns it with a feeble embrace. "Becca is really fortunate to have such a caring sister. It makes me happy you two have one another," you tell her with a squeeze.
She steps back while flushing and nervously adjusting her glasses. "Y-Yeah. Me too."
You part from her with a nod, and let her go on her way.
Later on, you catch Mohan at her locker and lean against your own. Yours, which can been completely cleaned out, minus your stethoscope. They'll open it eventually. You left a note to please give the item to someone who needs it. Or just...keep it in the inventory as an extra incase another's becomes faulty.
"I know Robby has been kind of hard on you lately," you say quietly.
She doesn't speak.
"But you have so much talent with patients. You take their feelings into consideration. A lot of providers let this job get the better of them and their care suffers for it." You gently grip her wrist. "Don't let him turn you into someone you're not."
Just as she turns to say something, you've gone.
Dennis has just slung his backpack over his shoulder when you jog to catch up to him by the ambulance bay's doors. "Hey," you say, settling a hand atop his shoulder.
He turns with a surprised look on his face.
"I wanted you to know that I think what you're doing for Amy and her baby is really...sweet. Commendable." You drop your hand and smile. "Are you happy?"
He grins and glances down to his shoes while nodding. "Yeah. I-I am. I think she is, too."
You turn your head to the right and watch as a truck pulls up outside. "Don't let her go, Dennis." You look back to him. "Family is important. Make sure you don't let this place become the only one you have."
He raises a brow and makes to step forwardâto question what's going onâuntil you take a few steps back. "I gotta go, but you two drive safe. Okay?"
"I'll see ya tomorrow, kid," Dana calls from behind you.
Slowly turning round to face her, you look at Emma who's seated just to her side. "You've got a good teacher here," you say while nodding to the older blonde. "So you listen to her and soak up everything you can. Having Dana as your guide here in the Pitt is invaluable."
Emma nods with a toothy smile. "I will."
Your eyes flit back to Dana. "See you around," you whisper.
By the end of your shift, things feel different. For the first time in maybe years, you feel content. At peace. Could it mean that things are...worth a second try? You'd not even considered that such a thought would cross your mind.
But there it sits, like a gift waiting to be unwrapped.
Exiting through the sliding doors of the ambulance bay, you step out from beneath the overhead coverage that extends outward and stare up at the stars. You'd meant to be dancing amongst them tonight, but...plans can always change.
You look to the right, and find Robby strapping a bag to the rear luggage wrack of his motorcycle. Maybe... Maybe he can help? He'll know what to do, because you know this moment won't last. You have to reach out and ask for him to hold your hand through this while you've still got the mental fortitude at your disposal to do so.
Crossing your arms, you walk over to him. "Hey, Robby?"
Tightening a bungee cord into place, he raises a brow. "Hm?"
"Could I talk to you about something? It'sâ"
He sighs with irritation and runs a tired hand down his face. "I was rally hoping to get going. Guess I didn't move fast enough." He turns to you with crossed arms as well, matching your stance. "Can this not wait until morning?"
Your eyes flit between his.
So much happens in that moment.
Your resolve shatters into irreparable shards which slice through any hope you'd had but a moment ago, and a confirmation is granted to you. Confirmation that you chose right all along.
What's meant to be will be.
And with the small orange bottle in your pocket, you'll make it so.
It's okay now.
You force a reassuring smile and shake your head. "Sure. It wasn't important. It doesn't matter." You take a step back. "I'm sorry for bothering you. Have a nice night. Andâand drive safe, ok?"
He barely pays you any mind as he mounts his motorcycle and drives away.
Waiting for your Uber to arrive, you continue studying the stars. They just...look like they'd take such good care of you, y'know? Never would they let you fall or falter. They act as one.
But, so, too, are they already dead.
You suppose that's rather fitting.
"You need a ride?"
Glancing to your left, you find Frank watching you with a curious look on his face.
You shake your head. "No, thank you, I have an Uber coming."
He nods. "Car in the shop?"
You shrug and look away. You donated it to a local charity yesterday, actually. You'd been rather surprised to find out such things existed. They repurpose them for homeless youth and single mothers and the like. It'll go to someone in need.
That makes you happy.
Your phone dings that your driver is 5 minutes away.
Standing, you pad over to Frank. "I'm really proud of you for going to rehab, Langdon."
He tucks his phone away into his pocket. "Yeah, well, Robby didn't exactly give me another choice."
You chew your lip. "It was the right thing. For you...and your children." Meeting his eyes, you crook your head to the side. "They need their dad. Your sobriety is a big deal. You should be proud of it, too."
His brows furrow.
"This hospital needs you here. I'm glad you came back."
Tires crunch against asphalt, and a white SUV pulls up.
When you start toward it, Frank takes a small step forward. "Areâare you okay?"
After popping open the back passenger door, you look at him over your shoulder. "I am. I know what I have to do now."
He thinks to reach out for you. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?"
You swing a leg inside. "Goodbye, Frank."
With that, you shut the door behind you.
An empty plastic bottle crinkles quietly between your shaking hands.
On the floor, a pill bottle lies on its side. It's contents currently dissolving in your stomach acid.
Looking around the nearly empty space you occupy, you tell yourself that you can't go back. There's nothing left. Even out in the hall sits yet another box of odds and ends you didn't know what else to do with. So you merely drew on the front of it 'FREE' with a smiley face and sat it next to your apartment door.
Someone will rifle through it and take what they like; give the things inside a second home.
Leaning back against the headboard behind you, you swallow thickly as hot tears practically singe your cheeks. The truth you don't want to admit now is that you're scared. You don't want to die like this: alone, and in what has now become a strange place.
What if no one comes in the next few days? You don't want them to find your body bloated and rotting; infested with flies and maggots that crawl inside your mouth and ears.
Fighting against how your head swims when you turn it, you reach for your phone. You grip it as hard as you can and jerk your unsteady limb back to you. Plopping the device onto the mattress you're seated upon, it takes four tries before you manage to punch in the correct pin code.
You dial 3 numbers, then wait.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Pleeease," you slur. "I changed my mind."
"âFemale. Unconscious. Pulse is bradycardic and thready," the EMT informs Abbot and his team as he rounds the back of the van. "She told 911 about a half hour ago that she swallowed a bottle of Prozac."
Popping open the door, he turns back to Abbot and shoves the empty bottle into his hands. "She must've stole them, seeing as a man's name is on the bottle. We found it on the floor of her apartment. I figured you all would want it when you try to treat her."
Helping his partner get the gurney out of the van, the bottom wheels fall and clatter to the ground before locking into place.
"Oh my God," McKay exclaims before clamping both her hands over her mouth.
Having come back around to morning time, the rest of the day shift will soon be arriving.
Meanwhile, Abbot knows he can't leave now.
He'll work a 24 hour fucking shift if he has to.
When the other EMT exits the rig, he looks between the crowd of unmoving bodies. "You all know her or something?"
"She fucking works here," Toomarian replies before stumbling back.
Jack shakes his head, then begins firing on all cylinders as his body jumps into motion. "McKay, Shen, you two are with me. Henderson, get your ass inside and tell Handzo that I need a room cleared. We're going to intubate and then perform a gastric lavage."
He glances around. "I said now! Move your asses!" He shouts.
Standing outside, Robby watches as your body lifts off the hospital bed you've been transferred to. With numb, shaking fingers tangled painfully in his hair, he yanks tightly against the strands. Jack glances to the monitor, shakes his head, then commands McKay to try again.
"Please," he cries through clenched teeth. "Fuck," he curses. "It's all my fucking fault."
When he came in for his shift, your room was the first one he bothered peeking into, and it stopped him cold in his tracks before he barked at Whitaker to help him suit up so he could help.
A gesture which didn't last long when he backed into a tray of sterile instruments once inside, and thus sent them scattering across the floor. Panicking, he tried picking them up as a series of apologies spilled from his lips. Aimed toward you, Jack, or the team which was trying to save you, he's unsure. In the end, he sliced his hand open with a ten blade. As blood oozed from the wound, Jack shouted for him to get out. To have someone stitch him up while he otherwise kept his focus strictly on you.
"No, I-I have to s-stay. I can do it. We have to fucking save her, Jack."
Jack had leveled him with a glare. "I am going to do every goddamn thing I can to ensure that she doesn't slip away from us, but you have got to leave this room. You're breaking my concentration. It's already hard enough!"
Forcing her way inside, Dana shoved against his chest to guide him out of the room. Stumbling backward, Robby pointed at Jack. "You fucking bring her back. You bring her back to us or I'll never forgive you!"
Now, here he stands in the middle of a fast-moving ED with over a dozen stitches in a hand that's wrapped in gauze, praying to a God who stopped listening long ago to take him instead if it meant sparing you.
It's all his fault.
You had tried to talk to him. Had given living one last try. And he couldn't be bothered to spare five minutes.
The lump in his throat becomes too much to breathe or swallow over.
Robby starts choking on his own saliva.
His heart squeezes painfully in his chest and his knees buckle out from under him.
Falling to the floor, Dana runs to his side. "Hey, Rob, Robby, look at me. What's goin' on, big guy?"
He clutches at his chest. "MI," he pants.
"I need a gurney over here!"
A panic attack.
He'd hoped for worse, because then it would mean God had actually obliged his only request.
Sitting in a hospital bed with his head held hopelessly between his hands, he refuses to face the room that lies across the way. Peds.
So much horror its walls have bore witness to.
But also love and care.
Like the day of PittFest. Another moment which saw Robby at his lowest; collapsed in on himself like a dying star. You were the one who pulled him out of the darkness, though.
Caressing his face between careful hands, you swiped tears from his cheeks while telling him that you understoodâhad been where he sat so many times (why didn't he see it then?)âbut still nevertheless needed him that day. That you both had essential work to do which you wanted him at your side for, and after is when he could break. In your arms, if that's what he required.
Did he kiss you then? Or was that an imagined dream he drew up in his muddled head?
Shoving off the bed he occupies with a huff, Robby does exactly that: gets to work. It's what you would want. And the only way he won't fall apart again. Because if he continues sitting there thinking up worst case scenarios, he'll never make it out of here alive.
The whole department has spent the day on-edge. Jack has assured them that the worst has passed, but until... Unless you woke up, you weren't totally out of the woods.
Practically everyone sticks around until well after their shifts are throughâwaiting with bated breathâto see if you'll open your eyes.
For what it's worth, piles of your things begin arriving in droves when people realize you hadn't just been cleaning out your apartment like you said.
You'd been preparing never to come back.
For the absolute worst of reasons.
They each take turns visiting with you. Apologizing. Or just telling stories.
Besides Robby and Abbot, Frank takes it the hardest. He was the last person you spoke to. He tells Jack over and over and over again that he should've stood in front of the fucking car if it meant making you stay. That he knewâhe knewâin his gut what you had planned.
Mel has bumped into patients and coworkers alike so many times while passing by your room that 'sorry' has become her word of the day.
Dana stays quiet. She merely watches from beneath the board, awaiting the opening of your pretty eyes again.
Javadi quietly asks Jack whenânot ifâyou wake up, he'll have you put on an involuntary psyche hold. He tells her that psyche will be called for a consult, but what happens from there will be out of his hands. All he knows is that he has to make sure this never happens again.
When his chin begins to wobble as he smooths hair from your brow is when she takes her leave.
When his shift nears 20 hours, Jack finally takes a seat at your bedside. Holding your limp hand between each of his, he presses it to his lips. "You have people waiting for you," he murmurs. "I am waiting for you. Robby is. Sweetheart," he cups your cheek and your head lulls to the side. "I love you."
He begins to cry. "Why the fuck I didn't say it sooner Iâ" He shakes his head. "I thought it'd be unprofessional. You were my subordinate." He lowers his head. "Goddamn coward." Lifting his head again, he kisses your fingertips. "I'm saying it now. I mean, how could I not fall for you?"
A knock sounds from the door.
Robby.
Pushing open the glass entrance, he steps inside. "Still nothing?" He asks quietly.
Jack shakes his head. "Not yet. But she'll wake up soon. She has to."
Seating himself on the side of your bed, Robby cups your cool cheek in his palm. "You came to me. You needed me and I wasn't there." He runs the pad of his thumb along the curve of your jaw. "But I am now. I will spend as much time as I have to fixing this; making it up to you."
Leaning down, he hesitates, then presses a soft kiss to your lips.
But that only works in the stories...
"Rest of my life if I have to."
Jack falls asleep slumped over in his chairâhis head resting beside you and his fingers firmly intertwined between your own. Robby took up position at your side in bed. Holding you close to him with his hoody draped over your chest, he tucked you just beneath his chin before drifting off.
As long as your heart still beats, they've each something to hold onto.
Your awakening is sluggish; gradual. Pulling yourself from the primordial sludge which deigned to hold you meant fighting a battle you weren't sure you could win.
But when you stir quietly, and feel warm bodies on either side of you, accompanied by the sound of quiet snoring, you know you've come out the other side victorious.
"Welcome back," drawls a thickly accented, feminine voice from across the way. "Had a lot of people worried, kid."
The rumbling chest you're pressed against quiets, then shifts. Pressing your head back against the soft pillow beneath it, you stare up at Robby's tear-stricken face. He doesn't speak. He merely smiles before cupping your cheek in his palm and pressing his lips to yours.
You're far too exhausted to think on it.
You'd thought he didn't care. What else have you been wrong about as of late?
Your right hand suddenly released, Jack stands, then seats himself on your bedside. "We're going to take care of you. Alright? I promise."
Leaning down, he kisses you next.
Dana turns back to the nurse's station.
"You'll never be alone again," Robby whispers. "We weren't there for you then, but we're here now."
CW; established relationship, adoption, fear of pregnancy and birth, sooo much fluff its actually sickening.
a/n; I accidentally deleted this oneshot while editing it earlier which means I had to rewrite it from the beginning. After a mental break down of course!
The glaring red numbers on the other side of the hub opposite of your leaning figure against the wall read 20:39:05 and you think the Gods are definitely testing your patience by making time move slower today.
The hustle of the night shift nurses and doctors settling into their familiar patterns clashes with your rushing day shift coworkers as most of them scurry towards the lockers room, the rest of them huff and puff as their legs stay glued to the ground while they try to catch up on their charting.
Normally, you would be everywhere. Flicking Santos on her ear to wake her up from a much needed slumber so she could finish her charting, urging Dana to just go so Lena could finally take over, patting Langdon and Whitaker on their backs while dipping your head in acknowledgment in Melâs way as you tell the three of them they did a good job today.
And normally, your husband of three years would be right behind you, his old man belly brushing your lower back with each step you take because God forbid a minute passes by without some part of him touching you as he breathes down your neck.
But that had not been the case for the last month.
Ever since the day of what was supposed to be his last shift before he hit the road for his sabbatical, after the grueling delivery of a pregnant woman, you had marched behind him with determination written all over your face, ready to tell him that he could kiss that fucking motorcycle goodbye.
Yet, whatever words had sat on the tip of your tongue went flying out of the window as he walked through the pediatric room and beelined to the wailing baby Jane Doe and youâd found yourself rooted to the ground next to the open door, not daring to cross the threshold and disturb the scene in front of you.
You had watched curiously as baby Jane Doeâs eyelids closed to rest with the help of Michaelâs large hand as he rubbed soothing circles over her tiny back while whispered sweet nothings into her ears lulled her to sleep, the sight of it seared into your brain and followed you home to your shared bedroom.
The topic of children had not been a conversation in your relationship for a very long time, not since you found the courage to admit your growing fear of the horrors pregnancy and birth could enforce on your body to Michael, courtesy of a lifetime experience as an ER doctor.
And Michael, sweet loving Michael, who would not hesitate to walk barefoot through fire if you asked him to, had simply pressed his lips to your forehead to kiss your worries of not being enough for him away and made sure to remind of his love every night for those past years.
Looking back at it now, as he trudged behind you silently and followed your haunched figure to set beside you on the bed, it must have been the years of tuning into each otherâs emotions and thoughts because not much had been said in the quiet of that night for you to see through the thick walls surrounding his mind.
One look at his calloused fingers toying with those stupid motorcycle keys and you knew which train of thoughts you had to follow. âHaving second thoughts about your trip?â
His hands dropped them so they could wrap around yours, voice shaky as he spoke. âWhat do you think about Baby Jane Doe?â
âDana and that awful nickname,â you huffed as you reached a hand to scratch at his beard the way he liked. âI think she would hate those horrendous orange walls you painted in the spare bedroom.â You murmured close to his lips.
The fervor in his kiss after and in everything else that followed that night still makes warmth spread through you each time you think about it.
The heat crawling over your neck and face snaps you out of your daze, a relieved sigh blowing out of your mouth when you notice the seconds has finally ticked away as the clock reads 20:40:01.
You trick down the hallway to the pediatric room where Michael, after an agreement with Jack, had made it a priority to dedicate the last twenty minutes of your shared shift to baby Jane Doe.
Your Baby Jane Doe as of this morning.
After a month of filling papers and spending ridiculous amount of money on clothing and toys that you both knew she will out grow quickly, something that none of you seemed to be able to care about as you headed from one store to another and clicked on countless websites.
The nerve wrecking waiting had come to an end this morning, when you were woken up by the shrill noise from your husbandâs phone to an incoming call from the hospitalâs social worker, his red rimmed eyes as his lips tugged upwards in a blinding smile was enough for hot tears to start rolling down your cheeks.
This time, when you reach the glass door, you leep over the threshold without any doubt, happy tears welling up in your eyes as you make your way to your husband and your baby girl.
Michael smiles down at you when you step besides him, shoulders sagging in relief when yours brush against his as you lean your weight into his chest and your lips start to wobble as you speak to the bright eyed baby staring at the both of you. âReady to come home with us, sweet girl?â
The coo you get in response has Michael bow down, hot tears running down your neck as he presses a kiss full of love to your neck.
You arenât doing any better than him, your own tears flowing down your face freely as you reach for him, your hands cupping his cheeks as his rough hands slide down to your waist and under your scrubs to rub mindlessly at your skin.
Youâre not sure who moved first but then his chapped lips are moving against yours and the fervor in it all causes a whine to slip out of him as he pulls you closer to press his body against yours.
Your blissful bubble is abruptly popped by the loud cheering coming from outside the hall, both of your necks snapping to the rapidly gathering crowd and you distantly wonder whoâs handling things out at the hub.
The reddening tips of Robbyâs ears push that thought to the back of your mind and the giggle that spills out of your mouth turns into a yelp when he hooks his lips over yours in one last kiss to egg your friends on.
You break from each otherâs arms when the oohs and ahs reach your ears and both of your hearts melt at the content look on your sweet girlâs face.
You usher your husband with a reassuring palm on his chest, your voice soft as you speak. âCome on, you hold her.â
He hesitates for a second before raising her head to his lips, a âHello, my sweet dove.â Murmured so softly against her forehead, you could feel tears spring back to your eyes.
He engulfs her tiny form against his chest and you hook your arm instinctively through his as you both head out to your friends still waiting for you.
Jack and Dana step forward to say their congratulations to you both and you take in the scene in front of you. Thereâs a huge âCONGRATULATIONSâ banner behind them with balloons in different shades of pink scattered around it to fill the place, Santos and Whitaker are both carrying a Tiramisu cake while Javadi stands to the side taking a video of it all.
Even Gloria has come down from her tower.
The strings of congratulations die down when Mel speaks up from her place next to Langdon. âYou guys didnât keep her name as baby Jane Doe right?â
Everyone chuckles in unison as they stare at your family in intrigue.
You share a look with Michael, your knuckle smoothing down her soft cheeks as you speak up. âEden. Her name is Eden.â
You donât tell them that itâs the name of Michaelâs late grandmother or that in Hebrew it means paradise, and opt to keep it for yourselves.
They all cheer one more time and the feeling of Michaelâs lips over yours is like a seal to the secret.
Javadi yells your names and orders you both to kiss Edenâs cheeks so she could take a picture.
You canât wait until you get home and start working on her photo albums.
I wrote this after I saw @tpwklizzie âs post! I hope you and @jinglesmells1337 like it!
It's so hard liking rabbot when you don't care about Whitaker and don't like hucklerobby/hucklerabbot because every time I find somebody who ships rabbot and post about them, they also ship and post about hucklerobby and I can't follow them for my sanity
CW; established relationship, adoption, mentioned fear of pregnancy and birth, sooo much fluff its actually sickening.
a/n; I accidentally deleted this oneshot while editing it earlier which means I had to rewrite it from the beginning. After a mental break down of course!
The glaring red numbers on the other side of the hub opposite of your leaning figure against the wall read 20:39:05 and you think the Gods are definitely testing your patience by making time move slower today.
The hustle of the night shift nurses and doctors settling into their familiar patterns clashes with your rushing day shift coworkers as most of them scurry towards the lockers room, the rest of them huff and puff as their legs stay glued to the ground while they try to catch up on their charting.
Normally, you would be everywhere. Flicking Santos on her ear to wake her up from a much needed slumber so she could finish her charting, urging Dana to just go so Lena could finally take over, patting Langdon and Whitaker on their backs while dipping your head in acknowledgment in Melâs way as you tell the three of them they did a good job today.
And normally, your husband of three years would be right behind you, his old man belly brushing your lower back with each step you take because God forbid a minute passes by without some part of him touching you as he breathes down your neck.
But that had not been the case for the last month.
Ever since the day of what was supposed to be his last shift before he hit the road for his sabbatical, after the grueling delivery of a pregnant woman, you had marched behind him with determination written all over your face, ready to tell him that he could kiss that fucking motorcycle goodbye.
Yet, whatever words had sat on the tip of your tongue went flying out of the window as he walked through the pediatric room and beelined to the wailing baby Jane Doe and youâd found yourself rooted to the ground next to the open door, not daring to cross the threshold and disturb the scene in front of you.
You had watched curiously as baby Jane Doeâs eyelids closed to rest with the help of Michaelâs large hand as he rubbed soothing circles over her tiny back while whispered sweet nothings into her ears lulled her to sleep, the sight of it seared into your brain and followed you home to your shared bedroom.
The topic of children had not been a conversation in your relationship for a very long time, not since you found the courage to admit your growing fear of the horrors pregnancy and birth could enforce on your body to Michael, courtesy of a lifetime experience as an ER doctor.
And Michael, sweet loving Michael, who would not hesitate to walk barefoot through fire if you asked him to, had simply pressed his lips to your forehead to kiss your worries of not being enough for him away and made sure to remind of his love every night for those past years.
Looking back at it now, as he trudged behind you silently and followed your haunched figure to set beside you on the bed, it must have been the years of tuning into each otherâs emotions and thoughts because not much had been said in the quiet of that night for you to see through the thick walls surrounding his mind.
One look at his calloused fingers toying with those stupid motorcycle keys and you knew which train of thoughts you had to follow. âHaving second thoughts about your trip?â
His hands dropped them so they could wrap around yours, voice shaky as he spoke. âWhat do you think about Baby Jane Doe?â
âDana and that awful nickname,â you huffed as you reached a hand to scratch at his beard the way he liked. âI think she would hate those horrendous orange walls you painted in the spare bedroom.â You murmured close to his lips.
The fervor in his kiss after and in everything else that followed that night still makes warmth spread through you each time you think about it.
The heat crawling over your neck and face snaps you out of your daze, a relieved sigh blowing out of your mouth when you notice the seconds has finally ticked away as the clock reads 20:40:01.
You trick down the hallway to the pediatric room where Michael, after an agreement with Jack, had made it a priority to dedicate the last twenty minutes of your shared shift to baby Jane Doe.
Your Baby Jane Doe as of this morning.
After a month of filling papers and spending ridiculous amount of money on clothing and toys that you both knew she will out grow quickly, something that none of you seemed to be able to care about as you headed from one store to another and clicked on countless websites.
The nerve wrecking waiting had come to an end this morning, when you were woken up by the shrill noise from your husbandâs phone to an incoming call from the hospitalâs social worker, his red rimmed eyes as his lips tugged upwards in a blinding smile was enough for hot tears to start rolling down your cheeks.
This time, when you reach the glass door, you leep over the threshold without any doubt, happy tears welling up in your eyes as you make your way to your husband and your baby girl.
Michael smiles down at you when you step besides him, shoulders sagging in relief when yours brush against his as you lean your weight into his chest and your lips start to wobble as you speak to the bright eyed baby staring at the both of you. âReady to come home with us, sweet girl?â
The coo you get in response has Michael bow down, hot tears running down your neck as he presses a kiss full of love to your neck.
You arenât doing any better than him, your own tears flowing down your face freely as you reach for him, your hands cupping his cheeks as his rough hands slide down to your waist and under your scrubs to rub mindlessly at your skin.
Youâre not sure who moved first but then his chapped lips are moving against yours and the fervor in it all causes a whine to slip out of him as he pulls you closer to press his body against yours.
Your blissful bubble is abruptly popped by the loud cheering coming from outside the hall, both of your necks snapping to the rapidly gathering crowd and you distantly wonder whoâs handling things out at the hub.
The reddening tips of Robbyâs ears push that thought to the back of your mind and the giggle that spills out of your mouth turns into a yelp when he hooks his lips over yours in one last kiss to egg your friends on.
You break from each otherâs arms when the oohs and ahs reach your ears and both of your hearts melt at the content look on your sweet girlâs face.
You usher your husband with a reassuring palm on his chest, your voice soft as you speak. âCome on, you hold her.â
He hesitates for a second before raising her head to his lips, a âHello, my sweet dove.â Murmured so softly against her forehead, you could feel tears spring back to your eyes.
He engulfs her tiny form against his chest and you hook your arm instinctively through his as you both head out to your friends still waiting for you.
Jack and Dana step forward to say their congratulations to you both and you take in the scene in front of you. Thereâs a huge âCONGRATULATIONSâ banner behind them with balloons in different shades of pink scattered around it to fill the place, Santos and Whitaker are both carrying a Tiramisu cake while Javadi stands to the side taking a video of it all.
Even Gloria has come down from her tower.
The strings of congratulations die down when Mel speaks up from her place next to Langdon. âYou guys didnât keep her name as baby Jane Doe right?â
Everyone chuckles in unison as they stare at your family in intrigue.
You share a look with Michael, your knuckle smoothing down her soft cheeks as you speak up. âEden. Her name is Eden.â
You donât tell them that itâs the name of Michaelâs late grandmother or that in Hebrew it means paradise, and opt to keep it for yourselves.
They all cheer one more time and the feeling of Michaelâs lips over yours is like a seal to the secret.
Javadi yells your names and orders you both to kiss Edenâs cheeks so she could take a picture.
You canât wait until you get home and start working on her photo albums.
I wrote this after I saw @tpwklizzie âs post! I hope you and @jinglesmells1337 like it!
contrary to popular belief, I donât think Jack would go for someone under thirty years old.
He is an old widowed man nearing his fifties, he carries an awfully overwhelming amount of baggage that heâs clearly not handling well enough if his free time hobby is getting shot at and turning a police scanner on is one way to help him fall asleep faster.
Which is exactly why I think he would go for someone mature enough emotionally and is well established in their life.
No, you wonât pay for anything. All you gotta do is breath in the direction of whatever it is you may have wanted and itâs all yours. Payed for and wrapped nicely on your bed.
You would never have to lift a finger. Heâll gladly do anything for you, even after a grueling twelve hours shift, bones aching and leg begging to take the prosthetic off.
Because at the end of the day, he knows that youâre capable of taking of your own. He just likes spoiling you.
In which the universeâs plan to stop Michael Robby Robinavitch from leaving for his Sabbatical is not by destroying his motorcycle, but by dropping an unconscious girl on the rooftop of the pitt. In the middle of his break down too.
Cross posted on AO3
C.W No use of Y/N. Reader wakes up in the pitt, literally though, she wakes up on the rooftop, Michael Needs a hug, Michael is Down Bad, age gap, Older Man/Younger Woman, Kind of sugar daddy robby, he likes to take care of reader, it gets him going, Forced Proximity, female reader, tall reader, reader has a dimple and age gap. Lmk if I missed something!
A/N this chapter mentions a disabled sister. Iâd like to know your thoughts about this chapterâșïž your comments have filled me with so much joy!
Growing up in a household where one of your family members is disabled is bound to shape your life and leave a stamp on it in some ways.
Growing up with an older disabled sister suffering from a rare disease that weakens the muscles with each passing day definitely helped mold your essence into what it is today.
Despite the rare label slapped over every single article on the internet, itâs an easily detected disease during the early stages of pregnancy. Something your motherâs doctors had continuously missed throughout her pregnancy and then again in the next agonizing eighteen months after your sister was born, when she still could barely crawl by then.
By the time you were born eight years later, your sister had made it to elementary school despite the harsh words and low expectations of formerly made assumptions written on crumbled papers or blinding computer screens.
When you were two years old, youâd watched through wide curious eyes from your spot behind your fatherâs legs as a woman with short black hair clad in a red leather coat stepped through the threshold of the front door of your familyâs house and asked if she could meet your sister.
Her name quickly turned into a familiar one when your sister began her once every two weeks treatment under Professor Naomiâs supervision.
Later, much later, when you were old enough to no longer whisper questions into your parents ears about why your sister tended to do everything at a slower pace than her peers or about the way she moved her right leg in that half dragging-half walking manner or why she needed someone to hold her back pack for her while she held onto the bus door to pull herself up, your parents sat you down and told you itâs a rare muscles disease called Pompe and that Professor Naomi is the head of the on going research to said disease.
It never really crossed your mind how much your sister and her disability could have helped feed and grow certain traits in you, only doing so when her condition had worsened and she had to rely on the help of both a walker and a ventilator called VIVO because her lungs were no longer able to push CO2 out.
And you had taken it all in stride, your heartbeat calm and your ears ready to pull you out of a deep sleep when the machine would start peeping in the middle of the night.
Or when the muscles of her legs had given out that one time in the shower causing her to slip and hit the back of her head on the edge of the sink first and the floor second, you didnât think twice, your voice steady and breath normal as you called 911 despite the pool of blood painting the bathroom tiles.
Calm and collected has always been the thing youâre most known for in your circle.
But as you stare at the back of Doctor Robbyâs dark scrubs while he leads you through the gray rooftop door and down the stairs, you canât well your erratically beating heart and spiraling thoughts to slow down.
His deep voice suddenly speaking up to fill the place around you definitely doesnât help.
âHereâs the plan, when we reach the bottom of the stairs weâre going to walk through the doors and head to the left to the ambulance bay. If anybody asks, you got lost looking for your friend after their broken leg surgery and I found you.â He spares you a glance over his shoulders before turning around to mind his steps over the last few stairs.
âAnd what are you going to do next? You still have like one hour left to your shift, right?â You stumble into a halt when he stops suddenly to whip his head your way, his eyes squinting at you before turning around to resume his way to the brown double doors standing a few steps away from you now.
You donât give yourself the time to dwell on any thoughts or feelings flocking around into your body, swallowing down the questioning words of why is he doing this and leaving them to hang on the tip of your tongue as you come to a stop next to the older man.
He glances through the glass screens of the doors, brown eyes flicking from one thing to another and you canât help it when your eyes catch on the crowfeet around his eyes.
Your grandma used to say crowfeet are either a lifetime of smiles etched into your skin or wounds time could not heal. You wonder which is the case of Robbyâs.
He nods once to himself, eyes darting back to you while his hand grips the door handle. âI canât see Jack or Dana, which means weâre good to go.â
Your hand moves to stop him before you could even think, eyes blinking up at him wearily when you ask, âWhat about Princess and Perlah? Are they too not out there?â
The last thing you need to deal with right now is some nosey people that donât know how to stay out of otherâs business to stop and start prying at you for gossip as a fun thing to get through the rest of their shift.
You love those two as characters, but god knows you canât stand your older coworker for that exact same reason.
He lets out an earnest chuckle at the obvious weariness on your face, his mind still unable to comprehend the bizarreness of this whole situation, of you. âThose two have eyes and ears in every corner of this hospital. Just because you canât see them, doesnât mean it will get past them.â He casts one last look over the ER and motions with his head for you to follow.
You shrug and definitely donât snort. âThatâs fine by me. They can question you about it later, I just need to get out of here.â
You donât give him the chance to respond, pushing the door open with your hand over his and hurriedly move it back to your side.
The noise of the ER hits you like a slap in the face. The peeping noises from too many places, the thudding footsteps of panicked doctors and piercing wails of pained patients all feel like one giant hammer beating down on your head and you mentally thank your parents for not letting you make the mistake of becoming a doctor.
You blink back into focus and zero in on Doctor Robbyâs form as he takes the corner and crosses the threshold to the ambulance bay and you try to keep up with him. You were doing so just fine actually, until the slick back ponytail of a female paramedic leaning against the wall conversing with a coworker caught your eyes and you felt your heart skip a beat as everything tumbled down on you.
The force of it all weighs down on your legs but you push them to keep up with Doctor Robby, even as your mind conjures up the scenes played on your TV screen from a few nights ago.
Yet as you brush shoulders and weave in between crowds of people into a chatter free and nearly deserted ambulance bay, nothing happens.
The paramedics from earlier donât call for Robby to apologize about his motorcycle, they donât even spare him a second of their time and your eyes raise upwards on their own accords to silently ask whoever is up there in this universe to keep it in one piece until it got you out of here.
No matter how crucial of a part it plays for that conversation with Duke to take place.
A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of your thoughts and your eyes follow it all the way up to Doctor Robbyâs questioning ones but a warm breeze tickles the bare skin of your face and you realize horrifyingly that you have zoned out all the way out to the ambulance entrance.
So much for calm and collected. You think humorously.
He repeats his words one more time when he realizes you werenât listening. âI need you to stay here while I head inside,â he hooks a thump over his shoulder and points to the closed sliding doors, âand grab my stuff from the lockers. Itâs going to take me more than a couple of minutes cause I still need to find abbot and dana to let them know Iâm out for today.â
Confusion takes over your mind channeling down to your eyes and you feel your eyebrows furrow at him as you ask, âWhat do you mean âout for todayâ? Donât you still have duke to see before you leave?â
âJust when I was starting to forget that you probably know too much.â He huffs and the hand on your shoulder tightens for a moment before sliding off of you to lightly tug at his hair.
You refuse to address the quick tug at the bottom of your stomach when you feel the loss of warmth on your shoulder, focusing instead on the conversation happening between you two.
A sudden third voice cuts through and you hold back a sigh when Duke himself walks your way, eyebrows flying up his forehead as his eyes bounce from Robby to you in confusion. âHey man, sorry to interrupt,â He doesnât sound sorry at all, you muse. âbut Iâve been waiting on you for a while now.â
Robby meets him halfway to pull him into a side hug, hands clapping his shoulders as he visibly relaxes to allow a genuine smile to tug his lips upwards. âDonât worry about it. I shouldâve been inside anyways but something else came up.â
Duke had this thing about him that made lying to him damn near impossible. Robby had asked once, at the start of their friendship all those years ago at his workshop about how he did it and Dukeâs answer had been short but direct, just like the rest of him.
âYour eyes are the window to your soul, same as anybody else.â
Which is why he doesnât bother to come up with some flimsy explanation, letting his eyes do all the talking as they look back at you and Robby has no idea what it is that his old friend sees because an unreadable expression washes over his face for a few seconds and then it morphs back to itâs usual gruff look.
âIâll go back inside and ask for another doctor to-
Oh no no no, you canât let that happen.
You can take the motorcycle not crashing, you can take the delay of his conversation with doctor Al-Hashimi but you can not stand back and let his talk with Duke meet the same fate.
You knew that conversation like the back of your hand, cried to it one too many times as you watched the clip on both TikTok and twitter repeatedly. Back then your sole purpose was to admire Noah Wyleâs acting but looking back at it now from where you stand facing Michael Robinavitvh himself, you know that talk between the two of them should happen.
Itâs not Doctor McKayâs vague words nor is it Danaâs harsh words, even if she didnât intend for them to come off that way, that he needs to hear in order for him to come to his senses. Itâs Dukeâs direct words from an outsider perspective, specifically the ones about his lesson to âthe kidsâ that he needs to hear and as much as you want to grab him by the arms to shake some sense into him so he could see how much those around him appreciate him and look up to him, you wonât. Because itâs not your place.
So you speak up, cutting Duke off before he could finish his sentence. âDoctor Robby can go back with you. Iâll just wait for him on that white bench over there.â You flick your head behind you and pointedly ignore Robbyâs stare boring through your head.
Something akin to intrigue flickers over Dukeâs face as he stares at you both before shaking his head. âNo need for that sweetheart, Iâm just gonna borrow him for a bit and then Iâll leave you both alone.â He gives you a polite smile and then slaps a heavy palm over Robbyâs shoulder to lead him away.
You turn to sit down on the bench when you hear him call your name, his head craned slightly to look at you as he speaks. âIâll be right back, alright?â
You pause for a second before nodding your head while you sit down and the relieved sigh that heaves out of your chest is short lived, because try as you might, the sight of Robbyâs retreating figure stepping away to leave you alone in this foreign world awakens the distant memory of rocks clogging your windpipes back when you where still four years old with curiosity like no other. Each step is one rock at a time.
You suck in a deep breath and try to stop your overwhelmed brain from falling prey into the tight coils of fear and panic licking against the sharp edges youâd grown to circle around your brain as a form of protection.
The perfect distraction comes in the form of shimmery golden swirls splattered across your nails to accentuate the faded white flowers, each in a different spot.
You got them done first thing this morning as a start to your three days off from work to celebrate both of your cousins getting married at the same time, only two days apart.
Your first cousin whoâs the same age as you had chosen a floral wedding theme so youâd bought your dress accordingly, a fitted cap sleeve and scoop neck golden floor length dress made of hand-beaded sequin, adorned with pastel pink flowers and green leaves to finish the look.
To your second cousinâs wedding you went for something a tad more daring and much more party-worthy. You opted for a glossy sheen dress with a plunging neckline accented by two shimmering criss-cross straps, exaggerated by a delicate beading through out.
And right now, you shouldâve been taking a shower to rinse the sweat off from your pilates session so you could finally put on the dewy makeup look you had spent so much time practicing in front of your mirror.
Yet here you are, seated outside of a hospital in another universe, sweaty pilates clothes stuck to your skin and your dresses hung up in your bedroom closet to never be worn.
They walk back inside and through the ambulance bay to get to the hub where itâs most likely to find either Jack or Dana. Maybe even both. And Duke starts talking.
âYou know, I had a whole speech ready for you, nearly wrote it down on paper just to be sure I didnât forget anything but now Iâve got to reconsider everything because of the girl standing out there. That your girl? You guys been fighting? That what tipped you over the edge?â Duke fires one assumption after the other and stares at Michael patiently as they stop near the chaos of the ER.
Michael canât stop the surprised laugh that escapes out of his mouth. Out of everything he had imagined for this interaction that youâd been so insistent about, Dukeâs words were the last thing he could think of.
Duke most likely took his bewildered laugh as something else entirely because he starts talking then, saying things about his regret and people he hurt in the past and none of it makes sense but he still chimes in with a ,âYou know what they say, that itâs never too late to change.â
He listens carefully as his old friend mentions death and says it canât be changed and he thinks to himself, oh. This is what all of this has been about. Heâs afraid something will go wrong during his surgery.
âIâm not talking about me.â
Oh
Hot tears burn his eyes in no time and Michael hates the way it has become incredibly easy to cry around those who are close to him as of lately. His eyes dart around from one thing to another, similar to the way they did earlier during his talk with Dana and he hates it so much.
He hates that they are having this conversation right next to the ER where anybody could hear them. He hates the way his eyes are so blurry now and he hates the way he can recognize the grief clawing at his insides.
Not again, he thinks to himself.
He canât handle a second panic attack. He physically canât take that. So he tries to follow the same pattern from before at the roof, but his body is truly out of his control today because his mind doesnât even try the breathing technique of his previous therapist, pays zero attention to the counting one and jumps straight to the light green one.
Only this time, his traitorous brain makes the decision to conjure images of you from where he left you standing a few minutes ago and he thinks fuck.
Michael is an old man with a lifetime experience of working with so many different types of people, coworkers and patients alike. He has reached a point in his life, both professionally and personally, where he could confidently look at someone in the eye and guess whatâs wrong with them.
Which is why he could recognize the look on your face when he walked through the sliding glass doors with Duke, same as the one you had on the roof and so similar to the ones he sees daily on frightened children when they come in here and take notice of the strangers surrounding them everywhere.
And Michael knows very well why his brain decided to push you to the front of his panicked eyes and heâs not ready to address it yet. At least not now.
Relief flows around his body like a cold breeze in the scalding heat of summer when he breathes through his nose and past the lump in his throat.
He speaks up after some time, his voice scratchy.âYeah I donât know if I wanna by here anymore.â
Duke sucks in a breath and shakes his head. âI donât know how you stand twelve minutes in here, let alone twelve hours, twenty years.â
He is quick to shake his in disagreement. âNo this is the only place I can be. I have purpose in here IâŠâ he clears his throat and lowers his voice when a nurse passing by them throws a look their way. âI can be distracted in here. I donât know if I wanna be anywhere anymore.â
His eyes could roll back at the relieving feeling of weight being lifted off his shoulders and they visibly drop from where they had risen to his ears.
Duke is silent for a minute as he takes in his words. âSo whatâs the plan?â
The laugh that falls out of his mouth is mirthless. âThe plan was to ride.â
Duke hums thoughtfully. âAnd now?â
âI donât know. I thought I had it all figured but now I justâŠâ his eyes move involuntarily to the end of the hallway where he canât see you but knows you are still there and rubs a hand over his beard in frustration because he canât bring himself to admit it out loud.
Canât admit that his suggestion to take you home with him wasnât a random act of kindness but more of a selfish rash decision for his own sake. Because if this is all real, if he went home tonight and woke up tomorrow with you still there, then he will have no choice but to stay and make sure you are well taken care of in this strange situation that you have been forced into.
And maybe because then he would have to admit that deep down in the hollow place his heart has become, thereâs a teeny tiny bit of will to stay still there.
Ever so perspective, Dukeâs eyes follow his and his bushy eyebrows make their way up his forehead. âSo this is about your girl then.â
âSheâs not my girl.â Michael shakes his head.
âThen who is she?â
âIâm trying to figure that out.â
Duke huffs feeling annoyed and speaks one last time, finality clear in his voice. âLook brother, the way I see it, sheâs important enough for you to consider not hitting the road but if you still wanna do that, you know, hiding away instead of fixing thingsâŠâ He pauses for a second before speaking softly, âthat your final lesson to these kids?â
Silence stretches between them for a long minute and the rush of the ER fades away as they stare at each other.
Duke is the one to turn around, clapping him on the shoulder as he turns around and walks to sit on the chairs.
Everything afterwards is a blur of events as he goes through them numbly. Dukeâs words pop up in front of his eyes every time they settle on one of the kids and the bitter taste of bile only intensifies when he stops both Jack and Dana at the same time.
Their looks are full of worry, questions ready on the tip of their tongues but he makes no space for them to slip through and keeps the hand-over strictly business as he tells Jack to take care of Duke and to call him if they need anything.
He turns to Dana, says something about enjoying the rest of her shift and to have a good night.
His legs beeline for the lockers where he grabs his things hastily and slams the lockers door shut. A mantra of get out get out get out plays like a broken record in his mind as he makes his way back to where he hopes you are still waiting and a puff of breath escapes him when he sees youâre still there, legs bouncing nervously and already looking at the entrance doors.
You wish you could say you pulled yourself up slowly and gracefully, the picture perfect of poised and calm, but you didnât. Instead, you scramble out of your seat on trembling legs, heart bruising against your ribs you are sure heâs able to see it and beg your brain to come up with something that doesnât sound desperate or needy but you conclude itâs best if you stay quiet and wait for him to speak up, lest you end up scaring him away with your unwanted vulnerability.
He must take pity on you or maybe he is just as urgent as you to get out of here because he heads straight for the motorcycle, beckoning you to follow with a nod of his head.
Your feet stop behind his taller figure and your eyebrows frown up at him when he offers you a sleek black helmet.
When you donât reach your hands to put it on, he shakes it in your face as if to show you itâs not capable of causing you harm. âCâmon, Iâm not hitting the road if youâre not wearing it.â
Your mouth moves without thinking and you say, âDidnât seem like you cared that much when you drove here this morning wearing your sunglasses only.â
Your face confronts into a grimace and you mentally slap your hand over your mouth as you profusely try to apologize but the genuine laugh that comes out from Robby washes the grimace off your face and kills any words on your lips.
âI still canât wrap my head around the fact that you know just about everything.â He shakes his head a bit bewildered. âUnfortunately for you, this isnât about me so either you put this on or I will do it for you.â
You scowl at him and then at the helmet before taking it out of his hand begrudgingly and silently thank god none of your coworkers are here to see you, luxury car saleswoman and top seller for six consecutive months, afraid to hop on a motorcycle.
You remind yourself to breath as you bring the helmet around your face and the suffocating feeling of being trapped causes you fingers to tremble and fail to clasp the straps.
A tap on your clad forehead pulls you back to the surface and you notice the visor has been flipped open, Robbyâs brown eyes look back at you.
âIâm sorry, I was supposed to flip it open before making you wear it.â He smiles in apology and you feel his fingers hover near yours. âI can help you with that if you want.â
At your okay, his fingers brush yours as they move to grab the strap and slide it through the two rings on the left side where he uses his index finger to split them and put the strap back through the second one.
âThere we go.â He murmurs and takes a step back to throw one long leg over the leathery seat.
He notices your hesitation and speaks up once more. âIâll drive slowly, if thatâs what youâre scared of.â
You hum in response, nerves tying your tongue in a knot. âIâm going toâŠâ You gesture to his shoulders and wait for his approval before resting your hands on his shoulders in support, leaning your weight on him so you too could throw a leg over and settle down behind him.
The black leather burns under your skin after hours of setting under the sun but you ignore it when you notice the slightly cramped space for two people and come to the realization you have to press yourself as close to him as possible.
Heat warms your neck and face when you press your chest to his back and your hands circle his waist tightly before he turns the engine on and starts the ride to his home.
The minutes pass in a blur, your eyes tightly shut as you focus on the familiar comforting hum of engine and your thoughts drift bitterly to the cars you are never going to drive and sell again.
Two years of saving every penny and taking the train to and from work so you could buy your favorite car, gone to waste.
You shut down your train of thoughts along with the engine when he parks the motorcycle in an underground garage and you whistle lowly when you see the Diamond Black Rolls-Royce Cullinan parked next to it.
Tye sound catches Robbyâs attention and he turns towards you with an arched eyebrow. âWhat is it?â
You shrug and ignore the hurt squeezing at your heart. âI sold one in the shade Twilight Purple three weeks ago.â
Robby eyes widen with surprise, intrigue obvious in his tone as he asks, âYou are a saleswoman?â
You follow him inside the elevator, head bobbing up and down as your lips twitch upwards in a soft smile. âHave been for the last six years.â
The elevator doors close but youâre too busy thinking of your life to notice how lavish everything is.
The ride up is silent and you watch as the numbers tick up until they reach the eleventh floor, the top floor, you realize when you finally pay attention.
Well damn, you knew a man like him probably made good money but still.
Thereâs a ding as the ride ends and the doors open but your legs stay rooted in place. Three steps forward and your life will completely change.
In which the universeâs plan to stop Michael Robby Robinavitch from leaving for his Sabbatical is not by destroying his motorcycle, but by dropping an unconscious girl on the rooftop of the pitt. In the middle of his break down too.
Cross posted on AO3
C.W No use of Y/N. Reader wakes up in the pitt, literally though, she wakes up on the rooftop, Michael Needs a hug, Michael is Down Bad, age gap, Older Man/Younger Woman, Kind of sugar daddy robby, he likes to take care of reader, it gets him going, Forced Proximity, female reader, tall reader, reader has a dimple and age gap. Lmk if I missed something!
A/N English is not my first language. Pls be nice!
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He hadnât meant to say that, he wasnât supposed to say that. Not to anyone, especially not to Dana. He was supposed to walk in today, pretend everything was fine, make sure everyone and everything was good to be left on their own. But that's not what happened.
Every step he took, every look he made and every call of his name that fell onto his ears, they all fed into that festering feeling of something heavy pressing down on his chest. His mind latching onto Dana's words the same way a baby would to their mother's chest, only resting when the feeling of starvation starts to ebb away. And that's exactly what Dana's words felt like, an offering to the sick and twisted thing that has taken over his mind as of lately, trickling down his chest to the rapidly building cinderblock that has made a home out of his chest, formed of bits and pieces it had taken it's time to choose.
So when the words had slipped out of him, Robby thought he was going to be met with the familiar press press press on his chest and he is for a moment. But then there's grief in his throat, clawing and squeezing at his windpipes and Robby thinks humorlessly that maybe that damn thing is finally full, does not need to grow any bigger than it is, no longer reaching for the treacherous thoughts clouding his mind, causing them to get stuck in his throat.
He turns away quickly and for the first time since the start of his shift, he decides to heed Dana's words; if she's convinced they can manage three months without him then they definitely will for a few minutes while he gets his shit together.
He tries to pay attention to his surroundings, thinks he may hear his name getting called from somewhere to his left but his ears are ringing and his eyes are stinging so bad they're making everything around him seem blurry. And he can't get his legs to stop walking anyway. They keep moving forward, walking and walking, until theyâre stopping in front of a grey familiar door, his trembling hand shoots out to grab the door handle, slipping once, twice, three times before slamming it open, the sound both defining in the quietness of the rooftop yet a barely there echo in the busy streets of Pittsburgh and the wailing sound of ambulance sirens.
Robby sucks in a shuddering breath that gets stuck in the middle of his throat, eliciting a chocked sound from him as he heads to his usual spot on the roof thatâs become unintentionally his over time. An action that usually takes seconds to achieving now feels like a never ending process as if heâs strolling through some desert instead of the one place he knows like the back of his hand.
He stops abruptly when he feels the warm metal of the railings press against his thighs, his hands flapping desperately in the air until the slippery skin of his palms close around the railings.
He wracks his brain hopelessly for his once-therapist words while wheezing puffs of his breath continue to stutter out of his chest.
Whenever you feel yourself falling into that trap, try to focus on one thing at a time.
Deep breaths. He tries one more time but quickly discards the idea when he chokes on his spit once again.
Counting to ten. He canât do that, not when the only thing his brain seems to be capable of right now is reminding him that he gave himself away. Let Dana on the one thing he swore he wouldnât tell anyone about. That he might not comeback.
When those two are too much, try focusing on something. Anything that might catch your eye, like a vibrant color and then think of things it reminds you of.
He removes his hands from the railing and raises them to his neck, rubbing them desperately up and down his throat, the itchy hairs of his beard only fueling the feeling of overwhelm. He discards that act too and instead opts to sliding them to the back of his neck, holding them there like some sort of anchor while he searches for that one thing his brain needs to latch onto.
It takes him three agonizing seconds to finally see it but then he does through blurry eyes. Something green. Light green. And three more seconds to realize that itâs lying on the ground right in front of his feet, dangerously close to the edge.
Light green like the Spider plant his bubbeleh had hung in kitchen right next to the window.
Light green like the couch he had in his dorm back when he first started his journey as a medical student.
Light green like the dinnerware set heâd inherited from his bubbeleh with flowers and butterflies drawn over them. Displayed in a glass cabinet in his kitchen.
Light green, light green, light green.
A sudden burst of oxygen fills his lungs and Robby thinks he finally understands the term of drinking water like a parched man in the desert, drawing in more and more greedily until he haunches over, this time to rest his elbows over the railings and stretches his arms up to rub the tears out of his eye. Eyesight clear once again.
Robby then feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach again, only this time itâs for an entirely different reason. Because the light green thing heâd been so focused on wasnât his bubbelehâs plant or his old sofa or her dinnerware set. No. It was the clothes of the woman lying on the ground next to his feet.
Heâs on his knees in seconds, everything momentarily forgotten as he ducks his head under and moves his still trembling hand to press over your neck over your pulse. The steady thumping he feels makes him sigh out in relief so he checks for any visible injuries only to see that your clothes are perfectly clean, your white shoes nearly sparkly under the rays of sunlight.
Doctor Michael Robinavitch, for the very first time in a while, feels very lost.
The sensation is foreign against the usual boat of feelings thatâs been swimming in his body and through his veins as of lately. Not necessarily unwelcome.
He doesnât get to dwell on it for too long, the confusion that has barely pulled on his eyebrows is replaced by the sudden alertness only a doctor could possess when he sees your hands twitch at your sides and your palms pressing and scratching over the rough pavement floor of the roof.
Then itâs your turn to be confused, perfectly shaped eyebrows with a scar on your lift one nearly meeting in the middle but Robby doesnât get to dwell on it for too long because then your eyes snap open, wide and blinking fast as you take in your surroundings, never settling on one thing for more than a second before moving on to the next thing.
You whip your neck towards him when he clears his throat, voice slightly scratchy as he starts introducing himself but none of it reach your ears as your brain registers the extreamly familiar man kneeling next to you. Except for the fact that he just introduced himself as doctor Michael Robinavitch.
You knew about the running joke about him on the internet, Shawn Hatosy himself had joked about what occurred during the Emmys but you werenât aware it was this bad.
You push yourself up, flattening your palms again the pavement under you and bend your knees closer so the soles of your shoes could touch the back of your thighs when you feel a light tap against your right cheek.
âAre you with me miss?â Noah Wyle stares at you patiently with hints of worry clouding his big brown eyes when he notices the owlish look you have on.
âAre you hurt? Do you remember how you got here? We need to go down for chec-
âYou really do think you are a doctor, Noah Wyle.â You giggle like you have just said the worldâs best joke and if it was under differnt circumstances, the sight of your left cheekâs dimple would have made his heart skip a beat but he canât really focus on that when youâre doubting his credit as a doctor and calling him Noah Wyle.
Who the hell is Noah Wyle?
He must have said that out loud because your giggles die down abruptly and the look in your eyes has shifted to something more guarded.
âWhere am I? Why did you intruduce yourself as Doctor Robby? Whatâs going on? Why am I sitting on a roof?â You are panicking now, your eyes once again darting around only this time theyâre more alert when they settle on his form.
âI never said my name was Doctor RobbyâŠ?â His eyebrows quirk up questioningly causing deep frown lines to appear on his forehead. You could be a patient he had treated once or maybe a med student who had read about him but something in his gut is telling him thereâs more to this. More to you.
You stammer nervously as you stare at him. This cannot be happening right now. This cannot be real. Doctor Robby is a fictional character in the TV show The Pitt. He is not a real person. Your heart is starting to beat faster against your chest and your breathing is picking up. Oh no no no, if you get overwhelmed now, youâll start crying and you donât want that. Absolutely not. So you scramble quickly to stand on your feet, surprising Noah, because thereâs no way thatâs actually Doctor Robby, who follows behind a bit slower with his knees popping loudly.
You feel a large palm engulf your arm wholly when you take two steps back. âEasy,â he murmurs. âOne more step back and youâre going to fall off the roof.â
âThe roof?â You repeat after him faintly .âAs in the roof of the Pitt?â Your voice sounds strange to your ears.
Doctor Robby hums, his hand tightening slightly against your arm like heâs worried youâre going to jump off which is ironic coming from him of all people.
âDo you want to start by telling me whatâs your name?â He stares at you expectantly, his patience starting to run thin because if you donât hurry up Dana is going to send someone, mostly Jack, after him to make sure he hadnât jumped off yet but then he wouldnât know what to tell him if he asks about you.
Why is he so worried anyway? He should probably send you down for head scans and let security handle you so he could finally hit the road.
âLook kid, Iâm trying to help you here, but my shift is ending soon and- ouch! Jesus fucking Christ! Did you just pinch me!â Michael robs at the sore spot on his arm where you just pinched him, hard.
âIâm sorry! Iâm really sorry!â You squeak out, hands shooting up in surrender. âI just wanted to be sure that you are real and that this is not some weird dream! Which apparently is not.â You gesture vaguely at him, your eyes seemingly wider than ever.
Michael rubs a hand down his face, tired and so very clearly done with this whole situation. âMaybe I should have listened to Dana earlier and left already.â He mumbles as he raises his eyes up to the sky.
That seems to catch your attention because this time, itâs you who is grabbing his arm. Your much smaller hand closing around his bicep before quickly letting go and speaking up. âLeft? Like, for your sabbatical?â
Michaelâs stance visibly changes, his back sets straighter and his shoulders draw wider while his eyes narrow at you. âHow do you know about my sabbatical? Who the hell are you?â
You swallow thickly before giving him your name, your voice aching to tremble but you donât allow it. Not yet. Because if this is real, if this really is Michael Robinavitch standing in front of you, if in some weird way you have ended up in the Pitt universe right before he heads out for his sabbatical then this could only mean one thing for you. You donât exist in this universe, which means if you let Doctor Robby leave and hand you to security, you are going to be handed off to ICE without any second thought.
You refuse to let that happen. So you tell him the truth.
âYour name is Michael Robinavitch but everyone calls you Doctor Robby, you are supposed to head out for your three months sabbatical but you havenât yet because youâre scared to leave them on their own,â you wince when you notice his sour expression but you donât stop. âEmma, the new nurse got attacked during her first shift and Dana had to stab the patient with a syringe she kept in her pocket with resulted in a back and forth between you,â you hesitate before mentioning it but then you decide to go all in. âShe told you the ER survived without Adamson and it can survive without you too.â
You suck in a deep breath and ignore the way his eyes had widened at your words, disbelief written all over his face.
âYou usually come up here when everything becomes too much so Iâm guessing this has to do with your comment about not coming back. I know all of this because in my world you are a work of fiction, a TV show called The Pitt produced by HBO MAX.â
Silence stretches between the two of you, Michaelâs mouth opening and closing like a fish thrown out of water before raising his arms to the back of his neck like if he put some pressure on it by squeezing it hard everything will suddenly be okay.
âSay something please.â You look up at him pleadingly, if he doesnât say anything right now you are going to start crying and then throw yourself off the roof.
Michael huffs out a humorless laugh, brown eyes finally taking you in. Heâd been so worried when he saw your uncoussios body on the ground going straight into doctor mode that he hadnât really stopped to think about who you might be, your choice of clothes a clear sign that you are not a hospital worker.
Thereâs a head band over your hair, the rest of it falling over the back of your matching long sleeve fitting shirt that somehow circles around you sports bra, adorned by a clasp underneath it with a matching flaring pants and white shoes.
Definitely not someone clocking into their shift.
The tip of his ears start to redden when he realizes that heâs been staring at you for a moment longer than normal before nodding his head once. âCâmon, up you go.â He gestures forwards with his hands and sighs when you stare back at him blankly.
âStep over the railing, youâre coming home with me.â
Taglist: @junephantom21 @massiveflowerkitty-blog @Lovebug-129 @Blueblizzardreview @allenajade-ite @invadingtime @gardonromsey @sleepydang @hudsonstorrie sorry I wasnât allowed to tag everyone:(
Would it be a problem if I specified the readers job in the next chapter of Kismet or should I keep it vague? Itâs wonât be anything medically related btw!!
I know some people hate it when x reader fics specify certain things. What do you guys think?
Itâs coming out on Thursday btw! Iâm so excited share it with you guys
