Request - Hello hello Miss Paige! I'm not quite sure if your requests are open but if they are I was wondering if I could request a dr Robby x wife reader they've been trying to get pregnant but she's infertile then one day he actually adopts baby Jane doe as their own! I just loved they way he was with that baby girl and I couldn't help but think of your fics🩷
The alarm would go off at six. You would groan dramatically, tugging the comforter over your head while Robby muttered something unintelligible into his pillow beside you. It happened every weekday without fail. He worked twelve-hour shifts saving lives in one of Pittsburgh’s busiest emergency departments, and yet somehow the trauma attending who could bark orders through a mass casualty incident became an absolute menace whenever his alarm clock dared interrupt his sleep.
“Michael,” you’d mumble.
“No.”
“You have to go to work.”
“I’ve thought about it. I don’t.”
You’d laugh into the pillow before reaching over him to silence the alarm yourself.
“You have patients.”
“They’ll understand.”
“I don’t think they will.”
He’d sigh theatrically before finally rolling onto his back, rubbing both hands over his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side. My side just also likes having electricity.”
That would earn you one sleepy glare before he reached over, caught your wrist, and tugged you back against him for one more minute.
“Five,” he’d negotiate.
“One.”
“Four.”
“Two.”
He kissed you.
“Deal.”
Those two extra minutes always turned into ten. By six-thirty the house smelled like coffee instead of sleep. You stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing one of Robby’s old Pitt Medical Center hoodies while scrambling eggs, your hair twisted into a messy clip that never survived the morning. Robby wandered in freshly showered, smoothing his black scrub top over a blue undershirt.
“You stealing my clothes again?” he asked.
“I married you. They’re community property.”
“I don’t think that’s how marriage works.”
“It is in Pennsylvania.”
He snorted, pouring himself coffee before leaning against the counter to watch you.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re about to ask me to do something.”
You smiled innocently. “The museum’s getting a Roman exhibit delivered today.”
“Mhm.”
“And the shipping company insists everything has to be unloaded before eight.”
“Mhm.”
“And I might’ve volunteered to help move a two-thousand-year-old marble bust.”
“…Absolutely not.”
“It only weighs—”
“I don’t care if it weighs two pounds.”
“It weighs…” You hesitated.
His eyebrow rose.
“…One hundred and forty.”
He stared at you.
“Sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t going to carry it by myself.”
“You weren’t going to touch it.”
“I am literally the curator.”
“You’re literally five-foot-seven.”
“I am capable.”
He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of you, one hand wrapping around your waist while the other brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I know you are.” His voice softened. “But I also know you throw your back out reaching for cereal on the top shelf.”
“I did that once.”
“It was last month.”
“It was embarrassing enough the first time.”
“I carried you downstairs.”
“You laughed.”
“I absolutely did.”
You smacked his chest. He kissed you anyway. It was easy. That was your favorite thing about loving Michael Robinavich. Nothing between the two of you ever felt forced. Not after five years together. Not after nearly three years of marriage.
Life wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t some grand romance full of extravagant gestures. It was grocery lists on the refrigerator. It was him bringing home the good sourdough because he’d remembered you’d mentioned it three weeks earlier. It was you texting him reminders to eat something besides coffee and vending machine pretzels. It was ordinary. Beautifully ordinary. Except…
For the calendar hidden inside the junk drawer. After Robby left for work, you stood in the kitchen for a long moment before quietly opening it. A small planner. Nothing fancy. Just dates. Tiny circles. Little hearts. Doctor’s notes. Ovulation windows. Expected periods. Pregnancy tests.
Six months. Six months of timing dinners around fertile windows. Six months of joking about how unromantic phone reminders could be. Six months of buying tests in bulk because somehow that hurt less than buying one. You’d promised each other you weren’t going to obsess. You were failing spectacularly.
******
The museum was quieter than usual that afternoon. Children wandered through the dinosaur exhibit while a retired couple asked thoughtful questions about an upcoming Impressionist collection. Normally, the work grounded you. You loved watching people discover something they’d never noticed before. History had a way of reminding everyone that time kept moving. Today, though your phone buzzed.
Michael ❤️
How’s Caesar?
You smiled despite yourself.
Roman exhibit survived. Curator still alive.
His reply came almost immediately.
Good. I would’ve hated explaining to your parents that you lost a fight with Julius Caesar.
It was Augustus.
History nerd.
Trauma nerd.
Three bouncing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came one final message.
Don’t make plans tonight.
Your stomach fluttered.
Why?
Because I’m taking my wife to dinner.
Special occasion?
There was a pause before his answer came through.
No. Just miss you.
Your eyes stung unexpectedly. Not because anything was wrong. Because everything was still so right. Even with the quiet disappointment that arrived every month, he had never let this become about obligation. He still flirted. He still stole kisses in the kitchen. He still reached for your hand whenever the two of you crossed a street.
He never made you feel like your marriage was becoming a checklist. And somehow that almost made the ache worse.
******
Dinner ended with the two of you sharing cheesecake because Robby insisted ordering two desserts was “financially irresponsible.”
“You make more than enough money to buy two slices.”
“That’s exactly how rich people become poor.”
You laughed.
“You have absolutely no evidence to support that.”
“I have vibes.”
“You have anxiety.”
“I have both.”
When you got home, the evening settled into its familiar rhythm. You changed into pajamas. He stretched out beside you on the couch. Some terrible reality competition played in the background that neither of you was actually watching. Eventually your head found his shoulder. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles across the back of your hand.
“Hey?” he said quietly.
“Mhm?”
“When does your period start?”
You looked down at your intertwined fingers.
“Tomorrow.”
Silence. Not awkward. Just…heavy. He squeezed your hand once.
“Maybe this month it won’t?”
You smiled. Not because you believed it anymore. But because he still did.
“…Maybe this month.”
Neither of you noticed that neither answer sounded quite as hopeful as it had six months before.
******
The pregnancy test sat face down on the bathroom counter. Neither of you had touched it in nearly twenty minutes. There wasn’t any reason to. You already knew what it said. You had known before you’d even taken it.
Negative. Again.
You leaned against the vanity with your arms folded tightly across your stomach, staring at the white subway tile on the opposite wall as though if you looked long enough, it would somehow rearrange itself into different news. Behind you, the bedroom remained quiet. Robby hadn’t come in. He never did. Not unless you asked. It wasn’t avoidance. It was respect.
The bathroom had become your space every month. Your place to breathe, to process, to cry if you needed to without feeling like someone was trying to make the disappointment disappear before you were ready. A soft knock came against the door.
“You okay?”
His voice was gentle. You closed your eyes.
“…No.”
The door opened just enough for him to peek inside. He didn’t ask about the test. He didn’t have to. His eyes found yours before they drifted briefly toward the counter. One glance. That was enough.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
He crossed the room slowly, giving you every opportunity to tell him to stop. Instead, you stepped into him. His arms wrapped around you automatically, one hand settling against the back of your head while the other rested low against your back.
Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t anything left to say that hadn’t already been said during the last six months.
“I’m tired,” you whispered into his T-shirt.
“I know.”
“I’m so tired of hoping.”
“I know.”
“It feels stupid now.”
“It isn’t.”
“It does.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“No,” he murmured. “It feels human.”
Your breathing hitched.
“I keep thinking…” You swallowed hard. “Maybe I did something wrong years ago. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe—”
“No.”
His answer came immediately. Firm. Certain. You pulled back enough to look at him.
“No,” he repeated. “We’re not doing that.”
“But—”
“We’re not.” His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes. “You don’t get to blame yourself for biology.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“I’ve done everything.”
“I know.”
“I track everything.”
“I know.”
“I stopped drinking wine.”
“I noticed.”
“I even switched shampoo because some woman online said—”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
“You switched shampoo?”
“It had three million views.”
“You let TikTok make medical decisions?”
“It was a vulnerable moment.”
That earned the smallest laugh from both of you. Tiny. Fragile. But real. Robby rested his forehead against yours.
“We’re making an appointment.”
You nodded.
“I think…” you whispered. “I think it’s time.”
******
The fertility clinic didn’t smell like a hospital. It smelled like lavender. Someone had clearly decided soft lighting and watercolor paintings would somehow make difficult conversations easier. You weren’t convinced.
Robby sat beside you in the waiting room, one knee bouncing almost imperceptibly. Most people assumed he was unshakable. You knew better. His tells were microscopic. The bouncing knee. The way he rolled his wedding band around his finger. The fact that he’d read the same magazine page three times without turning it. He looked over.
“You want to leave?”
You almost laughed.
“You think we’d make it to the parking garage?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
He reached across the armrest, quietly intertwining your fingers. When the nurse finally called your names, he didn’t let go.
The appointment lasted just under an hour. There were questions. Medical history. Blood work. Imaging. Follow-up testing over the next several weeks. Life carried on around those appointments.
You curated exhibits. Robby worked shifts. You still laughed. Still made dinner together. Still argued over whose turn it was to fold laundry. But beneath everything…There was waiting. Until one rainy Thursday afternoon. The doctor’s office overlooked downtown Pittsburgh. Gray clouds pressed against the windows while traffic crawled several stories below. The physician sat across from both of you with a folder resting on her lap. She wasn’t rushed. You appreciated that.
“We have your results.”
Your stomach dropped. She explained everything carefully. The findings. The diagnosis. The statistics. The possibilities. She talked about specialists. IVF. Egg donation. Embryo adoption. Surrogacy. Future conversations. Words continued filling the room.nYou heard them. You just couldn’t seem to hold onto them. Because one sentence kept echoing louder than the rest.
“The likelihood of conceiving naturally is extremely low.”
The office became impossibly quiet. You looked down at your hands.
“…Okay.”
It came out barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded sympathetically.
“I’m very sorry.”
You smiled automatically. The same polite smile you’d perfected through years of museum galas and donor dinners.
“Thank you.”
Beside you, Robby asked thoughtful questions. The kind he always asked. Clarifying. Respectful. Professional. You barely registered the conversation.
The drive home was silent. Not uncomfortable. Rain tapped softly against the windshield while Pittsburgh blurred past in streaks of gray. Robby kept one hand on the steering wheel. The other rested quietly between the seats. Palm up.
Waiting.
You slipped your hand into his halfway across one of the bridges. He squeezed once. Neither of you spoke.
You didn’t make dinner. Neither of you was hungry. The takeout containers sat unopened on the kitchen counter while evening slowly settled over the house. You changed into one of Robby’s old sweatshirts before wandering into the living room.
He found you sitting on the floor. Your back leaned against the couch.nYour knees hugged tightly against your chest.nHe didn’t ask permission. He simply sat beside you. Close enough that your shoulders touched. For several minutes…
Nothing. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily. Cars passed outside. Rain continued falling.
“I feel broken.”
His eyes closed.
“…Don’t say that.”
“I do.”
“You aren’t broken.”
“I can’t do the one thing my body’s supposed to—”
“Baby, stop.”
His voice wasn’t loud. It was pleading. You looked over. His eyes were already wet.
“I need you to listen to me for a minute.”
You nodded silently. He turned toward you completely.
“I married you because you make me laugh when I’ve had the worst day of my life.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“I married you because you can spend forty-five minutes explaining why one painting belongs in a different room, and somehow I end up caring.”
Another tear followed.
“I married you because you dance in this kitchen while you’re making grilled cheese.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I sway.”
“You choreograph.” His own voice cracked. “I didn’t marry you because I thought you’d give me children.”
He reached up, brushing away another tear with the pad of his thumb.
“I married you because you’re my favorite person.”
Your lip trembled.
“If our family ends up being just us…” He shrugged gently. “Then I won.”
You broke. Not quietly. Not gracefully. The sob tore out of your chest before you could stop it. You buried your face against his shoulder while he wrapped both arms around you, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.
“I’m sorry,” you cried.
“So am I.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head immediately
“For everything.”
He gently cupped your face until you had no choice but to look at him.
“There is nothing—” his voice caught before he steadied it, “—nothing for you to apologize to me for. We lost something today. We did. You’re not alone in this.”
Your tears kept falling.
“I don’t know what happens next.”
He smiled sadly.
“…Neither do I.”
The honesty of it settled between you. No promises. No false hope. Just truth. After a long silence, he rested his forehead against yours.
“We don’t have to decide anything tonight.”
You nodded.
“Not IVF.”
Another nod.
“Not adoption.”
You closed your eyes.
“Not fostering.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“We’re allowed to just…be sad for a while.”
You reached for his hand, weaving your fingers through his.
“…Okay.”
He kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Then your cheek. Finally, he whispered the only promise he knew he could keep.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Outside, the rain continued to fall against the windows. Inside, two people sat on the living room floor grieving the future they had imagined, completely unaware that, months from now, a tiny little baby with no name, no family, and nowhere else to go would quietly change both of their lives forever.
******
The museum had closed nearly two hours ago. You’d spent the evening cataloging a recent donation—a collection of handwritten Civil War letters that had somehow survived more than a century tucked inside an attic trunk. Usually, work like that settled your mind. It required patience. Precision. Quiet.
Tonight, though, you couldn’t focus. Your eyes kept drifting toward the clock hanging above your office door.
9:17 p.m.
Robby should’ve been home an hour ago. You knew better than to worry immediately. The emergency department didn’t run on schedules, and Michael Robinavich certainly didn’t leave simply because the clock told him he could.
Still…You sent a text.
You: Alive?
No response. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your purse before locking your office and making your way through the empty museum. Outside, the July air was warm, the city humming softly around you. By the time you reached home, the sun had disappeared completely.
The house was dark. You kicked off your shoes, changed into leggings and one of Robby’s old T-shirts, and started making grilled cheese sandwiches. One for you. One for him. You’d learned long ago that after difficult shifts, he almost never admitted he was hungry.
He’d simply wander into the kitchen and steal yours. You smiled to yourself. Some habits never changed.
******
It was nearly midnight when headlights finally swept across the living room wall. You looked up from the couch.
“…Jesus.”
You hurried to the front door before he’d even reached it. When it opened, the first thing you noticed wasn’t the infant carrier sitting beside his feet. It was him.
His shoulders sagged beneath his jacket. His hair was flattened in odd directions from repeatedly dragging his hands through it. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He looked…
Empty. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone had quietly taken pieces of him throughout the day and forgotten to give them back.
“Michael…”
His eyes found yours. For a second…you saw them soften with relief.
“Hey.”
His voice was hoarse.
“You okay?”
He gave a tired shrug.
“I don’t know.”
Your heart cracked. Then your eyes drifted downward.
“…Honey?”
He followed your gaze.
“Oh.”
As though he’d forgotten.
“There…there’s a baby.” You blinked. “…Michael.”
“I know.”
“…Michael.”
“I know.”
You stared at the infant carrier. Then back at your husband.
“…Whose baby is that?”
He scrubbed both hands over his exhausted face.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“…What?”
He stepped inside, carefully lifting the carrier before nudging the front door closed with his foot. The little girl inside couldn’t have been more than a few months old. She was asleep. One tiny fist tucked beneath her cheek. Dark eyelashes resting against impossibly round little cheeks. Your entire body instinctively softened.
“Oh…”
Robby carefully set the carrier on the living room rug before crouching beside it. He didn’t look at the baby. He looked at the floor.
“It was a hell of a shift.”
You quietly sat beside him. He took a long breath.
“They found her.” You waited. “Wrapped in a blanket.”
Another silence.
“No identification. No diaper bag. No note.” His jaw tightened. “Nothing.”
You reached for his hand. He accepted it immediately.
“CPS has been trying to locate family all day.” He swallowed. “Nobody’s come.”
Your eyes drifted back toward the sleeping infant.
“So…”
“So hospital policy allows temporary emergency placement with qualified caregivers when…” He rubbed a hand over his eyes again. “When there isn’t an immediate placement available.”
He laughed once. It wasn’t amused.
“They asked if I’d take her overnight.”
“You said yes.”
“I didn’t even think.”
His voice sounded almost apologetic.
“I just…” He looked at the baby. “…I couldn’t leave her there.”
You smiled sadly. His shoulders slumped even further.
“I know that’s insane. I have absolutely no business bringing an infant home after today.”
“You brought her somewhere safe.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“You keep premature babies alive for a living.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They leave. They go home.”
The words escaped before he could stop them. Silence settled between you. He immediately regretted saying it.
“I’m sorry.”
You shook your head.
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” You scooted closer until your shoulder rested against his. “I know what you meant.”
He nodded once. Barely. After another long silence, he finally whispered…
“I lost three people today.”
Your breath caught.
“I had to tell an old friend he’s got cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And then…” His eyes landed on the baby’s again. “…There she was.”
The tiny baby stretched in her sleep, making the smallest little sigh.
“I kept walking past her room all day.” His voice cracked. “Every time I walked by…”
He laughed bitterly.
“She’d just…look at me.”
You listened.
“I don’t know why.” He shook his head. “I’d stop for thirty seconds. Talk to her. Make a bottle. Rock her. Then I’d get called away again.”
His fingers curled tightly together.
“I don’t even like pediatrics.”
That earned the tiniest smile from you.
“I know.”
“I barely tolerate healthy adults.”
“I definitely know.”
“But…” He stared at the sleeping infant. “…She didn’t have anyone.”
His voice broke completely on that sentence. You’d seen Michael cry exactly three times in your marriage. This wasn’t quite crying.nIt was something quieter. The exhaustion of a man whose heart had simply reached capacity.
Without saying a word, you wrapped both arms around him. He leaned into you immediately. His forehead rested against your shoulder. For several minutes neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the baby’s tiny, steady breathing. Eventually, Robby exhaled shakily.
“I don’t think I can keep doing this forever.”
You knew he wasn’t talking about the baby. He was talking about the emergency department. About the endless losses.nThe impossible expectations. The depression he’d been carrying for months. You kissed the top of his head.
“You don’t have to figure that out tonight.”
“No?”
“Tonight…” You glanced toward the little girl sleeping peacefully between you. “…Tonight we just keep her safe.”
He looked over. Really looked. At the baby. A faint smile touched his lips for the first time all day.
“Yeah.”
He reached into the carrier, carefully sliding one finger into the baby’s tiny hand. She wrapped all five little fingers around it instinctively. Robby froze.
“…Well,” he whispered, sounding almost awestruck.
“I think she likes you.”
He let out the softest laugh.
“I’ve had tougher patients.”
You grinned.
“That’s a bold statement. She hasn’t even had dinner yet.”
Almost as if on cue, the baby’s face scrunched. One tiny whimper escaped. Then another. Robby looked at you. You looked at him. Neither of you moved.
“…Do you know how to make a bottle?” you asked.
He blinked.
“…Do you know how to make a bottle?”
“…No.”
“…Huh.”
The baby’s whimpers quickly escalated into full-fledged cries. You both sprang into motion at exactly the same time, bumping shoulders before staring at each other. Despite everything…Despite the grief. The infertility. The horrific shift. The depression weighing on his shoulders. You both started laughing.
It wasn’t because anything was funny. It was because for the first time in months…The two of you weren’t thinking about what your future might never be. You were simply trying to comfort a tiny little girl who, for one night at least, had somehow found her way home.
******
Three days.
It was only supposed to be one. You’d both known that from the beginning. One night. Then Child Protective Services would find an emergency foster placement, and Baby Jane Doe would continue whatever uncertain journey had begun before either of you ever met her. Except…the emergency placement had fallen through. Then another. Then another. Paperwork. Background checks. A family illness. A home that suddenly couldn’t accommodate an infant. Every morning someone called. Every afternoon they apologized. Every evening the baby was still there.
******
By the fourth morning, she had quietly become…
Jane.
Neither of you remembered when you’d stopped calling her Baby Jane Doe. It had simply happened. Like calling a stranger by their first name after enough conversations.
“You spoil her.”
You looked over from the kitchen. Robby stood in the living room with Jane tucked against his shoulder, slowly pacing barefoot across the hardwood floor while she chewed determinedly on the collar of his T-shirt.
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m preventing emotional distress.”
“She’s asleep.”
“I’m preventing future emotional distress.”
You laughed.
“I don’t think she understands your preventative medicine.”
“I don’t think you understand babies.”
“I have books.”
“I have a baby.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” He smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. “…you married me anyway.”
The smile looked different now. Lighter. Not because everything in his life had suddenly become okay. The emergency department was still exhausting him. Some mornings he still sat in his car for several minutes before walking inside. Some nights he came home quieter than usual. The depression hadn’t disappeared. But…Jane seemed to interrupt it.
She gave him something that didn’t ask him to save the impossible. She only asked for a bottle. Or a diaper. Or someone to hold her. For the first time in months, you watched your husband care for someone without the weight of wondering whether they’d survive until morning.
Later that evening, Jane finally fell asleep after what felt like an hour of determinedly refusing to admit she was tired. You laughed quietly as Robby tiptoed out of the nursery you’d hastily assembled in the guest room.
“You know she weighs maybe twelve pounds.”
He nodded solemnly.
“And?”
“You walk like she’s made of glass.”
“I think she’s offended by your tone.”
“I think you’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve accepted that.”
He followed you into the living room. The television played softly in the background. Neither of you paid attention. The baby monitor rested on the coffee table between two mugs of tea. Robby stared at it. Longer than necessary. You noticed.
“What?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead…He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The silence stretched.
“I got a call today.”
Your stomach tightened.
“About Jane?”
He nodded.
“CPS.”
You instinctively looked toward the hallway. As though someone might already be there to take her.
“They’re still looking.”
You swallowed.
“Oh.”
“No family has come forward.”
You nodded once.
“They’re expanding the search.”
“Okay.”
“They’re beginning discussions about long-term placement if that doesn’t change.”
Your heart started pounding. You knew where this conversation was going. Or maybe…You hoped you didn’t. Robby rubbed both hands together.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“So have I.”
“I know.”
Silence settled again. He looked at you. Really looked at you.
“…Can I ask you something?”
“You never have to ask.”
He smiled faintly.
“I think I do.”
You reached across the couch, taking his hand.
“Ask.”
He took a slow breath.
“…What if we tried?”
Your eyes immediately filled.
“You mean…”
“I mean…” His voice softened. “…What if we asked if we could become her permanent placement?”
The room became impossibly quiet. You looked toward the hallway again. Toward the tiny little girl asleep in the next room.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been telling myself she’s only here temporarily.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been telling myself not to get attached.”
“I know.”
Another tear slid down your cheek.
“I think I failed.”
His thumb brushed the back of your hand.
“I failed too.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I love her.”
“So do I.”
“I shouldn’t already.”
“I know.”
You wiped quickly at your face.
“But…” Your voice trembled. “I’m scared.”
His expression softened immediately.
“I know.”
“No…” You shook your head. “don’t mean scared of being a parent.”
“I know what you mean, baby.”
“I’m scared they’ll take her.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“I’m scared her mother will come back.”
Another tear escaped.
“And if she’s healthy and safe and ready…” You swallowed hard. “…then they should.”
He nodded immediately.
“They should.”
“I’m scared we’ll fall completely in love with her…” Your voice cracked. “…and then we’ll have to hand her to someone else.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I can survive losing another child.”
The words hung between you. Raw. Honest. He shifted closer until your knees touched.
“I’ve thought about that every single day.”
“You have?”
He nodded.
“Every day.” He looked toward the hallway. “I also think about the possibility that she doesn’t have anyone.”
You followed his gaze.
“What if…” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “…what if we’re supposed to be her someone?”
You covered your mouth. Immediately, tears spilled over.
“I can’t promise you this works.” He reached up, gently pulling your hand away so he could hold it. “I can’t promise CPS says yes.”
You nodded.
“I can’t promise her biological family won’t be found.”
Another nod.
“I can’t promise we won’t get hurt.”
You squeezed his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white.
“But…” He smiled sadly. “…I’d rather have my heart broken trying to love her than spend the rest of my life wondering if we should’ve.”
You stared at him. The man who had spent months reminding you that your worth had never depended on having children. The man who had quietly carried a little abandoned girl through your front door because he couldn’t bear the thought of her spending another night alone. The man who still came home haunted by the emergency department and somehow still found enough gentleness left inside himself to rock a baby to sleep. You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.
“…I want to try.”
His breath caught.
“I know it might not happen.”
“Right.”
“I know we could lose her.”
“Right.”
“I know this could absolutely destroy us.”
He smiled through eyes that had begun to glisten.
“It could.”
You laughed softly.
“You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“No?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve been picturing teaching her how to ride a bike.”
Your heart shattered all over again.
“I’ve been picturing taking her to the museum.”
He chuckled quietly.
“She’ll probably hate museums.”
“She’ll pretend to like them because I love them.”
“And then she’ll beg me for ice cream afterward.”
“Which you’ll absolutely buy.”
“Obviously.”
You smiled through tears.
“So…”
He squeezed your hand.
“So…”
“We ask?”
He looked toward the hallway one last time before looking back at you.
“We ask.”
Neither of you realized it then, but that simple decision made on a quiet evening over cooling cups of tea while a baby monitor hummed softly between you, would become the moment your family truly began. Not because the paperwork had been signed. Not because the law had changed.
But because, for the first time, the future you were imagining had a little girl in it. And neither of you could imagine it any other way.
******
The courthouse was smaller than you’d imagined. After months of paperwork, home studies, interviews, fingerprinting, reference letters, background checks, meetings with social workers, sleepless nights, impossible waiting, and more than one phone call that had left both you and Robby convinced everything was about to fall apart, it somehow came down to an ordinary brick building tucked between a law office and a coffee shop in downtown Pittsburgh. It felt underwhelming.
The biggest day of your life had fluorescent lighting. You adjusted Jane’s little cream-colored cardigan for what had to be the tenth time that morning. She immediately tugged it crooked again.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
You laughed quietly, trying to smooth it back into place.
“You know I’m going to keep fixing that until we go inside.”
Jane looked up at you with the enormous brown eyes that had somehow become capable of melting every ounce of stress from your body. Then she grinned. Not a polite smile. Not a baby smile. One of those giant, uninhibited grins that showed every tiny tooth she’d managed to grow over the past year.
“Mama!”
Your chest tightened. Every single time. She’d started calling you Mama nearly four months ago. Not because anyone had taught her. Not because you’d encouraged it. One morning while you were making blueberry pancakes she’d simply crawled into the kitchen, wrapped both arms around your leg and announced—
“Mama.”
You’d cried so hard that Robby had nearly burned breakfast. Even now It still didn’t feel real. You scooped her into your arms, pressing a kiss against her soft curls.
“Hi, baby.”
Tiny fingers immediately found the necklace around your neck. Her favorite game. You let her play. Across the room, Robby emerged from the courthouse hallway with two cups of coffee balanced carefully in one hand.
He’d traded his scrubs for a navy suit that looked as though he’d forgotten how to wear anything besides scrubs. His tie sat ever so slightly crooked. You smiled.
“You know…”
He handed you one of the coffees.
“…you’re the only trauma attending in Pittsburgh who somehow still can’t tie a Windsor knot.”
“I can.”
“You absolutely cannot.”
“I choose not to.”
“You called Langdon this morning.”
“…I did.”
“To tie your tie.”
“He has surprisingly useful life skills.”
You laughed.
“He also showed up thirty minutes early just to make fun of you.”
“I regret asking.”
As though summoned by the conversation, Langdon appeared from farther down the hallway carrying a gift bag with cartoon dinosaurs printed across the side.
“I heard my name.”
“You usually do,” Robby muttered.
Langdon ignored him entirely, crouching down in front of Jane.
“And who is this beautiful little troublemaker?”
Jane immediately reached for him.
“Nope.” Langdon stood back up. “I changed my mind.”
Robby smirked.
“Smartest thing you’ve said all year.”
“You’ve been changing diapers for six months.”
“I have.”
“And you’re judging me?”
“I absolutely am.”
“You’ve become unbearable.”
“I’ve become a father.”
The words slipped out so naturally that none of you reacted at first. Not Langdon. Not you. Not even Robby. It wasn’t until several seconds later that his own expression changed. His eyes blinked once. Then twice.
“…Huh.”
You looked at him. He looked back.
“I guess I have.”
The smile that spread across his face wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t accompanied by tears. It was simply…Peace. A kind of quiet peace you hadn’t seen in him for a very long time. The emergency department still exhausted him. Some shifts still left him sitting in the driveway with both hands on the steering wheel before he found the energy to come inside. There were still difficult days. Still nights where the weight of everything he’d seen settled heavily across his shoulders. But there was something different now.
He came home. And Jane came babbling down the hallway mumbling, “Dada!”
Every. Single. Time. No matter what kind of shift he’d had. No matter how broken he felt. There was always one tiny human being who believed he had just hung the moon.
It hadn’t cured his depression. It hadn’t erased the hospital. But it had reminded him that life existed outside those walls.
******
The courtroom itself was intimate. No jury. No spectators. Just a judge, your attorney, the county representative, your social worker, and a handful of people who loved the three of you enough to take time away from their own lives.
Dana sat in the second row with tissues already in her lap. Jack was openly crying before anyone had even spoken. Langdon leaned over.
“I’ve got twenty bucks that Robinavich cries first.”
“You don’t have twenty dollars.”
“I could.”
“Your broke ass would never.”
The judge looked over her glasses.
“Gentlemen.”
Langdon immediately straightened.
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
Robby didn’t even pretend he’d been participating. The hearing wasn’t long. Questions. Confirmations. Paperwork. The social worker smiled as she spoke about your home. About Jane. About the stability she’d found. About the way she’d blossomed over the previous time with you and Robby.
The judge asked you both why you wanted to adopt. You answered first. Your voice trembled.
“I spent a long time grieving the family I thought we’d have.”
You looked toward Jane, happily stacking blocks on the courtroom floor while Dana helped her.
“And then she walked into our lives.” A tear slipped free. “I don’t believe she’s replacing anything.”
You smiled.
“I think she’s simply become something completely her own.”
The judge nodded before looking toward Robby.
“And you, Doctor Robinavich?”
He sat quietly for a moment. Anyone who knew Michael knew that silence. It meant he was searching for exactly the right words.
“I’ve spent most of my career meeting people on the worst day of their lives.”
The room grew still.
“I fix what I can.” His fingers found yours beneath the table. “And I carry what I can’t.”
His thumb brushed across your wedding ring.
“The day Jane came into the emergency department…” He glanced toward the little girl laughing with Dana. “…she needed someone.”
His voice grew quieter.
“I thought I was saying yes for one night.” He smiled. “Turns out…”
He looked at you.
“…I was saying yes to the rest of my life.”
There wasn’t a dry eye left in the courtroom. Not even the judge’s.
The final signature looked…ordinary. Ink on paper. Nothing more. The judge smiled warmly before sliding the documents across the desk.
“Congratulations.”
She looked toward Jane.
“As of this moment…” She tapped the paperwork once. “…she is officially your daughter.”
Silence. For one suspended heartbeat…No one moved. Then you heard tiny slaps pattering across the hardwood floor. Jane had abandoned her blocks. She crawled straight toward the two of you with complete confidence.
“Dada!”
Robby bent instinctively, scooping her into his arms before she could even come to a stop herself. She laughed. One of those loud baby laughs that filled every corner of the courtroom. Then she looked over at you. Tiny hands reached.
“Mama.”
You stepped beside them, wrapping one arm around Robby’s waist while the other settled gently against Jane’s little back. She fit there so perfectly. As though she’d always belonged between you. Robby looked down at her. His jaw tightened. You recognized it immediately. The tears.bHe was fighting them. Hard. You smiled softly.
“You don’t have to hold it together.”
“I know.”
“You’ve earned this.”
“I know.” His voice cracked anyway. “I just…”
He swallowed.
“I kept thinking someone was going to tell us no.”
Your own tears spilled freely now.
“So did I.”
He rested his forehead against yours, Jane giggling happily because she was suddenly trapped in the middle of a hug. Neither of you cared.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
He looked down at Jane.
“And I love you.”
Jane’s response was immediate.
“Dada!”
Robby laughed. A real laugh. Not the tired chuckle he’d forced through difficult shifts. Not the dry sarcasm everyone at the hospital knew. A full, genuine laugh that reached his eyes. Langdon clapped dramatically from behind you.
“Well…” He sniffed loudly. “This is disgusting.”
Dana elbowed him.
“You’ve cried through the entire hearing.”
“I have allergies.”
“In February?”
“Very aggressive allergies.”
Everyone laughed. Even the judge.
******
Outside, Pittsburgh greeted you with one of those perfect spring afternoons that made the city glow. Someone suggested lunch. Someone else suggested pictures. Jane decided she’d rather scream at pigeons across the courthouse steps. You watched as Robby carry her, hands half-outstretched. Not because he thought he’d drop her, but because that was simply what fathers did.
She squealed with delight as birds scattered into the air. He laughed again. You stood there for a long moment, committing the image to memory.bA year ago, you’d sat on your living room floor believing your family might never grow. A year ago, Robby had walked through your front door carrying an exhausted little girl in an infant carrier after the hardest shift of his life. Neither of you had understood that hope sometimes arrived quietly.nNot with grand announcements. Not with certainty. Sometimes it arrived wrapped in a faded hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully through the chaos around her.
Robby turned back toward you, Jane balanced securely on his hip. She stretched one tiny arm toward you.
“Mama!”
He smiled.
“Think she’s looking for you.”
You walked over, slipping your hand into his. Jane immediately wrapped one tiny hand around your finger. The other closed around Robby’s. Satisfied, she sighed dramatically.
“Yesh.”
Robby chuckled.
“Yes?”
She nodded with absolute conviction.
“Yesh.”
You looked at your husband. At your daughter. At the little hand linking the two of you together. And for the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something to mourn. It felt like something waiting patiently to be lived. The three of you started down the courthouse steps together.
Not because every question had been answered. Not because life would suddenly become easy. But because, after everything you’d lost, everything you’d feared, and everything you’d survived…you were finally going home.
As the requester of ‘Clingy Husband’… that was everything I could have hoped for and more 😍 Robby turning into a human blanket?? Quite literally perfection. Thank you lovely 💛🫶🏻💛
so glad you enjoyed it 🫶 thank you again for the request!
Request - Hilli! If possible, do you think you could do a cute one where maybe they're married and working together, and you keep getting pulled away and kept busy and he's busy too so he barely sees you? I just have this visual in my head of Robby stood there all grumpy like 'where is my wife?' and then becomes a clingy husband till the end of shift? 🫶🫶
The emergency department was already loud by seven in the morning. Monitors chirped from every direction, phones rang relentlessly at the nurses’ station, and the automatic doors at the ambulance bay seemed determined to open every thirty seconds. The Pitt thrived in chaos, and on most days, Dr. Michael Robinavich wore it like a second skin.
Today, however, he was annoyed. Robby stood at the central desk, coffee in one hand and a patient chart in the other, his dark eyes lifting every few seconds toward the doors.
“You know if you keep glaring at the entrance like that, it’s not going to make her appear any faster.”
Dana didn’t even look up from her tablet.
“I’m not glaring.”
“You are absolutely glaring.”
Robby frowned at her.
“I’m waiting.”
Dana finally looked up, entirely unimpressed.
“For your wife.”
“I’m waiting for one of my attendings.”
“Who also happens to be your wife.”
Robby took a sip of his coffee.
“You’re insufferable this early in the morning.”
“And you’re grumpy because she isn’t here.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
Dana snorted.
“Sure.”
Before he could answer, Princess approached.
“Dr. Robby? EMS is bringing in a seventy-two-year-old male. Possible stroke. Five minutes out.”
Robby nodded immediately.
“CT’s ready?”
“Already called.”
“Good.”
Princess hurried off. Dana watched him for another moment before smiling.
“What time did she leave this morning?”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Robby sighed.
“Six-thirty.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And you’ve been here since six-fifty and she isn’t.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“She said she’d be down here early.”
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The pouting.”
“I do not pout.”
Dana’s smile widened. “You’ve looked at those doors every thirty seconds since I got here.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
Before he could argue further, the doors to the Pitt slid open. Both of them looked up. A respiratory therapist walked in. Dana burst out laughing. Robby glared at her.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He didn’t. Mostly because she was right. You had texted him nearly an hour ago.
Leaving now. Save me coffee.
That was it. No follow-up text. No appearance in the Pitt. Nothing. Which was odd. You usually found him first thing in the morning, even if only for five minutes. You’d steal his coffee, lean against his shoulder while you looked over the board, kiss his cheek if nobody was paying attention, and then disappear to start your own shift.
It was stupid. Five minutes. That was all it usually was. But it was your five minutes. And apparently, he missed it.
“You should call her.”
He looked at Dana.
“I am not calling my wife because she’s late to work.”
“You’re worried.”
“I’m not worried.”
“You’re wondering where she is.”
He opened his mouth. Then closed it. Dana’s smile became unbearably smug.
“You are so in love with that woman.”
He rolled his eyes. Before he could say another word, a voice echoed from behind him.
“Dr. Robinavich?”
He turned. Mel King looked apologetic staring up at him.
“Radiology needs an attending for a contrast reaction.”
“Where’s Dr. R?”
Mel blinked.
“She got pulled up there twenty minutes ago.”
Robby’s entire expression changed. Dana looked delighted.
“Oh, mystery solved.”
He ignored her.
“She’s still in radiology?”
“Apparently.” Mel nodded. “They’ve had a rough morning.”
Robby looked toward the elevators. Then back at the Mel. Then toward the elevators again. Dana folded her arms.
“Go on.”
“I’m not going to radiology.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I absolutely was.”
“I have a stroke patient coming in.”
“And your wife is upstairs.”
He looked at her. She grinned.
“You miss her.”
“I saw her last night.”
“You’ve been awake for an hour without seeing her and you’re acting like someone stole your favorite toy.”
Robby looked offended.
“My wife is not a toy.”
“You know what I mean.”
The ambulance doors burst open then, and the incoming stroke patient rolled through. The entire department moved. Robby was instantly all business.
“What’s his last known well?”
“Forty minutes.”
“Deficits?”
“Left-sided weakness and slurred speech.”
“Get him to CT.”
He moved with the stretcher, barking orders and scanning the patient. The morning swallowed him whole. For nearly an hour, he didn’t stop. By the time the patient was stabilized and admitted, he finally exhaled.
He turned toward the desk. And immediately looked toward the elevators. Dana, who noticed everything, nearly laughed.
“You are unbelievable.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“You just did it again.”
“Did what?”
“Looked for your wife.”
“I wasn’t—“
“You were.”
He sighed.
“I was just wondering if she was back.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You make everything sound ridiculous.”
“Because it is ridiculous. She’s been gone for an hour.”
“I know.”
“She’s in the same building.”
“I know.”
“And you’ll probably see her in ten minutes.”
“I know.”
Dana smiled softly this time.
“But you miss her anyway.”
Robby didn’t answer. Because unfortunately…Yes. He did. As if the universe had decided to reward him, the elevator doors opened. His head lifted immediately.
You stepped out, hair already slipping from your bun, a stack of charts in your arms and your ID badge twisted backward. He smiled before he could stop himself. Then you looked up and spotted him. Your entire face softened.
You started walking toward him. He actually took a step forward.
“Dr. R!”
Both of you looked. Jesse was jogging toward you.
“The ICU attending needs you upstairs right now.”
You stopped. Looked at Jesse. Looked at Robby. And then sighed.
“Make Langdon go.”
Jesse looked confused.
“They specifically asked for you.”
You closed your eyes. Robby laughed softly. You pointed at him.
“I haven’t even said hello to my husband.”
Jesse looked genuinely apologetic.
“I’m sorry.”
You groaned. Robby’s smile widened. You walked the remaining few feet toward him anyway, stopping directly in front of him.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
You looked exhausted. He looked unfairly handsome, as always. You smiled.
“I missed our coffee.”
“I noticed.”
Your eyebrows lifted.
“You noticed?”
Dana snorted from behind the desk. Robby ignored her. You looked between them.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” Robby barked.
Dana looked horrified.
“Nothing? You spent the last hour asking where your wife was.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
You blinked. Then looked at your husband. And smiled.
“Oh.”
Robby immediately knew that smile.
“No.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
“Don’t.”
“You missed me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I really didn’t.”
You grinned.
“I’ve been in the hospital for an hour.”
“I know.”
“And you’ve seen me for approximately thirty seconds.”
“I know.”
“And you’re grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
You laughed. The sound hit him right in the chest. Jesse cleared his throat. You sighed dramatically.
“I have to go.”
“You do.”
You looked at him for another moment. Then reached up and smoothed his scrub collar. A habit. One you’d done for years.
“There.”
He smiled a little.
“Thanks.”
You leaned in and kissed his cheek quickly.
“Try not to miss me too much.”
Behind him, Dana choked on a laugh. Robby glared at her. You smiled brightly. Then you were gone again. Disappearing toward the elevators. The doors closed. Silence.
Dana looked at him. He looked at the elevators. Then back at Dana. She folded her arms.
“Don’t.”
“You are absolutely grumpy.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve seen your wife for one minute and she’s gone again.”
He sighed.
“I hate this shift.”
Dana laughed. And despite himself, so did he.
******
By eleven o’clock, the emergency department had officially descended into madness. There was a three-car pileup on the interstate, the waiting room was overflowing, two nurses had called in sick, and one of the residents had accidentally ordered the wrong imaging study and was now avoiding Robby’s line of sight entirely.
He hadn’t sat down once. He also hadn’t seen his wife. Again. Not that he was counting.
He was absolutely counting.
“Pressure’s dropping.”
Robby looked up from the ultrasound screen.
“Start another liter and page surgery.”
Whitaker nodded quickly. Perlah approached from the opposite side.
“Room twelve is asking for pain medication again.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
“Psych consult is here.”
“Tell them I’ll sign the paperwork in ten.”
Emma appeared.
“Can you take a look at this ECG?”
He took the paper from her. And the. He heard it. A laugh. Your laugh. Somewhere down the hall.
His head snapped up. The nurses all noticed. The residents noticed. The patient on the stretcher probably noticed.
Robby was already looking toward the corridor. He caught the briefest glimpse of you through the crowd. Your hair was a complete mess now, your red jacket was hanging off one shoulder, and you were smiling at something one of the nurses had said. Then you disappeared around the corner. Again. Robby frowned.
“You should probably read the ECG.”
He blinked and looked back at the Emma.
“What?”
She held the paper up.
“The ECG.”
“Right.”
He took it. Emma grinned.
“You know, she’s not going anywhere.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“Dr. R.”
He stared at her.
“You’re looking at her like she’s about to move to another country.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
He sighed.
“Can everyone please stop commenting on my marriage today?”
Emma laughed and walked away. Twenty minutes later, he was finally making his way toward the staff lounge for his first cup of fresh coffee when he saw you. At the end of the hallway. Walking toward him.
For once. No pagers. No nurses chasing you. No phone in your hand. Just you. You looked tired, but you smiled the second you saw him.
“There you are.” His entire mood improved.
“Here I am.”
You walked closer.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you all day.”
“You haven’t.” You smiled. “You look grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“You definitely are.”
“I’ve had six consults.”
“I’ve had eight.”
“I hate everyone.”
You laughed softly.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“My husband.”
“I was never gone.”
“You get all growly when you’re tired.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
You stopped in front of him. Close enough that he could smell your shampoo beneath the antiseptic and coffee and hospital smell that clung to both of you. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see you until you were standing there.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
You made a face.
“No.”
“Of course not.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So have I.”
You smiled.
“I know.”
There was something soft in your expression. Something fond. As though you knew exactly what he was doing.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“That look means something.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It absolutely does.”
You smiled wider.
“You missed me.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I’ve been working.”
“Uh-huh.”
You reached up and straightened his badge. Apparently, today was a day for fixing his clothes. He let you.
“You’ve looked for me at least six times today, haven’t you?”
He looked offended.
“I have not.”
“You have.”
“I haven’t.”
“You have.”
“I really haven’t.”
You just smiled.
“Dr. R!”
Both of you closed your eyes. Jesse hurried toward you.
“Trauma two needs you.”
You looked at him. Then at Robby. Then back at Jesse.
“Right now?”
“They’re asking specifically for you.”
You sighed. Robby actually laughed. You pointed at him.
“Stop enjoying my suffering.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You smiled.”
“I absolutely smiled.”
You looked horrified.
“My husband is turning against me.”
“I’ve been abandoned all day. This feels like justice.”
You gasped softly.
“Justice?”
He grinned. Jesse looked between the two of you like he was watching a tennis match. You narrowed your eyes.
“You know what? Fine.”
You started backing away.
“I’ll remember this.”
“Will you?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
“You’ll forget in ten minutes.”
“I’ll never forget.”
“You absolutely will.”
You kept walking backward.
“I can’t believe I married you.”
“You love me.”
Unfortunately, you looked entirely too pleased by that.
“I really do.”
You disappeared into Trauma Two. And he was smiling. Again.
“You are ridiculous.”
He looked over. Langdon was standing a few feet away, carrying a chart.
“What?”
“You’ve seen her for approximately two minutes and you’re smiling like a teenager.”
Robby rolled his eyes.
“I’m not smiling.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I hate this place.”
“No, you don’t.”
Langdon moved beside him.
“How long have you been married now?”
“Twelve years.”
“And you still act like this?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if I don’t see my wife for a few hours, I assume she’s busy.”
Robby looked at him.
“I assumed she was busy.”
“You’ve been asking where she is all day.”
“I have not.”
Langdon blinked.
“Mel has a tally going.”
Robby stared at him.
“A what?”
“A tally.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because every time someone mentions your wife, you ask where she is.”
Robby looked appalled.
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
A voice suddenly called from behind them.
“Twenty-three times.”
Both men turned. Mel King was standing at the nurses’ station. Robby frowned.
“What?”
Mel smiled.
“You’ve asked where your wife is twenty-three times.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
“I really haven’t.”
“You really have.”
Langdon burst out laughing. Robby looked horrified.
“You’re counting?”
“Oh, all of us are counting.”
“What do you mean all of us?”
Dana looked up from her tablet.
“We started around nine.”
He stared at her.
“You started a pool?”
She looked entirely unashamed.
“I had thirty by lunch.”
“You people are insane.”
“No,” Langdon said, grinning. “You’re clingy.”
“I am not clingy.”
The entire nurses’ station erupted into laughter.
“What’s the joke?.”
Your voice. He turned immediately. Of course he did. You were standing a few feet away, looking entirely too amused. You had clearly heard enough.
“Oh, this is wonderful.” You grinned.
“It isn’t.” Robby frowned.
“You’ve asked where I am twenty-three times?”
“I haven’t.”
“Apparently you have.”
“I really haven’t.”
You smiled.
“Oh, honey.”
He hated that smile. You walked closer.
“Do you miss me?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“You seem very worried about where I am.”
“I’m not.”
“You seem very interested in my location.”
“I’m really not.”
You looked delighted. Then you reached up and cupped his cheek. The entire nurses’ station immediately went quiet.
“You are so cute.”
“I am not cute.”
“You are.”
“I am fifty years old.”
“And adorable.”
“Stop.”
You laughed. Then kissed his cheek. A chorus of noises erupted behind you. Someone actually whistled. Robby closed his eyes.
“I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Dana said.
You smiled again.
“Unfortunately for you, I have another consult.”
He looked at you.
“No.”
You laughed.
“Oh my God.,” you smiled. “You just said no.”
“Because you’ve been here for thirty seconds.”
You looked positively radiant.
“He’s back.”
“What?”
“My clingy husband.”
“I am not clingy.”
You looked behind you.
“Guys, is he clingy?”
A dozen voices answered at once.
“YES.”
You laughed so hard you nearly doubled over. Robby looked personally betrayed. Then your pager went off. You sighed. He sighed. You looked at each other. And then both of you started laughing.
“This day hates us,” you said.
“It really does.”
You stepped closer and squeezed his hand.
“I’ll find you later.”
“You promise?”
The words slipped out before he could stop them. You blinked. Then your entire expression softened.
“I promise.”
You squeezed his hand again. Then you were gone. Again. Robby watched you disappear down the hallway. A beat of silence passed.
“Twenty-four.”
He looked at Mel.
“What?”
“You just looked after her.”
“I hate every single one of you.”
The laughter that followed him all the way back to the trauma bay suggested nobody believed him for a second.
******
By four in the afternoon, the entire emergency department was running on caffeine, stubbornness, and sheer spite. Robby had removed his green jacket hours ago, rolled his sleeves to his forearms, and was currently dictating notes while simultaneously listening to a resident present a case.
He was tired. The kind of tired that settled deep in his bones and made the bright lights of the Pitt feel a little too harsh. But more than that, he was annoyed. Because somehow, impossibly, he had still barely seen his wife.
He’d caught glimpses. You walking into an elevator. You disappearing down a hallway. You laughing with a nurse. You stealing a granola bar from the physician lounge.
Every single time he’d managed to get within ten feet of you, someone had dragged one of you away. It was becoming personal.
“You know, if you keep sighing like that, people are going to think something’s wrong.”
Robby looked up from his chart. Dana was standing beside him with her arms crossed.
“I wasn’t sighing.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I exhaled.”
“You sighed.”
He ignored her. She smiled.
“You still haven’t seen your wife.”
“I saw her.”
“You spoke to her for approximately four minutes.”
“It was at least five.”
Dana’s smile widened.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You counted.”
“I did not count.”
“You absolutely counted.”
He set his chart down.
“I have actual work to do.”
“And I have actual work to avoid.”
He glared at her.
“You’re irritating.”
“And you’re pathetic.”
Before he could answer, Mel approached.
“You know she’s in Trauma Three, right?”
Robby looked up so quickly that both of them burst into laughter.
“You two are children.”
“We’re helping,” Mel said.
“I didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wasn’t looking for her.”
“You looked up before I even finished the sentence.”
Robby pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I regret hiring all of you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Unfortunately, he didn’t. A trauma alert sounded overhead. Everyone moved. A construction worker with a crush injury. Another hour vanished. Then another. And by the time the patient was stabilized and admitted, the sun had begun to dip lower outside the ambulance bay windows.
Robby scrubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted. The Pitt had finally begun to settle into the strange lull that existed between the day shift chaos and the night shift storm.
A few nurses sat at the station charting. Someone had ordered food. Santos looked half asleep while typing notes. And for the first time all day…
There was nothing actively on fire. He leaned against the desk and took a sip of now-cold coffee. Then the elevator doors opened. You stepped out.
He looked up immediately. Of course he did. You looked absolutely exhausted. Your hair was completely out of its bun now, hanging around your shoulders. Your red jacket was draped over one arm, and there was a small smear of something on your cheek.
You looked around. Found him. And smiled. His entire chest loosened.
“There you are.”
You walked toward him slowly.
“Here I am.” He smiled. “You look awful.”
You laughed softly.
“Thank you so much.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
You stopped in front of him.
“You don’t look much better.”
“I’ve had a long day.”
“So have I.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You were just there. Finally. In front of him. Not walking away. Not being called to another floor. Not disappearing around a corner. Just…there. You looked up at him.
“Hi.”
His expression softened.
“Hi, baby.”
You smiled.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you all day.”
You laughed. “I’ve seen you.”
“No, you’ve been sightings.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I caught glimpses of you.”
You laughed again. He loved that sound.
“You’ve had a hard day without me.”
“No.”
“Robby.”
“No.”
You stepped closer.
“You missed me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I was busy.”
“You were grumpy.”
“I was not.”
“You absolutely were.”
He sighed. You smiled triumphantly.
“I don’t know why I tell you anything.”
“You don’t have to. Your face does it for you.”
You reached up and brushed the smear from his cheek. He frowned.
“What?”
“You had blood on your face.”
“Oh.”
You smiled softly.
“You need a shower.”
“So do you.”
You looked down at yourself.
“Fair.”
Then your pager suddenly beeped. Both of you froze. Silence. You slowly pulled it from your pocket. Looked at the screen. And then looked back up at him.
“No.”
He laughed.
“No?”
“No.”
“That’s very professional of you.”
“I don’t care.”
You shoved the pager back into your pocket.
“If they need me, they’ll call again.”
He looked genuinely surprised. You took another step toward him.
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“I miss my husband.”
Something warm spread through his chest.
“I miss my wife.”
You smiled. And then, because apparently twelve years of marriage had changed neither of you, you simply leaned forward and rested your forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you immediately. A soft sigh escaped you.
The entire nurses’ station went quiet. Dana looked up from her tablet. Mel looked up from her notes. Langdon froze with a cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. Nobody moved.
Because there was something so quietly intimate about it. You, exhausted beyond words, simply standing in your husband’s arms. And him holding you like he’d been waiting all day to do exactly this. Your voice came out muffled.
“I think my feet hurt.”
He smiled.
“I know they do.”
“I haven’t sat down since breakfast.”
“I haven’t either.”
“I hate everyone.”
He laughed softly.
“There she is.”
You smiled against his chest. Then another voice broke the moment.
“There they are.”
You both looked up. Cassie McKay was grinning.
“Oh, this is disgusting.”
You laughed. Robby rolled his eyes.
“We’re standing.”
“You’re cuddling.”
“We’re not cuddling.”
“You absolutely are.”
The entire nurses’ station suddenly found something very interesting to listen to. You looked up at your husband.
“We’re cuddling.”
“We’re not.”
You smiled.
“We definitely are.”
He sighed. You looked entirely too pleased with yourself. Then Cassie folded her arms.
“You know, this explains your mood all day.
Robby frowned.
“What mood?”
“The one where you’ve been asking where your wife is every ten minutes.”
“I have not.”
“You have.”
“I really haven’t.”
“You really have.”
You looked at him.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
He groaned.
“No.”
“You’ve been looking for me all day?”
“I wasn’t looking for you.”
“You asked where I was twenty-four times.”
“It was not twenty-four.”
Mel looked up.
“Twenty-seven.”
Robby looked horrified.
“What?”
“We kept counting.”
“You people need hobbies.”
“We have hobbies.”
“Apparently, one of them is harassing me.”
You started laughing. The sound was warm and bright and completely unrestrained. He couldn’t help smiling.
“There it is!” Dana pointed at him. “The smile!”
“I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” several voices answered.
You laughed harder. Then you looked back at him.
“You really missed me.”
He looked down at you. You were smiling at him like he’d hung the moon. Twelve years later, and somehow you still looked at him like that. He sighed. A long, defeated sigh.
And finally said, “Maybe a little.”
Your eyes widened. The entire nurses’ station erupted.
“I KNEW IT!”
“Oh my God!”
“Pay up!”
“You owe me twenty bucks!”
Robby blinked.
“What?”
Dana grinned.
“We had a pool.”
“You bet on me missing my wife?”
“You made it very easy.”
He looked genuinely offended. You were laughing so hard you had tears in your eyes. Then you reached up and cupped his face.
“You are so cute.”
“I am not cute.”
“You are.”
“I am fifty.”
“And clingy.”
“I am not clingy.”
You grinned.
“Sure, honey.”
Then your pager went off again. Both of you looked at it. Silence. You looked at him. He looked at you. Then you turned the pager over and shoved it back into your pocket. He blinked.
“You ignored it.”
“I did.”
“What if it’s important?”
You shrugged.
“I’m off in fifteen minutes.”
You smiled softly.
“And I’d rather spend those fifteen minutes with my husband.”
His expression changed entirely. All the teasing and irritation from the day simply melted away.
You saw it happen. Your own smile softened.
Then, very quietly, you asked, “Can we go home soon?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against his side. You went willingly. As though there was nowhere else in the world you’d rather be. He kissed your temple.
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
You sighed happily.
“Good.”
Then you looked up at him.
“I think I need a shower.”
He smiled.
“I think I do too.”
You yawned.
“And food.”
“We can do food.”
“And bed.”
“We can definitely do bed.”
You nodded.
“Perfect.”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. You simply stood there together while the department buzzed softly around you. Finally. After an entire day of missing each other. Together. And when Dana looked over and saw the two of you still standing there, she smiled to herself.
Because for all of Dr. Michael Robinavich’s reputation—the sharp tongue, the intimidating stare, the chief attending everyone feared—there was one undeniable truth. The man was completely and utterly gone for his wife. And judging by the way you were practically asleep against his shoulder…
You were just as gone for him.
******
By the time you pulled into the driveway, you could barely remember the drive home. The kind of exhaustion that settled over you after a long shift wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Heavy. It sat in your muscles and behind your eyes and made even simple things feel monumental.
Taking off your shoes felt monumental. Unlocking the front door felt monumental. You dropped your bag by the entryway and stood there for a moment in the dim, quiet house. Silence.
No monitors. No pagers. No overhead announcements. Just…home.
You sighed softly. You knew Robby would be another twenty or thirty minutes. He had stayed behind to finish notes and make sure one of the residents wasn’t drowning in admissions. You loved him for that. You also knew he would come home exhausted. Probably with another headache. Probably with blood somewhere on his scrubs that he hadn’t noticed.
You smiled to yourself. Then you made your way upstairs. By the time you stepped into the bathroom, every inch of you ached. You turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm, slowly pulling your hair free from its tangled ponytail.
Your wedding and engagement rings came off and settled beside the sink in the tiny plate. Then your scrubs. Your socks. The day. You stepped under the spray and immediately let out a soft sigh.
Hot water. Heaven. You closed your eyes and tipped your head back, letting the water run over your face. For a few moments, you didn’t move. You simply stood there and breathed. The day slowly began to wash away.
You thought about the little old woman you’d admitted who reminded you of your grandmother. The little boy with the broken arm who had proudly shown you his dinosaur socks. The endless consults. The running. The exhaustion. And, somehow, in between all of it…
Your husband looking for you all day. You laughed softly to yourself. You could still hear Dana’s voice.
You asked where your wife was twenty-seven times.
A few moments later, you heard the front door downstairs. Then footsteps. Then the familiar sound of a bag being dropped. A small smile spread across your face. A minute later, the bathroom door opened. You didn’t turn around.
You didn’t have to. You knew every sound he made. The rustle of fabric. The heavy exhale. The soft thud of shoes hitting the floor. The shower door opened. Warm air shifted.
A second later, strong arms slid around your waist from behind. You melted immediately.
“There you are,” he murmured.
You smiled.
“Here I am.”
He pressed a kiss to your damp shoulder.
“I missed you.”
You laughed softly.
“You saw me fifteen minutes ago.”
“I know.”
“And an hour before that.”
“I know.”
You turned in his arms. He looked exhausted. Hair damp from the humidity in the bathroom, dark eyes tired, stubble a little more pronounced than it had been that morning. And still the most handsome man you’d ever seen.
“You look tired.”
He huffed out a laugh.
“I am tired.”
You reached up and touched his cheek.
“So am I.”
For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The water ran over both of you. Then he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours. You sighed softly.
“Long day?”
He smiled a little.
“You know the answer to that.”
You did. You lifted your hand and smoothed your fingers through the gray at his temple. His eyes fluttered briefly. He always liked when you touched his hair.
“You have a line right here.”
You touched between his brows.
“You’ve been frowning all day.”
“You disappeared all day.”
You laughed softly.
“There you are.”
“What?”
“My grumpy husband.”
He slid his hands around your back.
“I wasn’t grumpy.”
“You absolutely were.”
“I was concerned.”
You grinned.
“Concerned.”
“Yes.”
“I was in the same building.”
“I know.”
“You could have texted.”
He looked offended.
“I shouldn’t have to text my wife to know where she is.”
You laughed.
“There he is.”
He smiled despite himself. Then his hand came up and gently brushed damp hair away from your face.
“You look exhausted.”
“I am exhausted.”
“You’ve got circles under your eyes.”
“So do you.”
“I know.”
You smiled softly.
“You know what I wanted all day?”
“What?”
You stepped a little closer.
“This.”
He looked at you.
“This?”
You nodded.
“Just…this.”
His expression softened completely. You reached for the soap and squeezed some into your hand.
“Come here.”
He smiled.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking care of my husband.”
He laughed softly but stepped closer anyway. You began rubbing the soap over his chest and shoulders, your hands slow and gentle. You weren’t rushing. There was nowhere to be. Nowhere else to go. You smoothed your hands over his arms, washing away the day. The smell of hospital. The dried blood he hadn’t noticed. The exhaustion. He watched you the entire time.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” You rinsed his shoulder. “I want to.”
Something warm crossed his face. Then he took the soap from your hand.
“Turn around.”
You smiled.
“Bossy.”
“Turn around.”
Laughing softly, you obeyed. His hands were large and warm as they settled on your shoulders. Then he began washing your hair. Slowly. Carefully. His fingers worked through the strands with practiced ease. You nearly melted.
“Oh.”
He smiled.
“What?”
“That feels really nice.”
“I know.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice.”
You closed your eyes. His fingers moved against your scalp, gentle and thorough. Every bit of tension in your body seemed to slowly unwind. You sighed.
“I like that.”
“What?”
“That happy little sigh.”
You smiled.
“I think I might live here now.”
He laughed softly. The sound vibrated through his chest. He tipped your head back gently to rinse your hair, his hand supporting your neck. The care in the gesture made something in your chest ache. You turned back around. He looked just as tired as you felt. You reached up and touched his face again.
“You took care of everybody today.”
“So did you.”
“But who took care of you?”
He looked at you for a long moment. Then he smiled softly.
“You are.”
Your eyes immediately softened.
“Oh.”
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Then another to your temple. Then one to your cheek. Not rushed. Not passionate. Just…loving. You smiled.
“You really did miss me.”
“I really did.”
The admission came easily now. You wrapped your arms around his waist.
“I missed you too.”
He exhaled softly. Then his arms came around you and pulled you close. You simply stood there. Water cascading around you. His chin resting on the top of your head. Your cheek against his chest. His hand slowly rubbing up and down your back.
After a while, you murmured, “I don’t think I’ve sat down all day.”
He laughed quietly.
“I know I haven’t.”
“My feet hurt.”
“I know they do.”
“My back hurts.”
“I know.”
You smiled.
“You always know.”
“I’ve been married to you for twelve years.”
“That’s fair.”
He kissed the top of your head. Then your forehead. Then your damp hair. As though he simply couldn’t stop touching you now that he finally had you to himself. You looked up at him.
“I love you.”
His expression softened immediately.
“I love you too.”
You smiled. Then reached up and touched his cheek again.
“And for the record…”
“Hm?”
“I think it’s cute that you missed me.”
He groaned.
“Oh, don’t start.”
You laughed.
“I do.”
“You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
He shook his head. Then he smiled. Because of course he did. You leaned up and kissed him softly. Just once. A slow, tired kiss. Then you rested your forehead against his again.
Neither of you moved. Neither of you needed to. The day had been loud. Demanding. Chaotic. But here?
Here there was only warm water and soft touches and your husband holding you like he’d finally gotten something back he’d been missing all day. And for a long while, you simply stayed there. Cleaning each other. Holding each other. Loving each other. Until the water began to cool and your fingers had wrinkled and the day, at long last, finally felt over.
******
The house was dark by the time you finished getting ready for bed. Not completely dark. The small lamp on Robby’s nightstand cast a warm glow across the room, and the television downstairs was still faintly audible, though neither of you had really watched it while eating leftovers in the kitchen.
You had simply sat across from each other. Bare feet. Damp hair. Quiet smiles. The kind of silence that only came after years together. The kind that didn’t need to be filled.
Now, however, you were officially done. Done with the day. Done with people. Done with making decisions. You climbed into bed with a relieved sigh and practically melted into the mattress.
“Oh, thank God.”
Robby looked up from where he was putting his watch on the dresser.
“Tired?”
You turned your head slowly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been more tired in my entire life.”
“You said that last week.”
“And I meant it then too.”
He laughed softly. You pulled the blankets up to your chin and sighed. Your hair was still slightly damp, your skin warm from the shower, and every muscle in your body felt pleasantly heavy. You watched him move around the room. Tall. Broad shoulders. T-shirt and sleep pants. A little more gray in his beard than there had been a few years ago. A little more tired around the eyes.
Still the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You smiled to yourself.
“What?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“You’re looking at me.”
“So?”
“You’ve got that look.”
You smiled wider.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I think my husband is handsome.”
He huffed a laugh.
“You’ve been married to me for twelve years.”
“And?”
“You know exactly what I look like.”
You grinned.
“I still like looking.”
The faint pink that touched his ears made you smile even more. The man who could stare down a trauma room without blinking and somehow still get shy when you complimented him.
“Cute.”
“I am not cute.”
“You are.”
“I am fifty years old.”
“And adorable.”
He shook his head and turned off the lamp on his side of the bed. The room dimmed. Then he walked around the mattress. You expected him to slide under his blankets.
Instead the mattress dipped heavily beside you. Then shifted. And suddenly there was an alarming amount of husband climbing into your personal space. You laughed.
“Michael.”
No answer. He simply kept going. One large arm wrapped around your waist. A leg tangled with yours. His chest pressed against your side. Then his face disappeared into your neck. You blinked. Then laughed again.
“Sir.”
Still nothing.
“Are you comfortable?”
A muffled sound came from your neck. You smiled.
“I can’t understand you.”
Another muffled noise. You laughed harder. Finally, he lifted his head just enough to look at you.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
You smiled.
“Then why are you laying on top of me?”
He looked entirely serious.
“I’ve got my wife back.”
Your entire expression softened.
“Oh.”
He rested his head back against your shoulder. You brought your hand up and ran your fingers through his damp hair. He sighed. A long, contented sigh.
“You’re right…that is nice.”
He looked up.
“What?”
“That happy little sigh.”
He smiled. Then buried his face in your neck again. You couldn’t stop smiling.
“You really had a hard day without me.”
“I did not.”
“Michael.”
“You kept disappearing.”
You laughed softly.
“I was working.”
“I know.”
“I was in the same building.”
“I know.”
“You saw me several times.”
“I know.”
You smiled into the darkness.
“And you still missed me.”
Silence.
“Maybe.”
You laughed.
“Maybe?”
“I don’t like it.”
“What?”
“Not seeing you.”
Your hand slowed in his hair. You looked down at him. Even in the dim light, you could see the exhaustion on his face. The vulnerability too. You softened completely.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
He sighed.
“I know it’s ridiculous.”
“It isn’t.”
“I know we’re both busy.”
“We are”
“I know we work in the same hospital and that I can technically walk upstairs whenever I want.”
You smiled.
“But?”
“But I like seeing you.”
Your chest squeezed. He looked up at you then. Dark eyes. Soft expression. Entirely too honest.
“I like our mornings.”
You smiled.
“Our coffee?”
“Our coffee.”
“I like our lunches.”
“We never actually get lunch.”
“Still.”
You laughed.
“I like hearing your laugh in the hallway.”
Your smile grew.
“I like knowing where you are.”
“Twenty-seven times worth?”
He groaned.
“Oh my God.”
You laughed.
“I am never letting that go.”
“I know.”
You brushed your fingers through the gray at his temple.
“I think it’s sweet.”
“It was embarrassing.”
“It was adorable.”
“It was not.”
“It really was.”
He shook his head. Then he shifted closer somehow, which you honestly didn’t think was possible. You laughed softly.
“This side of you is great.”
“What?”
“My clingy husband.”
“I am not clingy.”
“You are currently wearing me like a blanket.”
“I’m comfortable.”
“You literally said you weren’t.”
He looked up at you.
“I’m emotionally comfortable.”
You stared at him. Then burst out laughing. The sound filled the room. And to his great offense, you laughed so hard tears gathered in your eyes.
“Emotionally comfortable?”
“Stop laughing.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re very mean.”
You laughed harder. He tried not to smile. Failed completely. You cupped his cheek.
“Oh, honey.”
“I regret saying anything.”
“No, you don’t.”
Unfortunately…No, he didn’t. You smiled softly and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then another. Then one to his temple. He closed his eyes.
“That feels nice.”
You smiled.
“You’ve had a long day.”
“So have you.”
“I know.”
You kept stroking your fingers through his hair. After a few moments, he spoke again.
“Do you know my favorite part of the day?”
You looked down at him.
“What?”
“This.”
You blinked. He lifted one hand and gently touched your cheek.
“Coming home.”
Your expression softened.
“Getting to be with you.”
You smiled.
“Not being chief attending?”
“No.”
“Not trauma medicine?”
“No.”
“Not the emergency department?”
“Absolutely not.”
You laughed softly. He smiled.
“This.”
You leaned down and kissed him. The kind of kiss that came after twelve years of marriage and still somehow felt like coming home. When you pulled back, he was smiling.
“You know,” you said softly, “I missed you too.”
He looked up at you.
“I know.”
“No, I really did.”
You touched his cheek.
“I kept thinking all day that I wanted this.”
You ran your hand through his hair again.
“Just us.”
He looked at you for a long moment. Then he reached up and covered your hand with his.
“Got us now.”
You smiled.
“Yeah.”
Silence settled around you. Comfortable. Warm. Outside, the world kept moving. Cars drove by. Somewhere in the distance, a siren sounded. The hospital would still be there tomorrow. Patients. Consults. Traumas. Chaos.
But none of it mattered right now. Because your husband was draped over you like a very affectionate weighted blanket. And honestly? You wouldn’t have had it any other way. A few minutes passed.
“You know what?”
“Hm?”
“I’m glad I married you.”
He smiled without opening his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
You laughed softly.
“That’s all I get?”
He finally looked up. Then he smiled. That soft smile. The one that belonged only to you.
“I’d marry you again tomorrow.”
Your breath caught.
“Oh.”
“And the next day.”
You swallowed.
“And the day after that.”
Your eyes stung unexpectedly. You smiled.
“That’s very unfair of you.”
“What?”
“Making me emotional when I’m tired.”
He laughed softly. Then he lifted himself just enough to kiss your forehead.
“I love you.”
You wrapped your arms around him.
“I love you too.”
He settled back down, head against your chest. You kept your hand in his hair. Eventually his breathing slowed. Then slowed some more. You smiled into the darkness.
“Michael?”
A sleepy sound.
“Hm?”
“You know I’m coming home with you tomorrow too, right?”
A long pause. Then his arm tightened around your waist.
“I know.”
You smiled.
“But I still don’t like sharing you with the rest of the hospital.”
You laughed softly. Then you kissed the top of his head.
“Go to sleep, clingy husband.”
Another sleepy noise.
“Only with you.”
Your heart melted. And sometime later, with nearly two hundred pounds of chief attending draped warmly across you, his hand resting over your heart and your fingers still tangled in his hair…the two of you finally fell asleep. Together. Exactly where you’d both wanted to be all day.
can you give a teeny tiny hint for your upcoming dr Robby fics?
sure 🫶 I’ve got a “clingy husband” one that’s next and then I have “trying for a baby”, “introduce him to your family”, and a “crush on him” one. Then there’s plenty more but those are in the works!
After everything you’ve been through this past couple of days I really need you to know you really are an amazing author truly
Every time I have a bad day i come back to your stories and they always make my day better by a thousand percent all this hate is honestly so far from all the love you should be receiving so i just wanted to say thank you for all of your hard work and all your stories and the art of your writing that i have an honor of reading
Been a huge fan from day one <3
I really appreciate this 🫶 I’ve so enjoyed writing all of these stories (obvi with most of the thanks being to the great requests) and that’s what I’m going to focus on here! ❤️
I hope you’re doing okay. It’s awful to have messages sent which are aggressive and nasty. I think education is important and being aware of bias is also important. But I read your initial story, and it very much read as Collin’s especially based on what we got of her in the show. Unfortunately we can’t control other people’s reactions. But I hope this doesn’t steal your joy 💛
I really appreciate your view and words 🫶 I agree in educating and sharing opinions…I just think there is a way to do that in a respectful manner so it keeps the focus ON the conversation/education and not name-calling or tearing strangers on this site apart. I have a few other stories where Collins is actually a friend to the reader or stands up against Robby.
I think I was just overwhelmed with how quick the attacks came after I replied with a reasonable response to the initial comment left. But now I’ve learned that it’s okay if I don’t respond to negative comments!
My plan is to just get back to the writing and let everything breathe out ❤️ again, I appreciate your comment.
Hi lovely. As someone who is an avid reader, I have many favourite authors and that now includes you. Your writing is so wonderful and your stories are so engaging. I find they are so easy to digest whilst covering some difficult topics which I think speaks for your talent in of itself. I’m a very anxious bean so I’ve always stayed anon but I wanted you to know how much I, and many others adore your fics. Perhaps this is sad to admit but tumblr is one of the first things I check in the mornings now to see if you have posted. You bring me lots of joy on good days and bad and I’m so happy you exist!
I’m so sorry to see you received such unnecessary and mean hate, and I was very sorry to see you take the fic down - I’d only read it once (and I’ve lost count of how many rereads I’ve done of all your work now 🤭) but I’m glad you do what’s best for you and that you protect your peace!
💛🫶🏻💛
thank you for your kind words and for reading my stories 🫶 it was an intense few days on here but it’s quieting down and I appreciate the support. I’m hopeful to get back to simply writing soon. again, thank you ❤️
I’m shocked that I’m even typing this because the truth is that you’re writing is… words will never be able to describe just how amazing and beautiful your work is. You always give 100% in every single one of your fics, to say I love them is such an understatement. I just finished the recent dr Robby fic and I was crying (happy tears) because as someone who is very clingy and touchy I felt seen and I felt like I was really being held. For a couple seconds It felt so real and everything was perfect. I’m very sorry for rambling I go on tumblr to escape and I’m just very happy I found your blog❤️
I appreciate your message 🫶 things got a little much back there. I’m hopeful we can all reflect and move forward with respect ❤️
** update edit - I was told my story with Heather Collins as the antagonist was racist. That I portrayed her as an “angry black woman” and I apparently have done that a lot with my stories (I’ve gone back and can not find another one that I have written Collins that way). I have deleted the story in question. My choice. Again, I did not agree that’s what I was doing. I can see how people could read and look at it that way. But My goal from the request I got was to made Collins a jealous ex because in the Pitt world she is Robby’s ex. That’s what I genuinely thought I did. But are the nasty, anonymous messages calling me “a racist, stupid, a fucking ignorant bitch”, etc. the way to go about this? I don’t believe so. This has been a lot on a Monday and I’m now going to step back from here for a while. Take care and be kind to each other.
A quick note because I’ve blocked a few people today, and I wanted to explain why…..
I completely understand that not everyone is going to like my writing. Criticism, different opinions, and respectful conversations are all part of sharing creative work online. I have absolutely no issue with that.
What I do have an issue with is cruelty, harassment, and repeated personal attacks. This is the first time I’ve experienced something like this on Tumblr, and it’s simply not something I’m willing to entertain. If someone disagrees with my writing, that’s okay. What isn’t okay is making repeated posts about me, assigning intentions to me that I don’t have, or turning a disagreement over fictional stories into a personal attack. I would never write something that was a blatant attack on anyone. If something came across that way it was not my intention. However, bullying me about it doesn’t make you any better than what you’re insinuating I did. Have a conversation. Approach it in a respectful manner.
At the end of the day, these are fictional stories. This world isn’t real. These characters aren’t real. They’re meant to be an escape for me and for the people who enjoy reading them. Writing should be fun, and while readers are always entitled to their opinions, no one gets to dictate a writer’s intentions or harass them because they disagree with a creative choice.
I’ve blocked the individuals involved because I don’t have the time or energy for unnecessary drama. I’d much rather spend that time writing than arguing on the internet.
For anyone wondering, all you really know about me is that my name is Paige. That’s it. Judging me as a person based on fictional stories is unfair, and I’m not interested in engaging with that.
I love writing. I love writing in The Pitt universe, and I love writing Robby x Female Reader stories. That’s why I’m here, and that’s what I’ll continue to focus on.
To everyone who has read my stories, left kind comments, sent requests, and become friends along the way—thank you. Your support means far more than you know.
I’m sorry this post was necessary at all, but I wanted to explain why I’ve blocked some people and why I won’t be engaging with this situation any further. From here on out, I’d really just like to get back to doing what brought us all here in the first place: writing and enjoying stories together. ❤️
Request - Hello lovely! Could you do one where the reader is just needy/clingy with Robby? In a cute way? As a needy gal myself, Robby brings it out in me 🙈🫶
The emergency department was loud. Not trauma-level loud. Just… emergency department loud. Phones ringing. Monitors chirping. Residents asking questions. Nurses trying to hunt down physicians who had mysteriously vanished the second someone needed a signature. In other words…
Tuesday.
You’d had the day off. Robby hadn’t. Which meant you had exactly one mission after finishing a late lunch with Dana. Annoy your boyfriend.
“I don’t know why you encourage this,” Dana muttered as the two of you stepped through the ambulance entrance.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She snorted.
“Sure.”
You spotted him almost immediately. Robby stood at the central nurses’ station, glasses perched low on his nose as he reviewed lab work. His white coat was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to his forearms, stethoscope hanging loosely around his neck. There was the familiar crease between his eyebrows that only appeared when he was charting or contemplating homicide. Probably charting. Hopefully. A resident was rambling through a patient presentation while Robby stared at the computer screen.
“Mhm.”
Another pause.
“Mhm.”
The resident kept talking.
“Mhm.”
Dana leaned toward you.
“I don’t think he’s heard a damn word.”
“He hasn’t.”
“You gonna fix that?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Without another word, you wandered over. You didn’t interrupt. Didn’t announce yourself. You simply slid into the narrow space beside him and rested your chin on his shoulder. His pen stopped moving.
“…Hello.”
“Hi.”
“You stalking me?”
“Maybe.”
The resident glanced between the two of you, suddenly unsure whether to continue presenting.Robby sighed.
“Finish, Whitaker.”
Dennis blinked.
“…Uh…”
You smiled politely.
“Sorry. Pretend I’m furniture.”
The poor kid looked even more confused. Robby finally turned his head just enough to glance at you.
“You’ve been here exactly seven seconds.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re already attached to me.”
“Mhm.”
“…Why?”
You shrugged.
“I missed you.”
“You saw me this morning.”
“That was…” You pretended to calculate. “Like… six whole hours ago.”
He made a face.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You like me.”
“I tolerate you.”
“You love me.”
“I’ve never admitted that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. But you caught it. Victory. Whitaker awkwardly cleared his throat.
“…Should I…”
Robby looked back at him.
“Continue.”
The poor guy launched back into his presentation while you remained exactly where you were, chin resting comfortably against Robby’s shoulder. You didn’t say another word. You were simply… there. Halfway through discussing antibiotics, Robby’s free hand absentmindedly found yours.
He didn’t even seem to realize he’d done it. His fingers laced through yours automatically while his attention remained on the patient in front of him. Dana walked by just in time to see it. She barked out a laugh.
“You two are fucking ridiculous.”
Neither of you looked up.
******
By four o’clock, the emergency department had settled into one of those rare lulls that everyone knew wouldn’t last. Robby finally escaped to the physician workroom with a cup of coffee that had gone cold an hour earlier. You followed. Of course you did. He hadn’t even sat down before you appeared in the doorway.
“You again?”
You smiled innocently.
“What?”
“Were you waiting outside?”
“…Maybe.”
He dropped into the chair with a groan.
“My God.”
“What?”
“I have a stalker.”
“You have a girlfriend.”
“Same thing.”
You wandered behind him while he logged into the computer. Then, without warning…You wrapped both arms around his shoulders from behind. Not tightly. Just enough that your forearms rested across his chest while your cheek found the top of his head.
He froze for exactly one second. Then continued typing.
“…Comfortable?”
“Mhm.”
“You planning on staying there?”
“Mhm.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know I have to work.”
“I know.”
“So…”
“I can hug you while you work.”
He sighed dramatically.
“Jesus Christ.”
But he leaned back ever so slightly into your embrace.
“You know…” You smiled against his hair.
“What?”
“You complain an awful lot for someone who hasn’t told me to let go.”
“I’ve accepted my fate.”
“Which is?”
“I’m apparently dating a koala.”
You gasped.
“A koala?”
“Mhm.”
“I was hoping for something majestic.”
“You climbed onto me twenty minutes ago.”
“I leaned.”
“You’ve been touching me for the better part of an hour.”
“I like touching you.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“It makes my brain happy.”
That answer made him stop typing. He turned his head enough to look up at you. Your expression was completely sincere. No teasing. No joking. Just… honesty. He reached up and gently rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.
“You had a rough week?”
You nodded once.
“I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I just…” You smiled sheepishly. “I’ve missed my person.”
Something softened in his eyes immediately. Without another word, he reached behind himself, caught your wrist gently, and tugged. You stumbled around the chair with a surprised laugh.
“What are you—”
Before you finished the sentence, he pulled you sideways until you landed across his lap.
“You weigh approximately six pounds.”
“I do not.”
“Close enough.”
You laughed as your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck.
“There.” He rested his chin against the top of your head. “Better?”
“So much.”
“Mhm.”
“You gonna let me finish charting?”
“Probably not.”
“I figured.”
The workroom door opened. Frank Langdon walked in carrying two charts. He stopped dead in his tracks. Looked at the two of you. Looked at the clock. Then looked back.
“…Are you kidding me?”
Neither of you moved. Robby didn’t even lift his head.
“No.”
Frank pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You know there are chairs.”
“There are.”
“So why is she in your lap?”
Robby answered without missing a beat.
“Because she wanted to be.”
Frank stared at him.
“…That’s your explanation?”
“Mhm.”
“You realize both of you are attendings.”
“Mhm.”
“And you’re acting like you’re seventeen.”
“Mhm.”
Frank looked toward you for help. You simply smiled.
“I like him.”
Frank threw one hand into the air.
“I can see that.”
He turned to leave, muttering under his breath.
“I swear to God this hospital is becoming one giant HR complaint.”
The door closed behind him. You started giggling. Robby finally laughed too, the deep, quiet laugh that almost never escaped him at work.
“You happy now?”
You nodded against his shoulder.
“Mhm.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“Good.”
“You know…”
“What?”
“I think you’re secretly clingy too.”
He scoffed.
“Absolutely not.”
“No?”
“No.”
“So if I got up right now…”
“I’d finish my chart.”
You slowly lifted yourself an inch off his lap. His hand immediately settled against the small of your back. Holding you there. You raised an eyebrow.
“…Really?”
He looked down at where his hand had landed. There was a long pause. Then he sighed.
“…Don’t.”
A grin spread across your face.
“I knew it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He rolled his eyes so dramatically it should’ve hurt.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” You settled right back against him, smiling as he automatically tightened his arm around your waist. “…Here I still am.”
He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Yeah… yeah, you are.”
And despite all his grumbling, not once—not for a single second—did he actually let you go.
******
If there was one thing everyone at PTMC had learned over the years, it was that Dr. Michael Robinavitch looked perpetually irritated. Even when he was perfectly happy. His neutral expression made medical students question their career choices. His focused expression made residents apologize for things they hadn’t even done. And his genuinely annoyed expression…Well. People tended to scatter.
It made your favorite hobby all the more entertaining. Because underneath all that perpetual grumpiness…He was unbelievably soft. Just not for anyone else.
“You know,” Dana said one afternoon as she watched you standing at the coffee machine, “you’re about to become public enemy number one.”
You glanced over your shoulder.
“Why?”
She nodded toward the trauma bay.
“Because your boyfriend has been in back-to-back traumas for four hours.”
“So?”
“So he’s in one of those moods.”
You peeked through the glass doors. Sure enough…There he was. Hair a mess from repeatedly dragging his fingers through it. Glasses shoved into the pocket of his scrub top. Jaw clenched. He was listening to a surgical consult with all the enthusiasm of someone getting a root canal without anesthesia.
“Oh…”
You smiled.
“He needs me.”
Dana barked out a laugh.
“No, ma’am. He needs a nap.”
“Those are basically the same thing.”
“They are absolutely not.”
You grabbed your coffee anyway.
“I’m going in.”
Dana leaned back against the counter.
“I’ll give you twenty bucks if you make him smile.”
“You owe me money.”
“We’ll see.”
The trauma consult finally ended. Robby pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Anything else?”
The surgical resident wisely shook his head.
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
The resident disappeared like he’d escaped prison. Robby exhaled slowly.
“Christ…”
His back hurt. His head hurt. Someone had somehow spilled coffee on one of his favorite pens. He’d been yelled at by a patient’s family because the CT scanner wasn’t magically instantaneous. He was running forty-five minutes behind on charting. He wanted approximately ten minutes where no one spoke to him.
“Hi.”
He looked up. There you were. Holding two coffees. Smiling like you hadn’t a single stressful thought in your head. His shoulders relaxed before he could stop them.
“…Hello.”
“I brought you coffee.”
“I already had coffee.”
You looked at the cold cup sitting beside the computer.
“That?”
“Mhm.”
“That’s iced coffee now.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
“I figured.”
You slid the fresh cup toward him. He accepted it without argument.
“Thanks.”
“You look grumpy.”
“I am grumpy.”
“I know.”
“You enjoying this?”
“A little.”
“You should probably seek therapy.”
“I already have you.”
He looked at you over the rim of the cup.
“…That was smooth.”
“I know.”
You leaned against the counter beside him. Neither of you spoke for a minute. You simply stood shoulder to shoulder while he drank his coffee. To everyone else…It looked uneventful. To you? It was your favorite kind of intimacy. Just existing beside him. Eventually he sighed.
“I’ve got another twelve charts.”
“I know.”
“Three admissions.”
“Mhm.”
“And Dana keeps threatening to assign me residents.”
You gasped dramatically.
“The horror.”
“I’d rather fight a bear.”
“I’ve met some of your residents.”
“They’re exhausting.”
“So are you.”
“They’re exhausting differently.”
You laughed.
“I’ll give you that.”
The overhead speaker interrupted.
“Dr. Robinavitch to Room Eight.”
He closed his eyes.
“…Of course.”
He made no move to leave. You nudged his shoulder.
“Go.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“You come with me.”
It wasn’t even phrased like a question. You smiled.
“Bossing me around now?”
“I’m inviting you.”
“That sounded suspiciously like an order.”
“It was an invitation with authority.”
You laughed.
“Okay, Chief.”
He started toward Room Eight. You fell into step beside him. Naturally. Halfway there, without thinking, your hand slipped around his forearm. Not because you needed help walking. Not because you were trying to make a statement. You just…Liked holding onto him. He glanced down.
“You know…”
“What?”
“We’re walking twenty feet.”
“I know.”
“I don’t disappear if you let go.”
“I know.”
“So why are you hanging onto my arm?”
You looked up at him like the answer was obvious.
“Because it’s attached to you.”
He stared at you for a beat.
“…That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
You grinned.
“But you smiled.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I exhaled.”
“You smiled with your lungs?”
“Exactly.”
“Medical miracle.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You are unbelievable.”
“You love me.”
“I’ve made questionable decisions.”
“You proposed.”
“That was one of them.”
You laughed so loudly that a passing nurse looked over.
“You are such an asshole.”
“And yet…” He slowed just enough for you to catch back up after nearly laughing yourself breathless. “…You’re still holding onto me.”
The patient in Room Eight turned out to have the flu. Nothing dramatic. Just a miserable forty-year-old man convinced he was on death’s doorstep. By the time the exam was finished, you’d somehow ended up perched on the edge of the counter while Robby finished documenting. The patient watched the two of you with narrowed eyes.
“You married?”
You answered first.
“Not yet.”
“Engaged?”
“Mhm.”
The man looked between you.
“I can tell.”
Robby didn’t look up from the computer.
“How?”
The patient shrugged.
“My wife follows me around the house like that.”
You blinked.
“…Like what?”
He pointed at you.
“You keep finding reasons to touch him.”
You looked down. Your hand was resting lightly against the middle of Robby’s back. You hadn’t even realized.
“Oh.”
The patient chuckled.
“My Linda does that.”
You smiled.
“Really?”
“Thirty-seven years.”
He grinned weakly.
“If she’s in the room…” He shrugged. “…She’s touching me somehow.”
Silence settled for a second. Then the man looked directly at Robby.
“Enjoy it.”
Robby paused his typing. The patient continued quietly.
“One day you’ll walk into a room…and nobody’ll be there reaching for you.”
The room became unexpectedly still. The humor dissolved. You watched Robby’s expression change almost imperceptibly. Something thoughtful flickered behind his eyes. He finished the discharge instructions before helping the patient up.
“Take the antiviral.”
“I will.”
“Drink water.”
“My wife’ll make me.”
“Good.”
The patient smiled.
“You’ve got a good one, Doc.”
Robby glanced toward you.
“…Yeah.” His answer came softly. “I know.”
Later that evening, the department finally settled down enough that the two of you found yourselves walking toward the parking garage together. The heat had finally given way to a warm summer breeze. You instinctively slipped your hand into his. He didn’t say anything. Just intertwined his fingers with yours. After a minute, you looked over.
“You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Mhm.”
“You okay?”
He nodded once.
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“It usually is.”
Another few steps passed. Then, completely out of nowhere, he stopped walking. You turned toward him.
“What?”
Instead of answering…He reached out. Straightened the collar of your scrub. Brushed an imaginary speck of dust from your shoulder. Then rested his hand gently against the side of your face for just a second. You smiled.
“What was that for?”
He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed.
“Nothing.”
“Robby.”
His eyes met yours.
“I guess…” He cleared his throat. “…I never really thought about why you do it.”
“Do what?”
“The touching.”
You tilted your head.
“It makes me feel close to you.”
“I know.”
“And I like knowing you’re there.”
He looked down at your joined hands.
“I think…” A small smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “…maybe I like knowing you’re there too.”
Your entire face softened.
“Oh?”
He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t make a thing out of it.”
“So you admit it?”
“I admitted nothing.”
“You literally just—”
“I said I tolerate your clinginess.”
“You said you liked it.”
“I absolutely did not.”
You stepped closer, slipping both arms around his waist.
“Liar.”
He sighed with theatrical annoyance.
“Jesus…”
But both of his arms wrapped around you immediately, pulling you snug against his chest.
“You know what’s funny?” you murmured.
“What?”
“You’ve been hugging me this whole conversation.”
He looked down.
“…Huh.”
“You gonna let go?”
He thought about it. Then tightened his embrace instead.
“…No.”
You smiled into the fabric of his scrub top.
“I knew it.”
He kissed the top of your head with a grumble that lacked even the slightest hint of annoyance.
“Don’t get used to winning.”
You laughed.
“Too late.”
And with one arm still draped securely around your shoulders, the two of you walked the rest of the way to the parking garage—looking, as Dana would later describe it, “like two people who’d forgotten personal space existed.” Neither of you minded one bit.
******
The shift had been absolute bullshit from the moment you’d walked through the doors. Not catastrophic. Not traumatic. Just… one of those days where every patient seemed angry before you even introduced yourself.
The woman in Room Nine insisted you were withholding pain medication because you “looked too young to be a real doctor.” A man with a sprained ankle screamed at one of the nurses because his discharge paperwork was taking “too fucking long.” Someone threw up in the hallway. Someone else somehow managed to clog the staff bathroom. And just before lunch, one of your pediatric patients had looked at you with huge watery eyes and asked if his mommy was going to die.
She wasn’t. But explaining that to a terrified seven-year-old had taken a bigger piece out of you than you wanted to admit. By six o’clock, your social battery had officially flatlined. You found Robby in the physician workroom. He was exactly where you expected him to be.
Feet propped on the desk. Reading through imaging reports. Coffee sitting forgotten beside the keyboard. Glasses sliding halfway down his nose. He looked up as you walked in. One glance at your face. That was all it took.
“…Bad day?”
You nodded once.
“Mhm.”
“Anything explode?”
“Not literally.”
“That’s usually a positive.”
“Mhm.”
He watched you for another second.
“You okay?”
Instead of answering…You walked straight over to him. He frowned.
“What’re you—”
You simply climbed into his lap. Not gracefully. One knee on either side of his hips, arms immediately wrapping around his neck before you buried your face against the side of his throat. He let out an amused grunt as the chair rolled back an inch.
“…Jesus Christ.”
No answer. Only your forehead pressing more firmly into the warm skin beneath his jaw. He rested one hand automatically against your lower back to steady you.
“…baby.”
“Mhm.”
“You realize we’re at work.”
“Mhm.”
“You are currently sitting on the chief attending of emergency medicine.”
“Mhm.”
“Very professional.”
“Mhm.”
He sighed dramatically.
“I date a raccoon.”
“You date a koala.”
“I’ve upgraded you.”
“I’m tired.”
“I know.”
“I’m sad.”
“I know.”
“I don’t wanna doctor anymore today.”
“I know.”
“You know a lot.”
“I’ve been listening.”
His fingers began slowly rubbing circles across the small of your back. The movement was absentminded. Instinctive. Like breathing. Neither of you spoke for nearly a minute. You just stayed there.
His heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. The smell of coffee and laundry detergent lingering on his scrub top. One of his hands resting protectively against your waist while the other continued lazily scratching up and down your spine. It was enough to make your shoulders finally unclench.
“…Better?” he asked quietly.
“A little.”
“You wanna tell me about it?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“I just wanted you.”
His heart squeezed. “…Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“You got me.”
Another long silence. You breathed him in.
“I love you.”
The words were muffled by his neck. He smiled to himself.
“I had a feeling.”
“No…” You lifted your head just enough to look at him. “I mean…”
Your eyes looked exhausted.
“I don’t need advice.”
“I know.”
“I don’t need someone to fix it.”
“I know.”
“I just needed my favorite person.”
Something softened so completely in his expression it almost didn’t look like Robby anymore. He reached up and brushed his thumb beneath one of your eyes.
“I’m right here.”
“I know.”
The workroom door swung open. Dana walked in carrying three patient charts. She froze.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Neither of you moved. She stared.
“You two have become insufferable.”
You smiled over your shoulder.
“Hi, Dana.”
“What exactly is happening?”
You answered honestly.
“I’m emotionally regulating.”
Dana blinked.
“…By sitting on your fiancé?”
“Mhm.”
She looked at Robby.
“And you’re allowing this?”
He looked genuinely confused.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know. Tell her no.”
He looked down at you. You had already curled even closer against him. He looked back at Dana.
“…I physically can’t.”
Dana laughed so hard she nearly dropped the charts.
“Oh my God. You are so whipped.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve become a human recliner.”
“I’ve accepted it.”
She shook her head.
“I’m telling Langdon.”
“Go ahead.”
“He’ll make fun of you.”
“He already does.”
Almost as if summoned…Frank walked through the doorway. He stopped. Looked at the two of you. Closed his eyes.
“No.”
Dana immediately pointed.
“I didn’t do this.”
Frank opened one eye.
“Robinavitch.”
“Mhm.”
“Why is your fiancée in your lap?”
Robby answered without hesitation.
“She had a hard day.”
Frank waited.
“…And?”
“And she wanted a hug.”
“So you sat her down?”
“She sat herself down.”
Frank looked at you.
“Is this accurate?”
You nodded.
“I climbed.”
Frank sighed toward the ceiling.
“I spent twelve years helping people.”
Neither of you responded.
“I’ve worked mass casualty incidents.”
Still nothing.
“I once intubated someone in the back of a moving ambulance.”
Robby nodded.
“I remember.”
“And somehow…” Frank gestured toward the two of you. “…this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve seen.”
You couldn’t help laughing.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“…No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He looked back at Robby. “You know…”
“What?”
“You could put her down.”
Robby frowned.
“…She’s not a backpack.”
“You know what I mean.”
He looked down at you again. You had somehow managed to tuck your face back into his neck without anyone noticing. One of your hands lazily played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Your breathing had slowed. Your entire body had gone wonderfully, comfortably limp. He smiled. Just a tiny one. Barely there. Then he looked back at Frank.
“I could.”
Frank waited. Robby shrugged.
“…Don’t really want to.”
The room went completely silent. Dana’s jaw dropped. Frank stared. You looked up slowly.
“…Wait.”
Your eyebrows shot toward your hairline.
“What?”
Robby’s eyes widened slightly.
“…Shit.”
Dana pointed dramatically.
“He admitted it!”
Frank immediately chimed in.
“I heard it too.”
“I…” Robby rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not…”
Dana was already halfway out the door.
“I’m getting the residents.”
“No!”
Frank followed her.
“This deserves witnesses.”
“For the love of God…”
Within thirty seconds, half a dozen residents were suddenly finding reasons to walk through the physician workroom. Dana stood in the doorway grinning like she’d won the lottery.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” She announced far louder than necessary. “…Dr. Robinavitch has officially admitted he likes affection.”
A chorus of dramatic gasps filled the room. One resident whispered, “Holy shit.” Another muttered, “I thought he reproduced through mitosis.” Robby pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I hate every single one of you.”
“You don’t mean that,” Dana said sweetly.
“I absolutely do.”
You finally slid off his lap, only to immediately stand beside him and lace your fingers through his. He looked down. Then, without thinking, Squeezed your hand. Dana noticed. Of course she noticed. She pointed again.
“There!”
“What?”
“The hand!”
“What hand?”
“You’re holding her hand!”
Robby looked down. Sure enough…He was. Completely unconsciously. He closed his eyes.
“…Goddammit.”
The room erupted into laughter. You looked up at him with the biggest, sappiest smile he’d ever seen.
“So…”
“What.”
“I think…”
He already knew.
“…don’t.”
“…you might be just as clingy as me.”
He looked at the ceiling as though asking for divine intervention.
“I am never beating these allegations.”
You leaned up on your toes and kissed his cheek.
“Nope.”
He let out one long, dramatically suffering sigh. Then, with every resident watching…He slipped his arm around your waist anyway. Because apparently the allegations were true.
******
By the time the two of you got home that evening, the laughter from the emergency department had followed you all the way to the parking garage. Dana had texted.
Congratulations on coming out as affectionate.
Robby had immediately responded.
Go to hell.
Two seconds later…
❤️
He’d locked his phone.
“I hate her.”
You laughed from the passenger seat.
“No, you don’t.”
“I absolutely do.”
“You invited her to our barbecue last weekend.”
“That was a lapse in judgment.”
“You made her a burger.”
“I was being polite.”
“You gave her the last brownie.”
He shot you a look.
“I was manipulated.”
“You were.”
“I know.”
You reached over the center console and rested your hand on his forearm. He didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t comment. He simply turned his arm over so your fingers naturally slipped into his palm. Like always.
The house greeted you with the familiar sounds of home. The hum of the refrigerator. The air conditioner kicking on. Your golden retriever trotting enthusiastically toward the front door, tail wagging so hard her entire back end swayed with it.
“There she is,” you cooed, dropping to your knees.
The dog immediately shoved her head beneath your chin, demanding attention. Robby hung both of your jackets by the door before scratching behind the dog’s ears.
“You’ve created a monster.”
You looked up.
“Which one?”
He looked between you and the dog.
“Exactly.”
You laughed.
“She’s just affectionate.”
“So are you.”
“I’ve never knocked you over trying to say hello.”
“You’ve come close.”
“I absolutely have not.”
He raised one eyebrow.
“You literally launched yourself into my lap today.”
“…That was different.”
“How?”
“I was emotionally delicate.”
“You looked more like a flying squirrel.”
You gasped dramatically.
“First I’m a koala.”
“Mhm.”
“Then a raccoon.”
“Mhm.”
“Now a flying squirrel?”
“I’m workshopping.”
“You suck.”
“I’ve been told.”
Dinner ended up being takeout because neither of you felt like cooking. Chinese food. Sweatpants. Hair pulled back. The television playing some documentary neither of you were actually watching. Robby stretched out across one end of the couch with a tired groan.
“My feet hurt.”
“You’ve been standing for fourteen hours.”
“My back hurts.”
“You’re getting old.”
He looked over.
“I’m forty-nine.”
“Ancient.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“You’ll forget by tomorrow, Grandpa.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You are the worst.”
You smiled sweetly.
“I know.”
He picked up the remote. The movie had barely started before you quietly slid across the couch. One cushion. Then another. Until your thigh rested against his. He didn’t look away from the television.
“…Hello.”
“Hi.”
“You’ve migrated.”
“It’s a big couch.”
“It was.”
“It still is.”
“You’ve somehow occupied my half.”
“I don’t think that’s physically possible.”
“It is when you’re determined.”
You smiled to yourself. You waited another thirty seconds. Then you gently tucked your feet beneath one of his legs. His eyes flickered toward you.
“…baby.”
“What?”
“Are you trying to merge into me?”
“No.”
Another minute passed. Then your head slowly found his shoulder.
“Mhm.”
“What?”
“The final form.”
You laughed quietly.
“I like your shoulder.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“It’s comfortable.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“It smells like you.”
“I’ve definitely noticed.”
He sounded completely deadpan. You tilted your head enough to look up at him.
“Are you actually annoyed?”
He looked down at you. Your cheek was squished against his shoulder. Your eyes looked sleepy. Your hair was a mess from taking it out of its ponytail. You looked…Happy. Safe. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you look so completely at ease.
“No.”
His answer was quiet.
“I’m not.”
You smiled.
“Good.”
“You know…”
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“I know.”
“You really are attached to me a lot.”
“Mhm.”
“You follow me around the house.”
“Mhm.”
“You sit beside me when I read.”
“Mhm.”
“You steal ninety percent of my hoodies.”
“They smell like you.”
“You’ve said that.”
“I mean it.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I know.”
Silence settled between you again. The documentary continued playing to absolutely no audience. The dog sighed dramatically from her bed across the room. Outside, the wind rattled softly against the windows. Eventually, Robby spoke again.
“I have a question.”
You hummed.
“When did this start?”
You blinked.
“What?”
“The…” He motioned vaguely toward the two of you. “…constant need to be touching me.”
You were quiet for a long moment. Long enough that he thought maybe you weren’t going to answer. Then you reached down and absentmindedly traced circles across the back of his hand.
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
You sighed softly.
“I think…” You searched for the right words. “…I think it’s because you’re the only place my brain ever gets quiet.”
He turned toward you completely. You continued staring at your fingers where they rested against his hand.
“Work is loud.”
“Mhm.”
“My thoughts are loud.”
“Mhm.”
“The world is loud.” Another small shrug. “But when I’m touching you…”
You smiled sheepishly.
“…everything gets still.”
Robby felt something twist painfully inside his chest. He’d expected something teasing. Something silly. Not that.
“You make me feel…” You looked up at him. “…home.”
The room fell wonderfully silent. He reached up and gently brushed a piece of hair away from your face.
“You should’ve told me that.”
You smiled.
“I didn’t think I had to.”
“No.” He admitted quietly. “I guess you didn’t.”
Without another word, he set the remote down on the coffee table. Then he shifted. Until he was sitting farther down the couch. You frowned.
“What’re you doing?”
He patted his thigh.
“Come here.”
A grin spread across your face.
“I thought I was already here.”
“I have a better idea.”
You didn’t need to be asked twice. You climbed sideways into his lap, tucking your legs over the arm of the couch as your arms naturally settled around his neck. He wrapped one arm around your waist. The other rested across your back. Holding you securely. Comfortably. Like he’d done it a thousand times. You sighed happily.
“There she is,” he murmured.
“What?”
“My koala.”
You smiled into the side of his neck.
“I thought I was a flying squirrel.”
“I’ve narrowed it down.”
“I appreciate the scientific process.”
“It was rigorous.”
You laughed.
“I bet.”
Another comfortable silence settled over the room. The television continued playing forgotten in the background. Your breathing gradually slowed. Then slowed some more. Until Robby realized you were asleep. Just like that. Curled against him. One hand still loosely gripping the front of his T-shirt. He looked down at you and couldn’t help smiling.
“You know…” he whispered, mostly to himself. “…I think they all have it backwards.”
The dog lazily lifted her head.
“They think you’re the clingy one.” He gently kissed the top of your head. “I just never have the heart to tell them…”
His arm tightened ever so slightly around your sleeping body.
“…that I don’t actually want you to let go.”
He stayed exactly where he was for the next hour, long after the movie had ended and the credits had rolled. His leg fell asleep. His back started aching again. His phone buzzed twice on the coffee table. He ignored all of it.
Because the woman he loved was sleeping peacefully against his chest. And as far as Robby was concerned there were far worse ways to spend an evening than being someone’s favorite place to call home.
******
If anyone had asked Dr. Michael Robinavitch how he was doing that morning…He would’ve answered exactly the way he always did.
“Fine.”
It was automatic.
Resident: “Morning, Dr. Robinavitch.”
“Mhm.”
Nurse: “Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
Frank: “You look like shit.”
“I always look like this.”
Business as usual. Except…You knew him. Really knew him. And the moment he walked into the emergency department, you knew something was off. He wasn’t grumpy. He wasn’t sarcastic. He wasn’t muttering under his breath about administration or broken printers or emergency medicine as a profession.
He was… Quiet. Not physically. Emotionally. The kind of quiet that only happened when something was hurting. You watched him through morning rounds. He answered every question correctly. He taught the residents. He examined patients. He signed charts. He smiled exactly once when an elderly woman flirted shamelessly with him.
To everyone else, Dr. Robinavitch was having a perfectly normal day. To you, He hadn’t looked your way once.Not because he was avoiding you. Because his mind wasn’t here. Around noon, you finally cornered Frank outside Radiology.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Frank didn’t even pretend not to know who you meant. He sighed.
“…Today’s the anniversary.”
Your stomach dropped.
“Oh.”
His mother. She’d been gone for years. Robby rarely talked about it. When he did, it was always brief. Matter-of-fact. As if keeping the words short somehow kept the grief manageable. Frank leaned against the wall.
“He’ll get through the shift.”
“I know.”
“He always does.”
You nodded slowly.
“I know.”
Frank looked toward the trauma bay where Robby stood reviewing imaging with two residents.
“He’ll never ask for company.”
“I know.”
“…But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it.”
For the rest of the afternoon, you didn’t smother him. You didn’t hover. You simply…Stayed close. If he walked to Radiology you somehow found yourself needing Radiology too. If he stopped for coffee you happened to be headed toward the coffee machine. If he sat down to chart you quietly took the chair beside him instead of across the room.
Neither of you said much. You simply existed beside him. Every now and then your knee brushed his beneath the desk. Your shoulder bumped his in the hallway. Your fingers found his for a few seconds before another patient pulled you away.
Tiny reminders. I’m here. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.
Around six that evening, the emergency department finally slowed enough that the two of you walked toward the parking garage together. The sky was streaked orange and pink. The summer heat had finally begun to fade. You unlocked your car. He unlocked his truck. You looked at each other.
“You wanna come to my place?” you asked gently.
He hesitated. Normally he’d tease you. Normally he’d say something sarcastic. Instead…
“…Yeah.”
Just one word. Quiet. Tired. You nodded.
“Okay.”
Dinner was grilled cheese and tomato soup. Mostly because neither of you had the energy to cook anything more elaborate. You ate at the kitchen island in comfortable silence. When the dishes were done, you wandered into the living room.
Usually this was where you’d migrate toward him. Find his shoulder. Steal his lap. Wrap yourself around him like an affectionate octopus. Tonight you stayed on your end of the couch. Not because you didn’t want to touch him. Because you were waiting. Giving him room.
He sat down with a quiet groan, elbows resting on his knees as he stared at the dark television screen. The room stayed silent. One minute. Two. Three. You let it.
Then without looking at you He quietly spoke.
“…Come here.”
Your heart squeezed. Not because of the words. Because of how softly he’d said them. You smiled.
“You sure?”
He nodded once.
“Mhm.”
You stood and crossed the room. Instead of automatically climbing into his lap like you usually would, you stopped in front of him.
“What do you need?”
For a long moment He didn’t answer. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
“I don’t know.”
Your heart broke.
“I just…” He rubbed both hands over his face. “…Don’t want to be by myself tonight.”
You didn’t say a word. You simply stepped between his knees. Slid your arms around his shoulders. And hugged him. Really hugged him. Not playfully. Not teasingly. Held him.
For several seconds, he didn’t move. Then very slowly…his forehead came to rest against your stomach. His arms circled your waist. He let out a long, shaky breath. You began running your fingers through his hair. Slowly. Patiently. The way he’d done for you so many times before.
Neither of you spoke. The room didn’t need words. After another minute, you felt him melt. His shoulders finally dropped. The tension he’d been carrying all day slowly draining away beneath your hands. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head.
“I’ve got you.”
His fingers tightened against your back.
“I know.”
Another few minutes passed. Then he quietly admitted, “I went to call her today.”
Your hand stilled in his hair.
“When I got in the truck for lunch.”
His voice sounded almost embarrassed.
“I picked up my phone.”
A sad smile crossed your face.
“…Habit.”
“Mhm.”
“I realized halfway through dialing.”
Silence.
“I still do it sometimes.”
You felt tears sting your own eyes.
“Oh, Robby.”
“I know she’s gone.”
“I know.”
“But every once in a while…” He swallowed hard. “…I forget.”
You carefully tipped his chin upward until he looked at you. There were tears sitting quietly in his eyes. He wasn’t crying. Not quite. But he wasn’t hiding anymore either. You cupped his face with both hands.
“I wish I’d met her.”
A tiny smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.
“She would’ve loved you.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
He laughed quietly through his nose.
“She would’ve taken your side in every argument.”
“Naturally.”
“She would’ve called me an idiot.”
“You are one sometimes.”
“Mhm.”
His smile lingered for just a second before fading again.
“I miss her.”
You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.
“I know.”
“I hate today.”
“I know.”
“I hate that every year it sneaks up on me.”
“I know.”
He closed his eyes.
“I just…” His voice cracked almost imperceptibly.“…wanted someone.”
Your heart completely caved in. Without another word, you climbed into his lap. This time not because you needed him. Because he needed you.
His arms wrapped around you immediately. Tightly. Almost desperately. You tucked his head beneath your chin and resumed playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Your fingers traced slow circles across his back. Every now and then, you pressed a gentle kiss into his temple.
“You know what’s funny?” you whispered after a while.
“What?”
“I always thought I was the clingy one.”
He let out a tired huff that almost resembled a laugh.
“You are.”
“Oh?”
“Mhm.”
“Then what’s this?”
He was quiet for a long moment.
“…This is different.”
“How?”
He looked up at you. There was no embarrassment anymore. No attempt to hide behind sarcasm. Just honesty.
“…You’re home.”
The words stole your breath. He rested his forehead against yours again.
“And today…” His thumb stroked absentmindedly across your side. “…I really needed to come home.”
Your eyes filled instantly.
“You know…” You smiled through the tears. “I distinctly remember someone calling me a koala.”
“I stand by that.”
“And a barnacle.”
“Mhm.”
“And a flying squirrel.”
“Also true.”
You laughed softly.
“So what does that make you?”
He thought about it. Then, with the smallest smile, “…A hypocrite.”
You burst into laughter. Real laughter. The kind that made him smile too. You kissed him once. Twice. Then rested your forehead against his.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
“What’s that?”
“You never have to ask me twice.”
His expression softened.
“For what?”
You brushed your nose gently against his.
“For this.”
You tightened your arms around him just a little more.
“For me.”
He closed his eyes and held you as though he’d been trying not to all day.
“Deal.”
And if anyone at PTMC had walked into the house that evening, they would’ve laughed themselves sick. Because the notoriously stoic, chronically grumpy, emotionally constipated Chief of Emergency Medicine was sitting on his own couch…Clinging to his fiancée with both arms. And he wasn’t letting go anytime soon.
Honestly? I find it so awkward lol I can never think of what to name them so sometimes it’s a line in the story, or a saying, or a description of the piece 🫶
Request - So l've been having this of a Robby x fellow attending / senior res. where she has to put a parent/ grandparent in a nursing home (they're like 90) and she's really struggling after years of taking 24/7 care. They have an established relationship and maybe Robby is sad because he looks at her mom as the closest thing to a mom. But she's getting hurt taking care of her parent, she's struggling at work and she's not herself.
The first time Robby realized something was truly wrong wasn’t because you forgot a chart or missed a diagnosis. It was because you called him by another attending’s name.
You had been standing beside him in Trauma Two, pulling bloody gloves from your hands after an eighteen-year-old rollover. The room still smelled like iron and antiseptic. The kid had survived against every statistic stacked against him, and everyone was riding that exhausted adrenaline high that came after chaos. You looked directly at Robby.
“Can you sign off on the sedation orders, Jack—”
You stopped yourself. Your eyes blinked once. Twice.
“…Jesus. Sorry. Robby.”
He hadn’t thought much of it. Until it happened again. And again. It wasn’t like you. You remembered birthdays, obscure journal articles, nurses’ kids’ names, which residents preferred encouragement over criticism. Your mind was terrifyingly sharp. Lately, though…It seemed like pieces of you kept slipping through the cracks.
“You gonna eat today?” Dana asked one afternoon as she passed the physician workroom.
You looked up from your laptop. “Already did.”
Dana glanced toward the untouched sandwich sitting beside your keyboard.
“You mean that sandwich that’s been there since seven this morning?”
You stared at it.
“…Shit.”
Robby looked over the top of his computer screen. You honestly hadn’t remembered it was there.
******
By the third week, everyone noticed you looked tired. Only Robby knew you looked haunted. He woke up most mornings before dawn because he heard movement downstairs. Not you making coffee. Your grandmother.
Sometimes she’d be opening every cabinet in the kitchen because she was convinced she needed to get dinner started for her husband. Your grandfather had been dead for twelve years. Other mornings she’d already be dressed. Coat. Purse. Shoes. Standing at the front door.
“I have to catch the school bus,” she’d insist.
She was ninety years old. There were mornings she’d look at you with complete confusion.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart… do I know you?”
Those mornings were the hardest. Not because she didn’t recognize you. Because you smiled anyway.
You’d give her your name. “I’m your granddaughter.”
“Oh…” She’d smile back politely. “Well… that’s a pretty name.”
Then she’d introduce herself like you were strangers. Robby had watched it happen enough times that it stopped shocking him. It never stopped breaking his heart.
When you’d first moved your grandmother into the house two years ago, you’d both agreed it was temporary.
“Just until she gets back on her feet.”
Then came the diagnosis. Early dementia. Then moderate dementia. Then rapidly progressing dementia. Somehow “temporary” turned into medication schedules taped to the refrigerator. Doctor appointments. Adult diapers hidden discreetly beneath bathroom cabinets. Installing alarms on every exterior door after she wandered into the backyard at three in the morning convinced she was late for church. Hiring daytime caregivers you could barely afford. Coming home every lunch break to make sure she’d eaten. Sleeping with your bedroom door open so you’d hear her if she got up.
You had become a physician at work. A full-time caregiver at home. A granddaughter somewhere in between.
******
One Thursday evening, Robby walked through the front door after a twelve-hour shift and immediately heard your voice.
“No, Grandma.”
Patient. Gentle.
“The bathroom’s this way.”
“I don’t have to use the bathroom.”
“You told me thirty seconds ago you did.”
“I never said that.”
“You did.”
“I think you’re lying to me.”
There was no anger in her voice. Only fear. Confusion. The kind that came from genuinely believing the world had betrayed her. Robby rounded the corner. Your grandmother stood in the hallway gripping the wallpaper with both hands, glaring at you like you were a stranger trying to kidnap her.
“You leave me alone.”
Your smile never faltered.
“Okay.”
“I want my granddaughter.”
“I know.”
“She’ll know what to do.”
“I know.”
“She takes good care of me.”
Your throat visibly tightened.
“I know she does.”
Robby watched your fingers curl so tightly around your own wrist they left white marks in your skin. Then your grandmother looked at him. Her entire expression changed.
“There he is!” She smiled so brightly it was almost painful. “My handsome doctor.”
Robby couldn’t help smiling back.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
She reached for his hand immediately.
“Tell this woman she’s bossy.”
He glanced toward you. Your eyes were already glossy.
“She is a little bossy,” he agreed.
Your grandmother laughed. A genuine laugh.
“I knew it!”
She patted his cheek.
“I always liked you. You’re good to my granddaughter.”
“I try.”
“You’ll marry her someday.”
Your laugh came out strained.
“We’re already engaged, Grandma.”
She frowned.
“No…”
Then she looked at Robby again.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded gently.
“I’m sure.”
“Well.” She squeezed his hand. “Good.”
Then she leaned in and whispered loudly enough that you could absolutely hear.
“Don’t let her work so much.”
Robby swallowed.
“I’ve been trying.”
Your grandmother smiled, apparently satisfied with his answer, before wandering toward the living room in search of a television show she’d forgotten she’d already watched twice that afternoon. Silence settled over the hallway.
You stood perfectly still until you heard the television come on. Only then did your shoulders finally slump.
“You okay?” Robby asked quietly.
You nodded.
“Babe.”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t have to lie to me.”
“I said I’m—” Your voice cracked.
You closed your eyes.
“…I’m fucking tired.”
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It was almost worse because of how defeated it sounded. Robby crossed the hallway and wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin against the top of your head.
For a long moment, you simply stood there. Neither of you speaking. Then he felt it. Not sobbing. Not shaking. Just one silent tear sliding down your cheek onto the sleeve of his scrub top.
“I miss her,” you whispered.
His arms tightened.
“I know.”
“She’s still here…” Your voice barely existed anymore. “She’s standing twenty feet away, and I miss her so goddamn much.”
There wasn’t a single thing he could say that would fix it. So he didn’t try. He simply held you in the quiet hallway while your grandmother laughed at an old sitcom in the next room, blissfully unaware that the two people who loved her most were already grieving someone who hadn’t left them yet.
******
By the time the next month rolled around, exhaustion had become part of your personality. Not the kind people joked about over coffee. The kind that settled into your bones and stayed there. You were sleeping in fragments—forty-five minutes here, an hour there—because your grandmother no longer understood the difference between day and night. Some evenings she’d fall asleep in her recliner before dinner. Other nights she’d spend three hours convinced someone was trying to break into the house because she could hear voices outside.
There were no voices. Just sprinklers. Wind. The television she’d forgotten she’d turned on. Every morning you still put on your coat, tied your hair back, and walked into the emergency department with that same calm confidence that made residents instinctively trust you.
It was becoming harder to fake. Robby noticed first. He always did.
“You’ve checked that potassium three times.”
You looked up from the computer.
“What?”
“The potassium.” He pointed at the monitor. “You’ve opened the lab results three separate times.”
You blinked.
“…Huh.”
You’d honestly had no memory of doing it. You rubbed at your forehead.
“I thought it looked different.”
“It didn’t.”
A tired smile ghosted across your face.
“Well… that’s embarrassing.”
He didn’t smile back.
“You need some sleep.”
“I need a clone.”
“You need help.”
“I have help.”
“You have caregivers eight hours a day.”
“And I take over the other sixteen.”
He didn’t have an argument for that. Because you were right.
******
He found you in the staff locker room later that afternoon. Not crying. Just sitting on the bench with your head leaned back against the lockers, eyes closed. You hadn’t even realized he’d walked in.
“Hey.”
Your eyes opened slowly.
“Oh.”
Your smile appeared automatically. He frowned.
“How long have you been sitting here?”
“I don’t know.”
“You on break?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?”
You looked around as though searching for the answer yourself.
“…Yeah.”
He crouched in front of you.
“You forgot, didn’t you?”
A small laugh escaped you.
“Apparently.”
You looked so embarrassed that it physically hurt him.
“I came in here to grab something.”
“What?”
“I…”
You stared at the floor.
“I genuinely don’t remember.”
He reached over and rested a hand on your knee.
“You don’t have to be superhuman.”
“I know.”
“You keep acting like you do.”
“I don’t know how not to.”
******
The call came just after nine that night. Robby had barely gotten his shoes off when he heard your voice from upstairs.
“Grandma?”
No answer. Another door opened.
“Grandma?”
Your voice changed.
“Grandma!”
He was halfway up the stairs before you yelled again.
“Robby!”
He found you standing in your grandmother’s empty bedroom. The bed had clearly been slept in. The window was shut. The room…Empty. Your face had gone completely white.
“She’s gone.”
“When did you see her last?”
“I put her to bed.”
“What time?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Front door?”
“Alarm didn’t go off.”
“Back?”
“I don’t know!”
Your breathing was getting faster.
“I don’t know!”
He grabbed your shoulders.
“Hey.”
You couldn’t hear him.
“Oh my God.”
“Baby.”
“If she wandered—”
“Stop.”
“What if she crossed the—”
His voice finally cut through.
“Look at me.”
Your eyes snapped to his.
“We’re going to find her.”
You shook your head frantically.
“This is my fault.”
“No it’s not.”
“I should’ve checked on—”
“Stop.”
“I should’ve—”
“No.” His hands squeezed your arms. “We are wasting time arguing.”
That finally reached you. You both moved. Fast. The next twenty minutes blurred together. Checking every room. The garage. Closets. Neighbors’ yards. Calling her name into the dark.
The neighborhood was eerily quiet. Every second felt like an hour. Your hands were shaking so violently you dropped your phone trying to dial 911.
“I can’t…” You bent over, hands on your knees. “I can’t breathe.”
Robby picked up your phone.
“I’ve got it.”
Before he could hit call a tiny voice floated from somewhere inside the house.
“…Hello?”
Both of you froze. It came again.
“…Is somebody home?”
The attic. Robby looked upward.
“The attic?”
You stared at the ceiling like you’d forgotten the space even existed.
“There…”
The attic pull-down ladder had been left partially open. He climbed first. Flashlight from his phone sweeping through dusty boxes. Your grandmother looked up from an old wooden rocking chair tucked into the corner. She smiled.
“Oh.”
“There you are.”
She sounded delighted.
“I was waiting for my daddy.”
Robby’s heart sank. She wasn’t ninety anymore. Not in her mind. She was six. Maybe seven.
“I didn’t want to miss him.”
He crouched beside her.
“Your daddy knows where you are.”
“Oh good.”
“He asked if I could sit with you until he gets here.”
“That was nice.”
She reached out and patted his hand.
“You’re a good young man.”
Behind him, he heard you climbing into the attic. The moment your grandmother saw you, she frowned.
“Who are you?”
You stopped moving. Every muscle in your body seemed to lock.
“I’m…” Your voice barely worked. “…I’m Y/N.”
“Oh.” Your grandmother smiled politely. “You have kind eyes.”
Robby watched something inside you shatter. You nodded.
“Thank you.”
“My granddaughter has kind eyes too.”
You swallowed hard enough that he could hear it.
“I know.”
“I miss her.”
Three words. That was all it took. Robby glanced back just in time to see you press your fist against your mouth to stop the sound trying to escape. You couldn’t do it. You turned away before either of them could see the tears spilling over. Robby carefully helped your grandmother to her feet.
“Come on.”
“My daddy?”
“We’ll keep looking for him.”
She accepted that answer with the innocent trust of a child. As he guided her toward the attic ladder, he looked over his shoulder. You were still standing exactly where he’d left you. Completely motionless. Staring at an old family photo tucked into one of the dusty boxes. One where your grandmother was young. Strong. Holding a little girl with pigtails in her lap.
You reached out and brushed the frame with trembling fingertips. Then, in a voice so quiet Robby almost didn’t hear it, you whispered into the darkness,
“I miss you too, Grandma.”
******
The emergency department had been unforgiving since six that morning. By noon, every room was full. By one, patients lined the hallways. By two, the trauma pager had gone off three separate times. By three, nobody remembered what sitting down felt like.
The air buzzed with overhead pages, ringing phones, monitors screaming for attention, and exhausted voices trying to keep pace with the chaos. You were usually the calm in the middle of every storm. Today, you felt like you were drowning beneath it. You’d been awake for thirty-four hours.
Not because of work. Because your grandmother had spent the entire night wandering from room to room. She’d accused you of stealing her wedding ring. She’d forgotten she’d already eaten dinner. She’d cried because she wanted to go home while standing in the house she’d lived in for the last two years.
Around four that morning she’d finally fallen asleep. You hadn’t. You simply stared at the ceiling until your alarm went off. Now, standing over a septic patient, your head pounded hard enough to make your vision blur.
“Pressure’s dropping,” Perlah called.
“I heard you.”
Your tone came out sharper than you’d intended. Perlah nodded once before quietly stepping away. You caught the hurt look on her face. Another thing to apologize for later. Another name added to the growing list.
By the time the patient was stabilized, you could barely feel your feet. You ducked into the physician workroom hoping for five uninterrupted minutes. Instead, you found Robby. He looked up from his computer the second you walked in.
“You okay?”
“I’m working.”
“I can see that.”
You ignored him, logging into your computer and pulling up your next chart. He watched you for a long moment.
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ve said that every shift this week.”
“I’m busy.”
“So is everyone else.”
“I know.”
He stood.
“Come with me.”
You didn’t even look up.
“No.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“You need fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t have fifteen minutes.”
“You’ll make fifteen minutes.”
You laughed once. It wasn’t amused.
“You gonna write me a prescription for extra hours in the day?”
“I’m trying to help.”
“I didn’t ask for help.”
His jaw tightened.
“No. You never do.”
You slammed your pen onto the desk.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re trying to carry an impossible amount by yourself.”
“I’m handling it.”
“No, you aren’t.” His voice stayed calm. “You’re surviving it.”
Something inside you snapped.
“You have no fucking idea what I’m surviving.”
The room went quiet. Dana, halfway through signing discharge paperwork, slowly looked up. Langdon stopped typing. Santos sitting across the room suddenly found her coffee incredibly interesting. Robby didn’t move.
“I know it’s hard.”
“I don’t think you do.” You stood so quickly your chair rolled backward into the wall. “You don’t.”
He opened his mouth.
“You don’t wake up three fucking times a night because someone you love doesn’t know where she is.”
Your voice was louder now. Too loud.
“I know.”
“You don’t clean your grandmother after she pisses herself because she’s so embarrassed she’s crying harder than you are.”
Silence. No one moved.
“You don’t have someone look you in the eyes and ask where her granddaughter is while she’s talking to her granddaughter.” Your breathing had become ragged. “You don’t spend every goddamn day wondering if today’s the day she forgets me forever.”
Your eyes burned.
“And then I come in here and everybody wants a fucking piece of me.”
The words just kept coming.
“You.”
You pointed directly at him.
“The nurses.”
“The residents.”
“The patients.”
“Everybody needs something.”
“Everybody.”
“I am so fucking tired of everyone needing me.”
Robby stood perfectly still. “I’m not asking you to—”
“Yes you are!” Your voice cracked. “You need me to sleep. You need me to eat. You need me to lean on you. You need me to talk. I don’t have anything left!”
The last sentence echoed through the workroom. For the first time since you’d met him…You saw genuine pain cross Robby’s face. Not anger. Pain. His shoulders dropped just slightly. Like something had physically struck him. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost impossibly quiet.
“I wasn’t asking you for anything.”
That stopped you.
“I was trying to carry something for you.”
You stared at him. He held your gaze for another second before looking down at the floor. Then he nodded once.
“That’s my mistake.” He picked up the chart he’d come in to grab. “I’ll stay out of your way.”
He walked toward the door. No sarcasm. No slammed door. No argument. Just…Resignation.
He disappeared into the hallway. The workroom remained completely silent. You could hear the trauma pager going off somewhere in the department. Nobody moved. Nobody knew what to say. Dana slowly set her clipboard on the desk.
“Honey…”
Your knees suddenly felt weak.
“Oh…” You whispered it to yourself. “Oh, God.”
You hadn’t just yelled at him. You’d watched the man who loved you reach for you…and slapped his hand away.
Not literally. Somehow what you’d done felt worse. You pressed both palms against your face.
“What the fuck did I just do?”
No one answered. Because there wasn’t an answer. Langdon quietly stood from his chair.
“I’ve got your next patient.”
You looked up. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.” His voice was gentle. “But you’re not walking into another room like this.”
One by one, people quietly drifted out of the workroom. Not because they were uncomfortable. Because they were giving you privacy. Soon it was just you and Dana. She crossed the room slowly until she stood beside you.
“You know…” Her voice was soft. “I’ve worked with Robby for a long time.”
You couldn’t look at her.
“I know you have.”
“I’ve seen him angry.” She nodded. “I’ve seen him frustrated.”
You felt tears pile in your eyes.
“I’ve seen him sarcastic enough to make residents cry.”
She rested a hand on your shoulder.
“I’ve never seen him look like that.”
Your stomach twisted so violently you thought you might be sick. A tear slipped onto the front of your scrub top. Then another.
“I didn’t mean…”
Your voice dissolved.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean any of it.”
“I know you didn’t.”
You finally looked at Dana. Your face had completely fallen apart.
“I hurt him.”
She nodded honestly.
“Yeah.”
More tears spilled over.
“I hurt the one person who’s been trying to help me.”
Dana gently squeezed your shoulder.
“Then when this shift is over…” She offered a small, sad smile. “…go home.”
“Tell him that.”
The pager sounded again. Life in the emergency department continued as though nothing had happened. Patients still needed doctors. Ambulances still arrived. Monitors still beeped. But for the rest of the shift, every time you caught sight of Robby across the department, he never once looked your way. Not out of spite. Not because he was punishing you. He was simply giving you exactly what you’d asked for.
Space.
And somehow…That hurt even more than if he’d yelled back.
******
The drive home was almost unbearable. Not because of traffic. Because every minute that passed gave you another sixty seconds to replay what you’d done. The way your voice had echoed through the physician workroom. The stunned silence afterward. The look on Dana’s face. The look on Frank’s.
But none of it compared to the expression on Robby’s. He hadn’t looked angry. He’d looked… wounded. You gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles ached.
“Fuck…” You whispered to the empty car. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”
By the time you pulled into the driveway, your stomach was in knots. His truck was already there. Of course it was. He’d gotten off an hour before you. You sat in your car for another five minutes, staring at the porch light.
Part of you wanted to stay there forever. The other part knew that wasn’t fair to either of you. Finally, you climbed out. The house was quiet. Too quiet. You pushed the front door open slowly.
“Grandma?”
Nothing. Then you remembered. The overnight caregiver. She’d started three nights a week after your grandmother had wandered into the attic. A small mercy. One less thing to fear while you slept.
You slipped your shoes off and rounded the corner toward the kitchen. Robby stood at the stove wearing an old PTMC T-shirt and sweatpants. A pot simmered quietly. The smell of chicken and vegetables filled the room. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Hey.”
No accusation. No cold shoulder. No bitterness. He turned the burner down.
“I made soup.”
You blinked.
“…Soup?”
“You haven’t really eaten anything that wasn’t from a vending machine in about a week.”
You couldn’t speak. He reached into a cabinet and grabbed two bowls.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be hungry, but it’ll keep.”
You just stood there. He looked back again.
“You okay?”
That did it. Your chin started trembling so violently you had to bite the inside of your cheek.
“I’m…” You swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”
He set the bowls down immediately.
“I didn’t—” Your voice cracked. “I didn’t mean…”
“I know.”
“No.” You shook your head hard. “No, you don’t understand.”
You took a shaky step toward him
“I said those things in front of everybody.”
“I know.”
“I humiliated you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” Tears spilled over before you could stop them. “I was fucking awful.”
He closed the distance between you.
“You don’t owe me an apology tonight.”
Your head snapped up.
“What?”
“You owe yourself some grace.”
The laugh that escaped you sounded broken.
“Grace?” You wiped angrily at your face. “I was a complete bitch to you.”
“You were drowning.”
“I still said it.”
“You did.”
“I hurt you.”
“You did.”
Every honest answer landed like another stone on your chest.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
“I know you are.”
His voice never changed. Never hardened. Never even wavered. He simply reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I forgave you before you got home.”
You stared at him.
“…What?”
“You heard me.”
“Why?”
The question came out almost desperate.
“You should be furious with me.”
“I’m not.”
“Why not?”
He sighed quietly.
“Because I know who was talking today.”
You frowned.
“It wasn’t the woman I love.”
That finally broke whatever fragile wall you’d been holding together. Your knees gave out. Not dramatically. They simply…Stopped working. You slid toward the kitchen floor with a strangled sob.
Before you ever hit the tile, Robby caught you. His arms wrapped around you instinctively as he lowered both of you onto the floor. You buried your face against his chest. Then the dam burst. Not quiet tears. Not graceful crying. The ugly kind.
The kind that stole your breath. The kind that made your entire body shake.
“I can’t do this anymore…”
The words were barely understandable between sobs.
“I can’t…”
His hand moved slowly through your hair.
“Okay.”
“I can’t watch her disappear.”
“Okay.”
“I keep thinking…” You sucked in a ragged breath. “What if yesterday was the last day she remembered me?”
Another sob.
“What if she never comes back?”
“I know.”
“I miss her so much.”
“I know.”
“I feel like she’s dying…” You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. “…and every morning I wake up and she’s still here…”
You couldn’t breathe.
“…and then I hate myself because I wish it would just…”
The sentence died in your throat. Your eyes went wide.
“Oh my God.” You jerked away from him in horror. “I didn’t…”
Fresh tears streamed down your face.
“I don’t mean I want her to die.”
“I know you don’t.” Robby gave you a sad smile.
“I don’t.”
“I know.”
“I just…” You covered your mouth. “I don’t want her scared anymore.”
Your shoulders shook violently.
“I don’t want her wondering where her parents are. I don’t want her crying because she can’t remember my name. I don’t want her apologizing because she wet herself.”
You looked at him with complete devastation.
“And I don’t want to keep praying tomorrow will be better because I know…”
Your voice disappeared into another sob.
“I know it’s only going to get worse.”
For a long time, neither of you spoke. The only sound in the kitchen was your crying and the quiet bubbling of the soup still warming on the stove. Eventually, Robby shifted just enough to cup your face.
“Look at me.”
It took several tries before you managed it. Your eyes were swollen. Your cheeks soaked. He brushed away another tear with his thumb.
“You know what I see?”
You shook your head.
“I see the woman who has spent two years loving someone through one of the cruelest diseases imaginable.”
Another tear escaped.
“I see someone who has sacrificed her sleep.”
He kissed your forehead.
“Her peace.”
Another kiss.
“Her body.”
He gently rubbed one of the fading bruises on your forearm from catching your grandmother during a fall the week before.
“Her career.”
Another kiss.
“And even after all of that…” His own voice grew thick. “…she still thinks she hasn’t done enough.”
Your face crumpled all over again.
“I promised her…”
“I know.”
“I promised I’d never put her in a home.”
He rested his forehead against yours.
“No.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You promised she’d never be alone.”
You closed your eyes.
“Those aren’t the same promise.”
The room fell silent. Your breathing slowly began to even out. He wrapped both arms around you again, holding you against his chest as if he could somehow absorb every ounce of pain you were carrying. After several minutes, you whispered something so quietly he almost missed it.
“I’m scared you’ll get tired of this.”
His heart broke. He leaned back just enough that you had to look at him. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his voice.
“I fell in love with the woman who carries everyone else.”
His hand settled over yours.
“So if she needs me to carry her for a while…” He offered the smallest, saddest smile. “…then that’s exactly where I want to be.”
A fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks. Not because he had forgiven you. Not because he’d excused what happened. But because after the worst version of yourself had looked him in the eye and pushed him away…He had come home, made you soup, and loved you exactly the same. You buried your face against his neck again, your voice muffled by his skin.
“I don’t deserve you.”
“Maybe not today.” He pressed a kiss into your hair. “But tomorrow’s another day.”
His arms tightened around you.
And for the first time in weeks, you allowed someone else to hold the weight. Even if it was only for one night.
******
Three weeks later, the silence in the house still caught you off guard. It wasn’t empty. It was… peaceful.
There were no alarms chiming because someone had opened the front door. No hurried footsteps at two in the morning. No frantic searches for misplaced dentures, wedding rings, or a husband who had been gone for over a decade. No crying from the hallway because the wallpaper in the guest room somehow wasn’t the wallpaper from the house your grandmother had lived in during the 1960s.
For the first few nights after moving her into memory care, you’d barely slept. Not because she’d been there. Because you hadn’t. You’d lie awake staring at the ceiling, convinced she’d wake up terrified and alone, calling your name.
Every morning you’d reach for your phone before your eyes were even fully open. No missed calls. No emergencies. No frantic messages.
The guilt remained. But the fear? The fear had finally begun to loosen its grip.
“You ready?”
Robby leaned against the front door, sunglasses perched on top of his head and a paper bag from your favorite bakery hanging from one hand. You smiled softly.
“You remembered the blueberry muffins.”
He shrugged.
“Your grandmother says mine taste like drywall.”
A real laugh escaped you.
“She’s not wrong.”
“I know.” He looked appropriately offended. “I’ve accepted that I’ll never impress her with baked goods.”
“You’ve impressed her with everything else.”
He smiled.
“I’ll take it.”
You grabbed your purse, and together you climbed into his truck. Neither of you talked much during the drive. You never did anymore. Not because things were awkward. Because the quiet had become comfortable again.
It was something you’d almost forgotten how to enjoy. As the assisted living community came into view, your stomach tightened anyway. Robby noticed immediately. He reached across the center console and took your hand.
“You don’t have to be nervous.”
“I know.”
“You can still be nervous.”
You nodded.
“I hate that she’s here.”
He squeezed your fingers gently.
“I know.”
“…But I don’t hate that she’s safe.”
He looked over at you.
“That’s okay too.”
You exhaled slowly.
“I think I’m finally starting to believe that.”
The memory care wing was brighter than you’d expected the first time you’d walked through it. Large windows. Soft music drifting through the hallways. Paintings made by residents hung proudly on the walls. Staff members greeted everyone by name.
There were bird feeders outside every window. Your grandmother had always loved watching birds. When you rounded the corner toward the common room, a nurse smiled immediately.
“Oh good.” She pointed toward the activity room. “She’s been telling everyone her granddaughter’s coming today.”
Your heart skipped.
“She has?”
“Since breakfast.” The nurse grinned. “She also told us to make sure someone handsome came with you.”
Robby smirked.
“That tracks.”
You rolled your eyes.
“She’s shameless.”
“She absolutely is.”
The nurse laughed and walked away. You looked at Robby.
“You ready?”
He nodded.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Together, you stepped into the activity room. Half a dozen residents sat around a large table decorating flowerpots with bright acrylic paint. Your grandmother sat in the middle of them wearing a pale yellow cardigan dotted with tiny blue flowers.
She looked… lighter. Not cured. Not magically herself again. But lighter. She was laughing. Really laughing. One of the residents beside her was arguing that his painted sunflower looked more like a fried egg. Your grandmother cackled.
“It does!”
“It does not!”
“It absolutely does.”
Then she looked up. For one terrifying second, Nothing. Your chest tightened. Then her face transformed.
“There they are!” She pointed at the two of you. “I told you they’d come.”
She pushed herself up from her chair with her walker. A staff member instinctively moved to help.
“I’ve got it,” your grandmother huffed. “I’m old, not helpless.”
The staff member chuckled and stepped back. You met her halfway across the room.
“Hi, Grandma.”
She cupped your cheek.
“My beautiful girl.” Your eyes immediately filled. “Hi.”
She studied your face for a long moment.
“You look rested.”
You laughed through the tears threatening to fall.
“I guess I do.”
“I worried about you.”
Your throat tightened.
“You did?”
She nodded matter-of-factly.
“You looked so tired.”
For just a heartbeat…There she was. The grandmother who had practically raised you. The woman who always knew when something was wrong before you ever said a word.nYou wrapped your arms around her carefully.
“I missed you.”
She hugged you back.
“I know.”
When you stepped aside, she looked at Robby.
“Well?”
He blinked.
“Well what?”
She put a hand on her hip.
“Come give me a hug.”
He laughed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He bent down and hugged her gently. She patted his back twice before leaning close enough that only he and you could hear.
“You still taking care of my girl?”
His eyes flickered toward you.
“Every day.”
“Good.” She nodded with complete satisfaction. “She forgets to take care of herself.”
“I know.”
“You remind her.”
“I do.”
She smiled.
“I knew I picked the right one.”
He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.
“I’ll keep reminding her.”
She reached up and squeezed his cheek.
“I know you will.”
The three of you spent nearly two hours there. Your grandmother introduced you both to every resident as though she’d personally founded the place.
“This is my granddaughter.”
“This is her doctor.”
“No, Grandma,” you laughed. “My fiancé.”
She frowned.
“I know what I said.”
Robby nearly choked trying not to laugh. At lunch she insisted he trade desserts with her because “men need feeding.” She beat him soundly at a game of dominoes. Twice. When it came time to leave, the old guilt crept back into your chest.
You hated saying goodbye. You always would. You knelt beside her chair.
“We’ll be back Sunday.”
She smiled. “I know.”
“I love you.”
She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear exactly the way she had when you were little.
“I know.” She kissed your forehead. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
As you stood, she caught Robby’s hand one last time. He turned back.
“What is it?”
She looked between the two of you with surprising clarity. The kind that seemed to arrive without warning and disappear just as quickly.
“You know…” Her voice softened. “Dementia takes a lot.”
Neither of you spoke.
“It took my memories.”
She smiled sadly.
“It took my independence.”
Another pause.
“But it didn’t take knowing who loves me.”
A tear escaped down your cheek. She looked at you.
“You stopped trying to keep me alive…” She squeezed your hand. “…and started helping me live.”
The words stole the air from your lungs. Then she looked at Robby.
“Thank you…” She smiled warmly. “…for making sure my granddaughter finally remembered she gets to live too.”
Neither of you trusted yourselves to answer. You simply kissed her goodbye and walked out together. The afternoon sun was warm against your faces as you reached the truck.
For several moments, neither of you climbed in. You both looked back toward the windows of the memory care wing. Your grandmother stood inside, waving enthusiastically through the glass. You waved back until she disappeared from view. Only then did you finally lean against Robby.
“I still feel guilty.”
He wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
“I know.”
“I think part of me always will.”
He kissed your temple.
“Probably.”
You looked up at him.
“That doesn’t mean I made the wrong choice…does it?”
He rested his forehead against yours.
“No, baby.” His answer came without hesitation. “It means there was never going to be a choice that didn’t hurt.”
A tear rolled down your cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb.
“You gave her dignity.”
He rubbed your side.
“You gave her safety And you gave yourself permission to be her granddaughter again…” His voice grew quiet. “…instead of trying to be her doctor, her nurse, her caregiver, and her entire world.”
You closed your eyes. For the first time since her diagnosis, you let yourself believe him. Not because the guilt had disappeared. Not because the grief was over. But because as you looked back one last time at the woman who had raised you—laughing with new friends, safe, cared for, and loved—you finally understood something your heart had been fighting for months.
Love hadn’t ended the day you moved her into memory care. It had simply changed what it looked like. And somehow…That made carrying it feel just a little bit lighter.
Request - Hi I'm new to your blog and fics but I love them so much! I'm not sure if you're taking requests but if you are, do you mind writing one where F reader and Robby are in a long term relationship, live and work together. Her parents are divorced and her father wasn't around much. When he does come around he's either asking for money, lying, or promising to stick around and then doesn't. One day she's up for some award after helping out during a dangerous/stressful and chaotic mass casualty event that happened outside of where they work. It gets the attention of local news and her father's attention. He reaches out to ask to go to lunch with her and Robby is worried for her because he knows how awful her dad is. The couple go to lunch with the dad and it's awkward. Robby can see how fake he's being in his 'sincerity. The dad agrees to go to the (planned) celebration for her for the award and she's hopeful. He doesn't end up showing and she tries to mask the disappointment. Afterwards when they're alone she explains that she's hurt and Robby comforts her more.
what a great idea - thanks for the request 🫶
Masterlist
*************************
The emergency department had returned to its normal level of organized chaos. If anyone outside the hospital walked through the double doors, they would think it looked exactly as it always did. Stretchers rolled across polished floors. Monitors chirped. Nurses laughed between patient rooms before disappearing into another assessment. Residents chased attendings with clipboards in hand, trying desperately to keep up. Life had moved on. It always did. The people who had lived through that Saturday afternoon knew better.
Three weeks ago, a charter bus carrying a high school choir had collided with a fuel truck less than half a mile from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The explosion hadn’t reached the hospital, but the screams had. Every available physician, nurse, respiratory therapist, paramedic, and technician had run. There hadn’t been time to think. Only time to move.
Robby had been halfway through reducing a shoulder dislocation when Dana stuck her head through the trauma bay doors.
“We need everybody.”
That was all she’d said. The patient in front of him had looked at the panic on every face around him before quietly saying, “Go.”
So they had. Outside the emergency department, the world had become something out of a nightmare. Smoke curled into a gray afternoon sky. Glass covered the pavement. Teenagers wandered in circles with blood running down their faces, calling for friends who couldn’t answer.
Parents arrived seconds behind ambulances, screaming names into crowds that couldn’t hear them over sirens. The entire hospital spilled into the parking lot. Triage stations appeared almost magically. Blankets. Tourniquets. IV kits. Portable oxygen. People simply started doing what they’d been trained to do.
You had been one of the first outside. Not because someone told you to. Because someone needed help. Robby still remembered looking across the chaos and seeing you kneeling beside a girl who couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Your hands were covered in blood. Not yours. Hers. You were talking to her like none of the destruction existed.
“Stay with me, sweetheart.”
The girl’s eyes rolled. You squeezed harder over the wound.
“I know it hurts.”
She whimpered.
“You can yell at me later.”
Another weak cry.
“You keep yelling.”
“I’m not letting you leave me.”
Then another patient had cried out. Someone else shouted for a doctor. A helicopter thundered overhead. The world kept spinning.
Hours later, when the last critical patient had finally been wheeled inside, Robby had found you sitting on the curb outside the ambulance bay. You hadn’t even realized your scrub top was soaked in someone else’s blood. You just stared at your hands.
“They were so young,” you’d whispered.
He hadn’t answered. There wasn’t an answer. He’d simply sat beside you until the silence stopped hurting quite so much.
Three weeks later…
Life had resumed. Mostly. The memories hadn’t. The emergency department television mounted above the nurses’ station played the noon news while everyone charted between patients.
“…local first responders and medical personnel are being recognized this Friday by the City of Pittsburgh for their extraordinary actions during last month’s bus explosion…”
Dana looked up first.
“Oh God.”
Jack snorted. “What?”
“They’re doing one of those cheesy appreciation ceremonies.”
Langdon glanced toward the television.
“I love cheesy appreciation ceremonies.”
“You would.”
“I absolutely would.”
The anchor continued.
“Several individuals are receiving individual commendations for acts of exceptional bravery…”
Pictures flashed across the screen. Firefighters. Police officers. EMS crews. Then…a photograph of you appeared.
It wasn’t glamorous. Someone had clearly snapped it during the response itself. Your hair had escaped your ponytail. Your face was streaked with soot. Blood covered your forearms
You were crouched beside that teenage girl, one hand pressing into her leg while the other cupped her face. You hadn’t even known someone had taken it.
“…hospital physician Dr.—”
“Oh, hell.”
Every head turned toward you. You stared at the television like it had personally betrayed you.
“No.”
Mel looked between the screen and you.
“Is that you?”
“No.”
Langdon laughed.
“The TV seems to think otherwise.”
“It is literally me.”
“So…” Jack grinned. “…it is you.”
You groaned loud enough for the entire station to hear.
“I hate every single one of you.”
Dana’s smile softened.
“They’re giving you an individual commendation.”
“I don’t want one.”
“You deserve one.”
“I was doing my job.”
“So was everyone else.”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t see Robby up there.”
Jack immediately pointed toward Robby, who had just walked out of Trauma Two carrying a chart.
“Hey, Robby.”
He barely looked up.
“What?”
“Your girlfriend’s famous.”
He frowned.
“What?”
Langdon simply pointed upward. Robby looked at the television. He froze. The reporter continued speaking over footage from the scene.
“…witnesses reported that Dr. Y/L/N remained with multiple pediatric victims until additional crews arrived, helping stabilize several critically injured patients…”
Robby’s eyes stayed on the screen. You, covered in blood. You, comforting that terrified teenager. You refusing to leave her side. His chest swelled with something he couldn’t quite describe.
Pride.
Overwhelming, almost painful pride. He looked at you instead. You looked horrified.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
You buried your face in your hands.
“I’m calling in sick Friday.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I suddenly have the plague.”
“You do not.”
“I think I do.”
“You absolutely don’t.”
The staff laughed. Dana crossed her arms.
“I expect everyone who’s off shift to be there.”
Mel pointed toward herself.
“Can I clap obnoxiously?”
“You almost certainly will.”
“I absolutely will.”
You sighed dramatically.
“I hate all of you.”
“No,” Jack corrected. “You hate attention.”
“Exactly.”
Robby wandered over until he was standing beside you. Without saying anything, he slipped a hand against the small of your back. Just enough pressure for you to feel. Grounding. His thumb rubbed once across your scrub top.
“I’m proud of you.”
You looked up.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.”
“You’ve already told me.”
“I’m telling you again.”
“I wasn’t the only one out there.”
“No.” His voice stayed calm. “But you’re the woman I love.”
Your cheeks warmed despite yourself.
“You make it really difficult to argue with you.”
“I’ve had practice.”
Before you could answer, your phone buzzed against the counter beside your chart. You reached for it absentmindedly. The smile disappeared from your face before you’d even unlocked the screen completely.
Robby noticed immediately. He always noticed. The warmth left your eyes. Your shoulders tightened. Your breathing changed almost imperceptibly. He leaned closer.
“What?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you handed him the phone. One text message. From a contact that hadn’t appeared on your screen in nearly eight months.
Saw you on the news.
Proud of you, kiddo.
Think we could grab lunch sometime this week? My treat.
Robby read it once. Then again. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Not because the message was cruel. Because it wasn’t. It was exactly nice enough to make you hope.
He looked over at you. You hadn’t said a word. You were just staring at the floor with that familiar expression he’d come to recognize over the years—the one that quietly asked the same impossible question every single time your father resurfaced.
Maybe this time.
Robby reached over and laced his fingers through yours beneath the counter, hidden from everyone else in the department. His grip was warm. Steady. He didn’t say what he was thinking. He didn’t tell you your father had disappeared after birthdays, after graduations, after holidays, after promises to call, after promises to visit, after promises to simply be your dad.
He didn’t remind you about the money he’d borrowed. Or the birthdays he’d forgotten. Or the countless times he’d said, Next weekend, I promise, only to vanish for another year.
Instead, he simply squeezed your hand. When you finally looked at him, he offered the smallest smile. The kind that said he was already standing beside you…No matter what happened next.
*******
Robby waited until you were home before bringing it up. He knew better than to ask questions in the middle of the emergency department, where interruptions came every thirty seconds and emotions had to be shoved into neat little boxes until the shift was over. You’d made it through the rest of the afternoon exactly the way you always did—with professionalism that bordered on stubbornness.
You’d smiled. You’d laughed when Langdon saluted you every time he walked by. You’d rolled your eyes when Mel asked if she should start calling you “Doctor Celebrity.” You’d taken care of patients.
No one would have guessed that one text message had unraveled something inside you. Now, nearly ten hours later, the apartment was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the dishwasher and the soft rain tapping against the living room windows. You had changed into one of Robby’s old Pitt Medical Center sweatshirts that swallowed your frame, your hair was piled into a messy knot, and you sat cross-legged on the couch absently turning the television channels without actually watching anything. Robby finished rinsing the last coffee mug before drying his hands on a towel.
“You’ve changed the channel twelve times.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t watched a single thing.”
“I know.”
He smiled to himself.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
You stared at the remote for another few seconds.
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
A long silence settled between you. Finally, you let out a breath.
“I keep reading the text.”
“I figured.”
“I’ve probably read it thirty times.”
“You’ve definitely read it thirty times.”
You looked over at him.
“How’d you know?”
“Because every time your phone buzzes, you pick it up hoping it’s another message.”
You looked away. He’d caught you. Again. Robby crossed the room and lowered himself onto the opposite end of the couch, one arm stretching along the back cushions behind you.
“So…”
“So…”
“What are you thinking?”
You hesitated.
“I think…” You sighed softly. “I think maybe he’s trying.”
Robby didn’t respond immediately. He simply watched you.
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
He smiled faintly.
“I actually wasn’t going to.”
“You weren’t?”
“No.”
You frowned.
“I was going to ask why you think that.”
Your shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
You rubbed your thumb against the edge of the remote.
“He texted first.”
“Mhm.”
“He said he was proud of me.”
“Mhm.”
“He wants to buy lunch.”
“Mhm.”
You laughed quietly.
“You’re really making me work for this.”
“I know.”
Another silence. Then your voice grew much smaller.
“I guess…”
You swallowed.
“…I guess I keep hoping that one day he wakes up and decides he wants to be my dad.”
The words hung in the room. Honest. Raw. Painfully simple. Robby felt something twist in his chest. He hated how small your voice became whenever you talked about your father. This brilliant, confident emergency physician who barked orders during trauma activations without blinking…Reduced to sounding like a little girl wondering why she wasn’t enough.
He reached over and gently took the remote from your hands before setting it on the coffee table. Then he scooted closer until your knees touched.
“Can I ask you something?”
You nodded.
“When was the last time he called you?”
You frowned.
“I don’t…” You started counting backwards. “I guess…”
“Christmas?”
“No.”
“Thanksgiving?”
“No.”
“Your birthday?”
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You remember my birthday.”
You rolled your eyes.
“It was easy.”
“It was eight months ago.”
“Oh.” You blinked. “…Eight months.”
He nodded.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
You looked toward the rain outside.
“Last summer.”
“And before that?”
You thought.
“…Maybe a year.”
“Mhm.”
“He said work got crazy.”
Robby stayed quiet.
“He probably wasn’t lying.”
“Mhm.”
“He… he gets busy.”
“Mhm.”
You looked at him with a tiny, almost defensive smile.
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The one where you let me hear myself.”
He smiled gently.
“It usually works.”
“It isn’t fair.”
“I know.”
You leaned back against the couch with a frustrated groan.
“I hate that you’re always right.”
“I’d argue with that.”
“You should.”
“I lose plenty.”
“Not this time.”
The room fell quiet again.Eventually, Robby spoke.
“Has he ever apologized?”
You blinked.
“For what?”
He held your gaze.
“For leaving.”
Silence.
“No.”
“For missing birthdays?”
“No.”
“For disappearing after promising he wouldn’t?”
You shook your head.
“For asking you for money?”
Another shake. He nodded slowly.
“Has he ever paid you back?”
A humorless laugh escaped you.
“No.”
“You know how much?”
You actually smiled.
“Down to the dollar? No.”
“I do.”
You were surprised. “You would.”
“I have a spreadsheet.”
Your eyes widened.
“You have a spreadsheet?”
“I have concerns.”
You stared at him for two seconds before dissolving into genuine laughter.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You have a spreadsheet about my dad.”
“It’s color-coded.”
“Robby.”
“He owes you seven thousand four hundred and sixty dollars.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“I like data.”
“I am dating such a nerd.”
“The hottest nerd you’ve ever met.”
“The hottest.”
He grinned, satisfied with himself. The laughter faded as quickly as it had come. You picked at the cuff of your sweatshirt.
“I know all of this.”
“I know.”
“I know he’s unreliable.”
“I know.”
“I know he’ll probably disappear again.”
“I know.”
Your voice cracked.
“But what if he doesn’t?”
There it was. Not denial. Hope. The quiet, stubborn kind that refused to die no matter how many times it had been crushed. Robby reached over, gently wrapping both of his hands around yours.
“I don’t want you to cancel lunch because of me.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m choosing for you.”
“I know.”
“If you want to see him…” He squeezed your fingers. “…I’ll sit right beside you.”
Your eyes filled immediately.
“If he really wants to change…” Robby sighed. “I’m rooting for him.”
“You are?”
“I am.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“Then I’ll be there for that too.”
You stared at him for several long seconds.
“You’re not even mad at him?”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“Oh, sweetheart…” He looked toward the ceiling as though searching for patience. “I’ve been mad at your father for years.”
“You have?”
“I’ve just never thought you needed one more person yelling his name.”
You felt tears threatening now.
“He missed your med school graduation.”
You nodded.
“He missed your residency graduation.”
Another nod.
“He promised he’d come when we moved in together.”
“Mhm.”
“He never showed.”
“No.”
“And every single time…” His voice remained remarkably gentle. “…you’ve looked at your phone for three days afterward waiting for an explanation.”
You couldn’t stop the tear that escaped.
“I hate that you notice.”
“I notice everything about you.”
He reached up, brushing the tear away with his thumb.
“I also notice something else.”
“What?”
“You’ve never stopped giving him another chance.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I sound pathetic.”
“No.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I think you sound like someone’s daughter.”
That broke you. Not because it was dramatic. Because it was true. You covered your face with both hands.
“I don’t know why I keep hoping.”
Robby stood without another word. You heard him disappear down the hallway. A minute later he returned carrying the soft fleece blanket the two of you always fought over during movie nights. He draped it around both of you before pulling you gently against his side.
Your head found its familiar place against his shoulder. His lips rested against your hair. Neither of you spoke for a long time. Eventually, he murmured into your temple.
“So…”
“So?”
“When’s lunch?”
You sniffled.
“Saturday.”
He nodded once.
“Then Saturday…” He kissed the top of your head. “…we’ll go together.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“You’ll probably hate every second.”
“I probably will.”
A tiny smile tugged at your lips.
“So why come?”
He looked down at you as though the answer was the easiest thing in the world.
“Because if you’re walking into something that scares you…” He intertwined his fingers with yours beneath the blanket. “…you’re not walking in alone.”
******
Saturday arrived warm and bright, almost offensively cheerful. The kind of summer afternoon that begged people to sit on restaurant patios with cold drinks and nowhere to be. You had changed outfits three times.
Not because you wanted to impress your father. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. The navy sundress currently hanging in your closet had been deemed “too dressy.” The white blouse had somehow felt “too formal.” You’d finally settled on a pair of dark jeans, sandals, and a soft green blouse Robby had once told you brought out your eyes. He leaned against the bedroom doorframe, arms folded across his chest as he watched you smooth invisible wrinkles from the fabric for what had to be the twentieth time.
“You’ve officially run out of wrinkles.”
You glanced at him through the mirror.
“I know.”
“You’ve checked your hair six times.”
“I know.”
“You’ve put lip gloss on twice.”
“I know.”
“You’ve also looked at your phone approximately every forty-five seconds.”
You sighed.
“Robby.”
He pushed off the doorway and crossed the room until he stood behind you. His hands settled lightly on your hips before he rested his chin against the top of your head.
“You look beautiful.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
“What if this is different?”
“I hope it is.”
“What if he really means it this time?”
Robby met your eyes in the mirror.
“I hope he does.”
He wasn’t lying. He genuinely hoped he was wrong. He hoped your father had finally figured out what he’d spent decades throwing away. He hoped this afternoon would be the beginning of something. He simply wasn’t betting on it.
******
The restaurant sat overlooking one of Pittsburgh’s rivers, all exposed brick, hanging plants, and oversized windows that flooded the dining room with sunlight. You spotted your father before he spotted you.
He looked…Older. All gray now. More lines around his eyes. For just a split second, your heart squeezed. He looked like someone’s dad. Your dad.
Then he noticed you. A grin spread across his face as he stood from the table with his arms already opening.
“Kiddo!”
You smiled instinctively.
“Dad.”
He wrapped you in a hug that lasted just a beat too long before stepping back to look at you.
“Look at you.” He shook his head dramatically. I turn on the television and suddenly my little girl’s a hero.”
Your cheeks flushed.
“I’m not a hero.”
“You’ve always been modest.”
His attention shifted to Robby.
“And you must be Robby.”
Robby offered a polite smile and extended his hand.
“Nice to finally meet you, sir.”
The older man shook it enthusiastically.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Robby almost asked, From who? Instead, he simply nodded.
“Likewise.”
You noticed the almost imperceptible twitch in the corner of Robby’s mouth. Anyone else would’ve missed it. You knew him too well. He hadn’t heard a damn thing. The hostess returned to lead everyone to their table. Your father insisted you take the seat with the river view.
“You deserve the best seat.”
You smiled.
“Thanks.”
Robby sat beside you. Across from both of you, your father leaned comfortably back in his chair, already looking around for the waiter.
“So…” He rubbed his hands together. “This one’s on me.”
You laughed.
“You texted that.”
“And I meant it.”
For a little while… It almost felt normal. He asked about work. He laughed when you told a story about Langdon accidentally walking into the wrong trauma bay wearing two different shoes after a thirty-hour shift. He smiled when you described Mel’s inability to whisper. He even listened while you explained how Robby had become obsessed with making homemade pasta despite owning approximately every takeout menu in the city.
“I am not obsessed.”
“You bought a pasta drying rack.”
“It was on sale.”
“You named your sourdough starter.”
“Giuseppe deserves respect.”
Your father laughed loudly.
“I like this guy.”
Robby smiled politely.
“Thank you.”
He watched your father carefully between bites. Not staring. Observing. Years of emergency medicine had taught him to notice details. The expensive watch. Brand new. The cuff of his shirt was fraying. Odd combination. Wedding ring gone. Expected.
Every story somehow circled back to him. Expected. He never once asked what specialty Robby practiced. Never asked how the two of you met. Never asked how long you’d been together. He talked. And talked. And talked.
“…business has finally picked back up.”
“That’s good.”
“I’ve been traveling a lot.”
“I’m glad.”
“I might even be looking at buying another truck.”
“That’s exciting.”
Robby noticed something else. Every answer you gave was enthusiastic. Every question your father asked lasted just long enough for you to answer before he redirected the conversation back to himself. You didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe…You were simply used to it. Halfway through lunch, your father leaned across the table.
“So this award thing…”
You smiled.
“It’s Friday.”
“Big ceremony?”
“I don’t think it’ll be very big.”
“You were on the news.”
“I know.”
“They’re giving speeches?”
“I think so.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
The words landed somewhere deep inside you. You smiled before you could stop yourself.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“I mean…” You looked down at your drink for a second. “…you don’t have to.”
He reached across the table and squeezed your hand.
“I want to.”
Your eyes immediately brightened. Robby saw it happen. The shift. Like someone had turned on a light inside you. For just a second…You looked ten years younger.
Hope did that. Your father continued.
“I’m proud of you.”
Your throat tightened.
“I know I haven’t always been around…”
Robby’s attention sharpened.
“…but maybe we can change that.”
Silence. Your eyes shimmered.
“I’d like that.”
“So would I.”
The waiter appeared to refill drinks, interrupting the moment. When he left, conversation drifted elsewhere. By the time dessert arrived, you were laughing. Actually laughing. Robby couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you look so… relieved.
As though something heavy you’d carried your entire life had finally been set down. An hour later, everyone stepped outside into the afternoon sunshine. Your father pulled you into another hug.
“I’ll see you Friday.”
“I’ll text you the details again.”
“You do that.”
He looked over at Robby.
“Take good care of her.”
Robby met his eyes.
“I always do.”
Your father smiled.
“I can see that.”
Then he climbed into his truck, waved once through the windshield, and drove away. You stood there watching until the truck disappeared around the corner. Only then did you let out a long breath.
“What?” Robby asked gently.
You turned to him with the biggest smile he’d seen in weeks.
“I think…” You laughed, almost embarrassed by your own optimism. “…I think maybe he’s finally ready.”
Robby’s heart broke a little. Not because he wanted to crush your hope. Because he’d spent the entire lunch seeing things you hadn’t. He’d seen the way your father checked his phone every few minutes. The way he’d forgotten the name of your hospital twice.
The way he’d said, “So… how long have you been a doctor?” after you’d already told him you’d been an attending for nearly four years. The way he’d spoken about himself almost the entire meal. Most of all…He’d seen the hunger in your eyes. The quiet desperation for your father to simply choose you. He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I hope you’re right.”
“You don’t think I am.”
“I think…” He searched for the gentlest words. “…I think your dad has a lot of years to make up for.”
You nodded.
“He does.”
“And one lunch can’t erase all of them.”
“I know.” You sighed. “But it’s a start.”
He smiled softly.
“It could be.”
You slipped your hand into his as the two of you began walking toward the parking garage. Halfway there, you glanced up at him.
“Thank you for coming.”
“There wasn’t anywhere else I was going to be.”
“You were really good.”
“I tried.”
“You didn’t even look annoyed.”
He chuckled.
“I’ve spent enough years in emergency medicine to keep a straight face.”
You laughed.
“No…”
You leaned lightly against his shoulder as you walked.
“…I mean with him.”
He squeezed your hand.
“I wasn’t there for him.”
“No?”
“I was there for you.”
You smiled to yourself.
“I know.”
Neither of you could read the text your father had already sent to a friend as he sat at the first red light.
Lunch went well. She bought it.
Except…you hadn’t. When the check had come, he’d patted his pockets with an embarrassed laugh.
“Damn. I left my wallet in the truck.”
Without hesitation, you’d smiled.
“I’ve got it.”
You hadn’t even seemed to register it. Robby had. He remembered every single detail. And somewhere deep in his gut…A familiar feeling settled in. One he desperately hoped was wrong.
******
Friday evening arrived wrapped in the kind of excitement that only a hospital could generate. The emergency department had somehow managed to coordinate enough schedules that nearly everyone who wasn’t working could attend the ceremony. Dana had bullied administration into allowing a few early shift changes. Mel had somehow convinced three different people to trade call. Langdon had spent the entire week telling anyone who would listen that he intended to “woo loudly” during your award acceptance speech.
“You mean woo,” Dana corrected for what had to be the tenth time.
“I know what I said.”
“You absolutely do not.”
Jack shook his head.
“We’re going to get escorted out.”
“For supporting our friend?”
“For being you.”
The ceremony was held in one of the city’s historic theaters. Rows of polished wooden seats curved toward a stage draped with deep blue curtains. At the front of the room stood a podium bearing the city seal, flanked by American and Pennsylvania flags. Photographs from the mass casualty response rotated across two large projection screens.
Every image brought back memories. Firefighters carrying children. Police officers directing frantic parents. Paramedics kneeling in broken glass. Hospital staff sprinting toward the scene. You caught your breath when the photograph appeared again.
The one from the news. You crouched beside the teenage girl, your face streaked with soot, one bloody hand holding pressure against her leg while the other cupped her cheek. You still couldn’t remember that picture being taken.
“You okay?”
Robby’s quiet voice pulled you back. You nodded.
“I just…”
Your eyes stayed on the screen.
“It doesn’t feel like me.”
He slipped his hand around yours.
“It looks exactly like you.”
You smiled weakly.
“I was terrified.”
“I know.”
“I kept thinking she looked like somebody’s daughter.”
“You treated her like she was.”
Your fingers tightened around his. One by one, your coworkers filtered into the row behind you. Mel immediately leaned between the seats.
“You look hot.”
You laughed.
“I am literally wearing a navy dress.”
“Exactly.”
Langdon pointed toward Robby.
“And Robinavich cleaned up too.”
Robby looked down at his charcoal suit.
“I showered.”
“We’re all very proud.”
Dana swatted Langdon’s shoulder.
“Would you let them have one normal evening?”
“No.”
“I figured.”
Everyone laughed. It helped. For a few precious minutes, you forgot why your stomach had been tied in knots all afternoon. Then the theater doors opened. Your head turned automatically. An elderly couple entered.
Not him. You looked back toward the stage. A minute later…The doors opened again. A family with two young children. Not him. Without realizing it, you glanced at your watch. 6:52. The ceremony started at seven.
“He’ll be here.”
The thought slipped into your head before you could stop it. Traffic. Parking. Maybe he was running late.
Robby noticed your eyes drift toward the entrance again. He quietly checked his own watch. He didn’t say anything. Seven o’clock came. The lights dimmed. The master of ceremonies stepped onto the stage.
“Good evening, everyone…”
You looked over your shoulder one last time. The doors remained closed.
“It’s okay,” you told yourself. “He can still come in.”
The introductions began. Applause echoed through the theater as firefighters, EMTs, police officers, dispatchers, and hospital personnel were recognized. Every few minutes…The doors opened. Every single time…Your heart jumped. Every single time…It was someone else.
Robby stopped watching the stage. Instead, he watched you. You were still smiling. Still clapping. Still listening. But every time those doors opened…Your eyes betrayed you.
Hope. Then disappointment. Hope. Then disappointment.
Over and over again. By the time your name was announced, he knew. Your father wasn’t coming.
“…for extraordinary courage, compassion, and leadership during the Pittsburgh bus explosion response, please welcome Dr. …”
The theater erupted. Langdon stood immediately.
“I TOLD YOU I WAS GONNA WOO!”
“WOOOO!”
Mel was laughing too hard to stop him. Jack clapped over his head. Dana whistled despite herself. Even Robby rose to his feet, applauding until his palms stung. You looked almost embarrassed as you made your way toward the stage. Your smile was gracious. Professional. Warm. No one in the audience would’ve guessed your heart was somewhere near the back doors. The mayor shook your hand.
“This city is grateful for you.”
“Thank you.”
A framed commendation was placed in your hands. Flashbulbs popped. The audience applauded again. The mayor leaned toward the microphone.
“I’ve been told this physician wasn’t content with treating patients once they reached the emergency department.”
Gentle laughter.
“Instead, she ran toward danger before many of us even understood what was happening.”
The applause returned.
“Several survivors specifically requested that we recognize the physician who refused to leave their side.”
Your throat tightened. The teenage girl. You knew exactly who they meant. The mayor smiled.
“Would you like to say a few words?”
You hadn’t planned to. But somehow your feet carried you to the podium. You looked out across the audience. Coworkers. First responders. Community leaders. Friends.
Your eyes drifted instinctively toward the back of the theater. The doors. Still closed. You looked away before anyone noticed. Taking a slow breath, you leaned toward the microphone.
“I don’t really know how to accept an award for doing something hundreds of people did that day.”
A few quiet nods came from the audience.
“I wasn’t brave because I wasn’t scared.”
Your voice remained steady.
“I was terrified.”
You smiled softly.
“I just happened to be surrounded by people who ran anyway.”
You glanced toward the row where your coworkers sat. Dana was already crying. Mel had discreetly pulled a tissue from her purse. Langdon looked suspiciously emotional despite pretending otherwise.
“If this recognition belongs to anyone…”
You looked directly at them.
“…it belongs to every nurse, physician, technician, therapist, paramedic, firefighter, police officer, and volunteer who chose to run toward complete strangers.”
The audience rose again. A standing ovation. You blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. When you returned to your seat, Robby immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple.
“I’m so damn proud of you.”
You laughed through watery eyes.
“Thank you.”
“You were incredible.”
“I forgot half of what I wanted to say.”
“No.” He smiled. “You said exactly what mattered.”
The ceremony dissolved into a reception filled with handshakes, photographs, and conversations. People stopped you every few minutes.
“Congratulations.”
“You deserve this.”
“My niece was one of the students you helped.”
“Thank you.”
You smiled until your cheeks hurt. Every so often…Your eyes found the entrance again. Still no father. As the crowd began thinning, one of the city council members approached with a warm smile.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
“You too.”
He glanced around.
“Weren’t you expecting family tonight?”
You hesitated only a fraction of a second.
“My mom couldn’t make it?”
“Oh no, I met your mother earlier.” He smiled. “She seems lovely.”
Your stomach dropped.
“I meant your father. I thought someone mentioned he was coming.”
For one impossible second…You couldn’t breathe. Then you smiled. The practiced smile. The one you’d been wearing since you were eight years old.
“Oh…”
You gave a little shrug.
“Something must’ve come up.”
“I’m sure he wishes he could’ve been here.”
“I’m sure.”
The councilman smiled sympathetically before moving on to greet someone else. The second he disappeared into the crowd, you looked down at your phone. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing. Robby had watched the entire exchange from only a few feet away.
He saw the way your shoulders dropped. The way your thumb hovered over your father’s contact before locking your phone instead. The way you inhaled slowly, as if willing yourself not to fall apart in a room full of people. He crossed the distance between you without a word. His hand found the small of your back. Warm. Steady. Home.
“You ready?”
You looked up at him. Your smile was still there. But your eyes…Your eyes were exhausted.
“Yeah.”
You nodded once.
“I think I’m ready to go home.”
He didn’t ask about your father. Not here. Not where cameras were still flashing and strangers were congratulating you. Instead, he slipped your award into one hand, laced his fingers through your other, and quietly guided you toward the exit. As the theater doors closed behind the two of you, your phone remained silent. It would stay that way all night.
******
The drive home was quiet. Not uncomfortable. Not angry. Just… quiet. The city lights blurred past the passenger window as Pittsburgh settled into another warm summer evening. Restaurants buzzed with Friday night conversations. Couples wandered hand in hand down sidewalks. Someone laughed as they crossed the street in front of the car.
Life kept moving. Inside the truck, neither of you spoke. Your framed commendation rested carefully across your lap, your fingertips absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wood. Your phone sat face up in the cup holder. Dark. Silent. You hated yourself for glancing at it anyway.
Robby noticed. Of course he noticed. He reached over the center console and quietly took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t say anything. He just held your hand the rest of the drive home.
The apartment greeted you with familiar stillness. The moment the front door clicked shut behind you, the smile you’d worn for nearly three hours disappeared. Your shoulders sagged. You slipped your heels off near the door and walked straight toward the living room.
The framed award remained tucked under your arm. You looked around for somewhere to put it. The bookshelf? No. The mantel? No. The kitchen counter? You finally set it gently on the coffee table. It looked strangely out of place. Bright. Important. Celebratory.
Everything you didn’t feel. Behind you, Robby quietly locked the front door before hanging his suit jacket over the dining room chair. He watched you from across the room. You hadn’t cried yet. Somehow that worried him more.
You stood staring at the award for a long moment before laughing softly to yourself. It wasn’t a happy laugh.
“They spelled my middle name right.”
Robby smiled.
“They did.”
“They usually don’t.”
“They’d have been hearing from me.”
“You would’ve written a strongly worded email?”
“I would’ve written several.”
That earned the tiniest smile. It disappeared almost immediately. You wrapped your arms around yourself.
“I kept looking at the door.”
His chest tightened.
“I know.”
“I told myself traffic was bad.”
He nodded once.
“I know.”
“Then I figured parking probably sucked.”
“I know.”
Your voice became smaller.
“Then I thought maybe he’d text.”
Silence.
“And then…” You swallowed hard. “…I realized I was making excuses for someone who hadn’t even bothered to make one.”
The apartment fell painfully quiet. Robby crossed the room slowly, giving you every opportunity to step away if you wanted space. You didn’t.
The second he reached you, you folded into him. Almost as though your body had been waiting all evening for permission to stop holding itself together. Your forehead rested against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively. Securely. One hand spread across your back. The other cradled the back of your head. He kissed your hair.
Neither of you spoke. You simply stood there. Breathing together. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek. After nearly a minute, he felt your shoulders begin to shake. Then came the first quiet sob.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
His voice was barely above a whisper. That was all it took. The tears you’d been swallowing since the ceremony finally escaped. You clutched the front of his shirt with both hands.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“I don’t…” Another shaky breath. “…I don’t understand why I keep believing him.”
“You don’t have to explain that to me.”
“I should know better.”
“You do know better.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, tears streaking your cheeks.
“If I knew better…” Your voice cracked. “…this wouldn’t hurt so much.”
His heart broke. He cupped your face with both hands, gently brushing away fresh tears with his thumbs.
“No.” His voice was calm. “It hurts because you let yourself hope.”
“I feel stupid.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am.”
“You aren’t.”
“I keep thinking maybe this time…”
“I know.”
“…maybe this birthday…”
“I know.”
“…maybe this holiday…”
“I know.”
“…maybe this phone call…”
“I know.”
“…maybe this award.”
The last word dissolved into another sob. You closed your eyes.
“I wanted him to see me.”
Robby’s own eyes stung. Not because he pitied you. Because he knew exactly what you meant. Not the award. Not the plaque. You had wanted your father to see the woman you’d become.
The physician. The partner. The person. He rested his forehead against yours.
“Sweetheart…” His voice caught slightly. “…he has been missing you for years.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“He didn’t miss an award ceremony tonight.”
He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“He missed seeing the woman you became.”
Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks.
“He missed your white coat ceremony.”
You nodded.
“He missed graduation.”
Another nod.
“He missed residency.”
“Yeah.”
“He missed watching you become the doctor everyone stood up for tonight.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“That wasn’t your loss.”
“It feels like it.”
“I know.”
He kissed your forehead.
“But it wasn’t.”
You let out a shaky breath.
“I just wanted my dad.”
“I know.”
The simplicity of his answer somehow hurt the most. Because there was nothing to argue with. You had wanted your dad. That was it. No complicated psychology. No hidden meaning. Just a daughter wanting her father. Robby pulled you back against his chest.
“I need you to hear me.”
You nodded against him.
“The little girl who kept waiting by the window…” His hand rubbed slow circles across your back. “…she didn’t do anything wrong.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“The teenager who kept believing he’d show up…” Another circle. “…she didn’t do anything wrong.”
Your breathing hitched.
“The woman who looked at those theater doors tonight…” He tilted your chin until you met his eyes again. “…she didn’t do anything wrong either.”
A tear rolled free.
“The only person who failed tonight…” His jaw tightened ever so slightly. “…was him.”
You stared at him.
“I’ve never heard you talk about him like that.”
“I’ve never needed to.”
“Weren’t you angry?”
He gave a soft, almost incredulous laugh.
“Baby…” He brushed his nose gently against yours. “I’ve been angry for a long time.”
“You hid it.”
“Because it wasn’t about me.”
He sighed quietly.
“If I’d spent years telling you he was a disappointment…” His fingers intertwined with yours. “…all I would’ve done was make you feel guilty for loving your own father.”
You closed your eyes.
“I do love him.”
“I know you do.”
“I don’t even know why.”
“You don’t have to justify loving your dad.”
He smiled sadly.
“Children come into this world wired to love their parents.”
Another tear escaped.
“It doesn’t make you weak.” He tilted his head. “It makes you human.”
You looked at him for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”
“They should have.”
He leaned down and kissed you. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft. Lingering. A kiss that asked nothing of you except to let yourself be loved. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again.
“I watched that room tonight.”
You blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“I watched every person who stood when your name was called.”
He smiled.
“Dana.”
You smiled through your tears.
“Definitely Dana.”
“Mel was crying before you even got to the stage.”
You laughed weakly.
“That sounds right.”
“Langdon nearly dislocated his shoulder trying to clap.”
“Also accurate.”
“Jack looked prouder than he ever admits he gets.”
“He’ll deny it.”
“He absolutely will.”
You smiled a little wider.
“And then there was me.”
“You?”
“I couldn’t stop smiling.” His eyes softened. “I looked at you standing on that stage…”
He reached over and gently picked up the framed commendation from the coffee table.
“…and all I could think was…” He handed it to you. “…that’s my girl.”
Fresh tears filled your eyes.
“They all showed up.”
He nodded.
“They did.”
“You showed up.”
“I always will.”
Your bottom lip trembled.
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise that I’ll spend every day trying.”
He gently brushed his knuckles across your cheek.
“I’ll show up on the ordinary Tuesdays.” A kiss to your forehead. “I’ll show up when you have a terrible shift.”
A kiss beside your temple.
“I’ll show up when you’re sick.” Another kiss. “I’ll show up when you’re grumpy.”
You laughed.
“I’m grumpy a lot.”
“I’ve noticed.” He smiled. “I’ll show up for every birthday.”
A kiss to the bridge of your nose.
“Every holiday.”
Another.
“Every award.”
Another.
“And every day in between.”
You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck.
“I love you so much.”
He closed his eyes for just a moment, letting the words settle over him.
“I know.” Then he smiled. “But I’d really like to hear you say it again anyway.”
You laughed, the sound still watery but genuine.
“I love you.”
He kissed you once. “I love you more than any award could ever explain.”
Another kiss.
“More than any headline.”
Another.
“And more than one man’s inability to recognize the incredible woman standing right in front of him.”
You rested your forehead against his.
“I think…” You exhaled slowly. “…I’m done waiting by the door.
His eyes searched yours.
“You don’t have to stop loving him.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to stop hoping he changes.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t have to keep putting your life on hold until he does.”
A long silence settled between you. Not the heavy kind. The healing kind. Finally, you glanced down at the framed commendation in your hands. Then back up at the man holding you. A small smile spread across your face.
“Help me find somewhere to hang this?”
Robby looked at the award. Then at you.
“I have a better idea.”
“What?”
He took the frame from your hands and carried it into the hallway. You followed curiously. He stopped beside the gallery wall the two of you had slowly built over the years. Vacation photos. Snapshots with friends from the emergency department. A candid of the two of you laughing in the kitchen, flour on both your faces after the infamous pasta disaster. A picture from the day you’d moved into the apartment, sitting on the living room floor eating pizza out of the box because none of the furniture had arrived yet. He found an empty space right in the middle. Then he turned to you.
“It belongs here.”
“With all of these?”
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
He walked back to you, slipped his arms around your waist, and kissed you one last time.
“Because this…” His eyes never left yours. “…is where the people who showed up live.”
I mean this in the most loving way possible, do you utilize AI for your writing? (sorry I’m nosy)
also unrelated but I now have one-sided beef with Heather Collins after your last post😩
Not nosy at all! I think there’s a lot of curiosity around writers using AI, even though the conversation is unfortunately pretty negative most of the time.
I have no problem saying that I do use AI, but only in a very specific way. When it comes to the medical aspects of my stories, I use it as a research and writing aid because I have no background in medicine. I don’t know all the terminology, procedures, medications, or how certain situations would realistically play out, so sometimes I’ll ask AI to help me write those scenes more accurately. But it’s me putting in what I’ve already written out and asking to make it more “real” (ironically).
Everything else like the characters, the non-medical dialogue, the relationships, the settings, and the overall story is my own. Those ideas all come from me with the help of all the amazing requests I get!
Honestly, there are probably enough grammar mistakes sprinkled throughout my writings (as some have pointed out to me) to prove a human wrote it anyway. Those little errors are a little too authentic to be AI. 😂
Thanks for your question! I thinks it’s important to be honest, while maintaining autonomy over my pieces 🫶
…and sometimes I have beef with Collins because I want Robby!!!
thank you for all the beautiful fics you gave written, i can’t tell you how much they get me through life sometimes. i reread them all the time and they are the most perfect escapism 🫶🏻🫶🏻
