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sqfewrd

Jul 9

jackienat-truther

I Wish You Could Know Me

Michael Robinavitch x medstudent!daughter!reader

series masterlist

song rec: willing and able - noah kahan

summary: coming back to your hometown and seeing how your father interacts with his younger coworkers already made you wish your relationship was different. But having him constantly remind you of such really made it hard to heal, especially on your birthday.

warnings/tags: angst, this is purely me projecting my daddy issues onto the general public, michael robinavitch is his own warning, robby is mean, and reader isn't necessarily right in how she goes about things either but he's much worse at reacting, i'm so sorry y'all... it's not getting any better for anyone any time soon, reader is mentioned to be 25 like- once or twice but just ignore that if it's hella inaccurate, not proofread

wc: 13.1k

"When my weight left the room, did you take a deep breath?"

You started hating your birthday around 12 years old. You parents had already been separated for a few years, and for a while that meant you got two birthdays. But that rapidly came to an end when your dad overbooked himself at the hospital one year, not leaving any room to make it up to you. And then of course, your mother passing the following year.

It stopped being something you celebrated entirely when you left for college. Your friends had asked in passing a few times, but you always managed to allow it to slip through the cracks for the most part, avoiding any sort of celebration and meeting the continuous texts and posts with polite thank-yous.

That's pretty much all you'd get from your dad. Even before you left, even before your mom died, it was almost always just a card and a wish. You knew he loved you, but Michael Robinavitch didn't know his daughter.

And maybe that's why you were absolutely dreading walking into the ED today. Because it was already hard watching him fawn over Whitaker 24/7. And it was hard watching him be gentle with Mel and Santos. And it was hard watching Dana's eyes fill with pity as she perceived your interactions with Robby.

You knew someone was going to say something, and it was going to become a bigger deal than it ever needed to be. It's just another day- I'm not anyone special. Is always what you argued. No one ever really accepted that response.

The first person to make it a thing was Mel. You'd barely made it to the lockers before she appeared beside you and pressed a coffee into your hand- your exact order.

"Happy birthday." You stopped in your tracks. Her sweet smile and adorable sparkle in her eyes stopped your heart for a moment. You stared at the cup.

"You don't even drink coffee..."

"No," she agreed. "But you do."

"How'd you know my order?" You gave her a teasing brow raise and small smile. She shrugged, "I asked Dana."

You winced jokingly, "Mel..."

"It gets better." Your eyes narrowed, and she grinned. "There's a cake in the break room."

You threw your head back with a groan. "It's only a small cake!"

"Mel-" "A very small cake." You couldn't help the tiniest smile on your lips, ever endeared by the blonde. The ache in your heart persisted- touched by her small gift and the likelihood that Dana had made everyone aware of today being your birthday.

"Thank you." You tilted your chin down slightly, shyly holding her gaze. "You're welcome!"

The second person was Santos- you didn't really know what to expect from her, but what you got felt pretty manageable and on brand. She nearly tackled you during a lull between patients, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and shoving a granola bar into your scrub pocket.

"Happy birthday, Tweety- you're like- so old now?" she sarcastically drew out her words, a teasing smirk pulling at her lips as you rolled your eyes

"Aren't you only a couple years older than me?"

"Exactly. Which makes us ancient."

The third was Whitaker. You and him hadn't interacted as much as you initially anticipated, since he seemed to be attached to your father's hip, and you preferred to stay as far away from Robby as possible.

Dennis appeared out of nowhere, carrying a chart, throwing a gentle smile your way, "Happy birthday."

"Thank you." Then he disappeared again. The interaction lasted less than three seconds, somehow, it still counted for something.

By noon, you had accumulated enough birthday wishes to make your skin crawl. Texts from college friends. A voicemail from one of your former professors. Even a card from Dana that she'd somehow gotten half the department to sign.

Every single one made your chest feel a little tighter. Because every time someone remembered, it became harder not to notice who hadn't... You felt terrible for keeping track.

But every time Robby walked past, some pathetic part of you still waited. Maybe now. You haven't had much time to interact today. Maybe he's just had a rough morning. Maybe he's busy. Maybe-

"Whitaker!" You looked up instinctively upon hearing his voice. Robby was standing across the department, laughing at something the younger doctor had said, his hand landing briefly on his shoulder. Easy and affectionate, their familiarity read clearly to anyone who looked

Something ugly twisted in your chest.

It didn't feel right to call it jealousy- it was something a little more than that- something that was slightly off from being jealousy. Grief felt like a more appropriate term. Grief for all the versions of your relationship that never existed. For all the conversations you never had. For the fact that your father could tell Whitaker's favorite takeout order and probably couldn't remember what kind of cake you liked as a kid. You looked away before he could catch you staring.

"Look at you leaving again, it's all you know how to do"

You should've known Dana was the first domino- once one person remembered, everyone seemed to remember or be notified. Just little things like Mel's coffee, Trinity's granola bar, stuff like that. You spent most of the morning pretending to hate every second of it, which wasn't entirely a lie.

"You know," Santos said as she leaned against the nurses' station, "most people would just say thank you."

You kept your eyes on your work as you continued charting, "I did say thank you."

"You sighed first."

"It's exhausting being born." She rolled her eyes and watched you continue your charting. A second later, Santos' smile softened.

"Seriously, though." You finally glanced up. "Happy birthday."

Something in her voice made your chest ache. It's not like she said anything life-changing, but that was exactly what made it hurt. It was easy, so easy, for her to say that. She talked like it wasn't hard to care about you- like remembering wasn't some monumental task.

"Thanks," you said quietly. Santos nodded once before pushing away from the desk and walking off. You wished the ache would go away with her, but it remained.

You hated that every well-meaning interaction somehow circled back to your father and what was missing. To the fact that you kept catching yourself looking across the department, not even conscious of it at first.

You felt ridiculous seeking out your father and yearning for his attention like you were 12 years old again. You were a grown woman for Christ's sake- a doctor even! You had your own apartment, your own career, your own life that had stopped involving your father years ago.

And somehow, one forgotten birthday had you acting like a child. You shoved the thought away and focused on your chart, like you'd been doing for the last 20 minutes.

The truth was, part of you just wanted to leave. You started thinking about how much easier it would have been if you just stayed away. At least that way, if Robby forgot your birthday, you'd only be missing a text, and you wouldn't have to worry about seeing him get along perfectly fine with his shiny new doctors.

The failed attempts at reconnecting. The constant comparisons between who your father was to everyone else and who he was to you. Trying so hard to stop yourself from thinking about it so much over the last few weeks.

You winced at the acknowledgment- it all sounded suspiciously like something your mother would've said. Not cruelly, of course, just honestly. She'd always had an irritating ability to call you out in the most supportive way possible. You could practically hear her voice now. Running away before anyone has the chance to disappoint you still counts as running away, sweetheart. You frowned at your computer.

"Don't start." You nearly jumped, turning over your shoulder to see Dana leaning her weight on the desk, her other hand on her hip as she hovered over you

"What?" she chuckled softly

"Jesus Christ." Dana looked delighted. "You were talking to yourself."

You stared at her, eyes widening slightly in humiliation, while Dana stared back with a slight raise of her brow. She narrowed her eyes. "...You're thinking too hard."

You groaned immediately, and she chuckled again, inching closer to pat your head, then leave her hand resting atop it. "So glad to see you're in that classic birthday mood of yours."

You jerked your head slightly out of her hold and gave her a look, "Oh, c'mon, I do not have a look."

Dana leaned back against the desk again, arms crossed over her chest, "You get extra sulky."

She mocked your pout and scrunched brows, while you stared back at her with a deadpan expression. "Go away."

Dana laughed, but didn't go very far as she sat next to you and began her own work. You enjoyed the few moments of silence before she spoke up one last time, "Don't go disappearing on us again, kid. You got it?"

Your movements stilled at that, your heart rate spiking at her ability to read you like an open book. You tried to rid yourself of the guilty expression you were sure was presenting itself clearly. You didn't have the heart to say anything after that.

"They all say you're a light, all I see is a shadow"

Your current conversation with Whitaker started because of a patient, as most conversations did in the ED. You were reviewing a chart when he dropped into the chair beside you with a sigh.

"I would've admitted him." You glanced over. "The chest pain guy?"

He nodded, pursing his lips, "Yeah."

You shook your head slightly, a small crease of confusion forming between your brows, "He didn't need admission."

"I know that now." Whitaker rubbed a hand over his face. "I just didn't see it."

You hummed. That was residency in a nutshell, not seeing it until somebody else pointed it out.

"Robby caught it in like thirty seconds." You kept your eyes on the screen. "Yeah, well, he's been doing this for thirty years."

"Still." Whitaker shook his head. "I swear he looks at a patient once and suddenly knows everything."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "Trust me. He doesn't."

The blonde grinned and tilted his head toward you. "You know what I mean."

Unfortunately, you did. Across the department, Robby was standing at a workstation, explaining something to Javadi while simultaneously signing orders and answering a question from a nurse.

It should've looked chaotic, instead, somehow, it worked. He made it look effortlessly smooth, the years of experience ever present and noticeable in his energy.

People trusted him, listened when he spoke, and maybe that was the part that got under your skin. Because everybody saw the same thing- an attending who stayed late, a mentor, a man who somehow remembered details about patients he'd treated months ago.

But you saw a man who couldn't even remember his kid's birthday. A man who'd prioritized others so much that he'd forgotten important details about himself and those who were supposed to be closest to him.

"He's probably the best attending I've worked with," Whitaker casually carried on. You knew it was a thoughtless comment, not intended to mean anything or carry any specific weight. Still, something in your stomach tightened.

You knew he was talking about Michael Robinavitch, the doctor, obviously not Michael Robinavitch, the father. Which is fine, because they now have to become two completely different people to you.

"Yeah," you heard yourself say. Whitaker looked surprised at your lack of backup.

"Yeah?" You shrugged. "He's good."

Good. Understatement of the century.

Whitaker laughed. "That's all you're giving me? You got to have your own personal doctor growing up and you don't have any more details to give but "good"?"

Not wanting to get into the details of your childhood trauma, you fixed him with a politely unimpressed look, then returned your attention to the chart. "That's all you're getting from me."

Whitaker shook his head and went back to his notes. The conversation ended there, but the feeling lingered. Everyone always talked about Robby like he was a source of warmth and steadiness. Like he was someone you could rely on in moments of doubt. The person you wanted in the room when everything went wrong.

And maybe that was true, maybe that's exactly who he was. You just weren't sure you'd ever met that version of him.

Your eyes shifted above your screen, finding Robby where he was still talking to Javadi. Whitaker followed your gaze for half a second before returning to his chart.

"You know what the scary part is?" You sighed. "That you're still talking about it?"

"I'm serious." You sighed, folding your arms underneath you as you rested against them, then made a vague motion for him to continue. "He catches things I didn't even know I was supposed to be looking for."

"That's generally how experience works." Whitaker rolled his eyes.

"You're impossible." You shrugged and pursed your lips, casually.

"So I've been told." He laughed before turning back to his computer.

The conversation truly ended there, and you should've been able to return to your work. Instead, you found yourself watching him for a moment.

Whitaker had been one of the first people you'd met when you started at the hospital. Back then, you'd thought you'd probably become friends. You were around the same age, seemed to have similar senses of humor, both survived on caffeine and bad decisions- and of course, the fact that you both lived in Nebraska for a period of time

It would've made sense.

Then it never really happened. You got along and joked around every now and then. You'd even grab lunch if a shift lined up right. But there was always something that kept you at arm's length.

For a long time, you'd blamed him- or at least, you'd pretended to. Told yourself he reminded you too much of your ex (which just wasn't true in any way), that he was too awkward for it to be endearing (you were still annoyingly endeared), and numerous other excuses so you didn't have to face the real reason you couldn't quite allow yourself to get close with him.

To put it plainly, you were jealous of Dennis Whitaker.

He always seemed to be with Robby- learning from him, talking to him about god knows what, following him around the department- The eager resident and the attending everyone wanted to impress.

And every time you'd tried getting closer, some ugly, irrational part of your brain had whispered the same thing. Why would he want to be friends with you? Your dad already likes him, so getting close to you would only get in the way of that.

The thought embarrassed you now, especially because it sounded so childish. It wasn't even fair. Whitaker had never done anything to make you feel unwelcome or that he was more concerned with staying on your father's good side than becoming your friend. If anything, he'd always been kind.

The problem was that every conversation somehow became another reminder of the relationship you didn't have. Another reminder that people found connecting with Robby easy.

You finally looked away and, unfortunately, immediately thought of Santos. Trinity Santos, who also adored Robby. Respected him. Talked about him like he hung the moon whenever the conversation drifted toward medicine. And somehow that had never stopped the two of you from becoming friends... If anything, it happened frighteningly fast and that was WITH her acknowledging that he seemed like a shit dad.

A few shifts. A few lunches. A handful of conversations that accidentally became personal. Now she was one of the first people you looked for when you walked into work.

So clearly that wasn't it. Clearly, your problem wasn't people liking Robby, or looking up to him, or wanting his approval- otherwise, Santos would've ended up in the same box as Whitaker.

The realization sat heavily in your chest.

Because if that wasn't the reason, then maybe the issue was simpler. Maybe Whitaker had never actually done anything wrong, or even come close to it. Maybe you'd just looked at him and seen another person getting something you'd wanted your entire life.

And that wasn't his fault. It wasn't Robby's, either- at least not entirely. The thought was uncomfortable enough that you immediately shoved it away.

You hadn't even realized that Whitaker had gotten up to seek out Robby again until you glanced back to where he had been talking to Victoria a few moments ago, only to see Dennis in her place. You returned to your chart.

A second later, Santos appeared beside you, carrying a cup of coffee. "You look annoyed."

"I'm charting."

"You look emotionally annoyed." You sighed deeply and bit your cheek as you spared her an irritated glance. Unfortunately, she took that as confirmation and turned the other way.

"Cause if I call you out, I'm an asshole"

The day rolled on- patients came and went, labs resulted, someone stole your favorite pen- very normal. Almost normal enough to forget what day it was.

You were restocking your pockets outside the supply room when Dana caught up to you. "So."

You immediately sighed. "I already don't like that tone."

"What tone? I don't have a tone-"

"You do- you get this particular tone when you're about to ask me something personal and possibly sensitive." you tried to seem playfully annoyed, but were tired and couldn't help the affectionate smile pulling casually at your lips. Dana's smile matched yours as she nodded, acknowledging your callout before continuing

"I was just wondering if you and your dad had plans after the shift."

Your hands stopped moving more a brief second, as you side eyed her with a raised brow, then immediately resumed.

"No." you breathed out, trying to hide the bitterness and seem as unfazed as possible

"No?" Dana watched you purse your lips and shake your head as you avoided eye contact "No."

She frowned slightly. "I figured maybe dinner or something-"

You laughed before you could stop yourself. It came out sharper than you intended and you immediately felt bad, but unfortunately couldn't bring yourself to keep the outward manifestation of your resentment entirely reeled in

"Dinner. You seriously think Dr. Robby's gonna take me to dinner after this?" Dana's expression shifted immediately. You always had an underlying venom laced through your tone when you called him "Dr. Robby", and made things very clear to everyone that you were in no mood to keep talking about him. But that of course meant nothing to Dana

"You could ask him." she shrugged, reasonable and casual as she tended to be. It was perfectly logical, in the way that most things Dana said were. You stared at the box of IV flushes in your hands. Ask him what? To dinner? Why he forgot? Why it was so hard for him to put in even half the effort he put into this hospital, into your relationship? How exactly was that conversation supposed to go?

Hey, Dad. Happy birthday to me. By the way, do you know it hurts watching you become the father I always wanted for people you've known less than a year?

Ridiculous. Cruel. Selfish. Because if you called him out... You were the asshole. He'd spent decades saving lives, working nights, missing holidays because someone else's emergency couldn't wait, and dealing with the trauma of it all on top of that.

You knew why he'd missed things, you understood it better than most. Hell, you'd chosen the same career and are walking the exact same path. So what right did you have to make him feel guilty for it now?

You set the box back on the shelf a little harder than necessary, with Dana still watching you.

"I don't know," you said finally. The older woman raised a brow, "About?"

"Anything." She nodded slowly, but didn't push. One of the things you appreciated most about Dana was that she usually knew when to stop asking- usually.

"You know..." she said carefully, "I don't think he'd be upset if you asked."

You looked down the hallway- Robby was halfway through explaining something to Whitaker, using his hands the way he always did when he was teaching, to which Whitaker listened intently. Santos wandered over halfway through the explanation without anyone inviting her, and within seconds, the three of them were laughing about something. Your chest helplessly tightened.

"No," you murmured. "I don't think he'd be upset."

Dana followed your gaze. She didn't say anything- she didn't have to. Because the problem had never been whether Robby would be upset, it was whether or not he'd understand why you were.

"So come home, let's fight 'bout the childhood lie, we don't care what the other one thinks"

The opportunity came almost by accident- You were reviewing imaging when Robby stepped up beside your workstation. "Did you see bed twelve's repeat troponin?"

You pulled it up. "Negative."

"That's what I thought." He leaned over your shoulder for half a second, scanning the screen, close enough that you caught the familiar scent of hospital soap and stale coffee.

He nodded once. "Good catch on ordering the repeat."

Your stomach twisted ever so slightly. "Thanks."

You waited patiently as he reached for the mouse and clicked through the rest of the labs. He'd seen you now. He'd spoken to you. There was no way to excuse his forgetfulness this time.

"Can you put in a cardiology consult before you pick up another patient?" Your heartbeat sped up. If you were gonna say something, now would've been the oppurtunity. Surely... surely now was a good time-

"Thanks." Robby took a step back and turned to leave. That was it. Something inside you snapped.

"Anything else?" He looked back.

"What?" You folded your arms.

"I don't know," The words came out before you could stop them. "Seems like you're forgetting something."

His brow furrowed, genuinely confused. "I am?"

Your face dropped for a brief second as you gelt your heart squeeze painfully inside your chest. You burried the feeling and lowered your head for a short moment as you huffed out a humorless laugh

"You tell me." For a second, he just looked at you, trying to figure out where the conversation had gone sideways. Then his expression shifted. "What's with the attitude?"

Your jaw tightened at his cluelessness- his even tone and professionalism just about sending you over the edge. "We're in the middle of a shift."

"I know that."

"Then whatever this is..." He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "...it can wait until we're not standing in front of three nurses and a trauma room."

The words landed like a slap, even though there was no harshness to them. It was clean and dismissive, as Robby always tended to be toward people and interactions that he saw as nothing but a mere waist of time.

You glanced around, eyes landing on Perlah and Princess, who were barely pretending not to listen. Whitaker was thankfully nowhere nearby, but the heat of humiliation crawled up your neck. Robby gave you one last look, the kind that said I'm not doing this here. Then, just as another monitor started alarming, he was gone.

You stared after him, not realizing you'd been doing so until Santos walked directly into your line of sight.

"Earth to Mini Ronby." You blinked back to focus, immediately grimacing, "Oh god, don't call me that-"

"Well you're moping around like him, so i thought it was a little more fitting today- besides, I asked if Bed Sixteen was yours."

You glanced down at the tracking board and sighed. "Oh. Yeah."

"You okay?"

"I'm charting."

"Right. Charting. Still as aggressive as before- maybe even worse now."

You looked down, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unmoving. "...I was thinking."

"I noticed." Santos lingered for another second, long enough that you knew she wasn't buying it, long enough that she almost asked another question. Then a call bell went off, and she peeled away with an absent, "We'll revisit whatever this is."

You were grateful for the interruption, mostly because you had no idea what you would've said. You liked Trinity. She had some idea of your relationship (or lack thereof) with your father, but you never gave her too much information for a multitude of reasons. One, it seemed unprofessional to open up about your daddy issues to your new coworkers, especially when your second reason is because your father just so happens to be everyone's boss. There's also a third reason- that you are just too scared to let someone look at you that close, knowing that it will only a can of worms that you've learned to manage much better on your own.

You picked up the next chart, read the chief complaint, forgot it immediately, then read it again. Chest pain. Right. Focus. Patient first- always. You forced yourself through the HPI, trying to drown out the conversation replaying in your head.

"Seems like you're forgetting something." "I am?" He'd looked genuinely confused. That was the part you couldn't stop thinking about. Like the possibility hadn't even crossed his mind, which somehow hurt more than if he'd forgotten on purpose and was just avoiding saying anything out of awkwardness or just being an intentional asshole.

Because forgetting on purpose at least would've meant he'd made a choice. This... this was just thoughtlessness. This felt like you meant so little to him that he couldn't even be bothered to keep one day in mind.

You hated that your eyes kept drifting toward him. He was already three patients removed from the conversation. Talking with a nurse, checking imaging, stepping into Trauma One- completely absorbed in his work, like nothing had happened. And maybe to him, nothing had. To Robby, it had probably been another brief exchange with his occasionally irritable daughter. Another misunderstanding. Something that would pass.

You wondered how many moments in your life he'd filed away like that. How many times you'd needed him to ask one more question- What's wrong? Talk to me. Why are you upset? -and instead he'd assumed you were just being difficult...

Your pager vibrated- bed sixteen. You exhaled slowly. Maybe you should've started acting like your father (again). Detached from anything personal, focus entirely on your work, and drown yourself in it until it inevitably drives you to the brink. That seemed much easier than dealing with your family at this point.

"Damn." You looked up to see Dana standing on the other side of the desk, watching Robby disappear around the corner, then she looked back at you. She hadn't heard the conversation, she didn't need to, one glance at your face was enough.

She walked over quietly. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

You let out a dry laugh. "I have options?"

"The good news is nobody noticed." You looked toward the other end of the nurses' station, and Dana followed your gaze. "...Nobody who matters."

"And the bad?" She gave you a sympathetic smile. "You look like you're trying really hard not to cry."

Your throat tightened immediately. "I'm not."

"Sure." Before you could answer, a trauma alert echoed overhead. Dana squeezed your shoulder once as she hurried toward the ambulance bay.

"If you wanna kick this rock around, if you've got a bone to pick with me"

Robby noticed your avoidance. Not immediately, of course- why would he? You hadn't raised any concern to him or seemed particularly off. The only reason he even started paying attention was because, after all these years, the one thing he'd gotten pretty good at recognizing was when his daughter was avoiding him.

It wasn't exactly a skill he'd ever wanted to develop.

He caught it the third time you rerouted yourself around the nurses' station. The fourth time you asked Dr. Al-Hashimi a question you normally would've brought to him. The fifth time you looked up, saw him, and immediately buried yourself in a chart.

He frowned. "Everything okay?"

Whitaker glanced up from the computer. "Hm?"

"With Y/n." Whitaker followed his line of sight. You were halfway across the department talking with Santos.

"Seems fine." Robby nodded absently.

He wasn't convinced. You didn't look upset. Maybe irritated, and if that were the case, you were definitely irritated with him... again.

He replayed the exchange from earlier- the first time the two of you really had a moment to talk all day.

"Seems like you're forgetting something." What had you meant? He came up empty. If you had a problem with one of his decisions, you usually just came out and said so. If you thought he'd missed something medically, you'd tell him. If you wanted to argue... well.... you'd never exactly struggled with that.

His mouth twitched despite himself. Some habits never changed.

Yet, others certainly had. There'd been a time when the arguments ended with tears and slammed bedroom doors and twenty minutes later he'd find you in the kitchen making yourself a sandwich like nothing had happened. A time when he'd knock softly on your door before bed and ask if you were still mad, you'd shrug. He'd tell you he loved you anyway.

Nowadays, there weren't many arguments. Just long stretches of polite conversation... holiday phone calls... careful dinners that never quite ventured beyond work, the weather, or whatever medical journal one of you had read recently.

Somewhere along the way, the shouting had stopped, and most of the reflection Robby saw of himself in you had faded. He wasn't sure when silence and absence of pushback had become worse than the constant bickering.

He'd spent years wondering if things would get easier once you grew up. Instead, it sometimes felt like the older you got, the less either of you knew how to reach across whatever distance had settled between you.

He hated it, like any father who loved his daughter would, he just didn't know what to do about it. Every attempt seemed to land wrong- call too often, and he worried he was intruding. Give you space, and it felt like neglect. Offer advice, and he sounded like your attending instead of your father. Stay quiet, and he sounded like neither...

So he settled into the uncomfortable middle- close enough to convince himself he was trying, far enough away that he couldn't make things any worse. Or so he hoped.

He looked back to where you were laughing at something Santos had said now, completely at ease. The sight was oddly reassuring- at least someone was making you laugh. He was glad you weren't alone here- Robby always worried about you making and keeping friends (you were always such a sensitive and genuine kid, and people took advantage of that), and I guess that's one thing that will never change.

So maybe it wasn't that serious... maybe you'd just had an odd moment. Maybe it has just been a long shift and you were stressed and tired. He let himself believe that, not because he was certain it was true, but because the alternative- that there was something bigger he'd missed again- sat like a stone in his stomach.

He let the thought go. If you really had a bone to pick with him... you'd tell him. Wouldn't you?

Across the department, you happened to glance up, your eyes meeting his for half a second. He was about to walk over, but Robby looked away first, answering a nurse's question then moving quickly to tend to another patient. The moment dissolved before either of you could do anything with it.

Just another almost-conversation, another thing left unsaid. Another day he told himself there would be time to fix it later.

"Oh, we can fight like we used to fight"

You ducked into the medication room mostly for the silence- the fluorescent lights hummed steadily overhead, the sterile smell of alcohol wipes and disinfectant settling heavily in the air. Shelves lined every wall, stacked with neatly labeled bins and medication drawers that somehow always looked untouched despite the constant traffic through them. It was one of the few places in the department where the chaos outside felt muffled, reduced to distant monitor alarms and the occasional overhead page bleeding faintly through the walls.

You leaned against the counter, squeezing your eyes shut as you let yourself breathe for exactly three seconds. One in, one out. One in, one out. One in-

The door opened again, and you almost laughed as you dropped your head. Robby stepped inside, letting it swing shut behind him with a soft click. The room suddenly felt smaller. "There you are."

You busied yourself reorganizing a drawer that definitely didn't need reorganizing. "Need something?"

He watched you for a moment before answering. "I wanted to make sure we're okay."

Your hands stilled, and you took one slow breath before answering, carefully schooling your expression into something neutral despite the fact that he couldn't even see your face. "We're at work."

"I know."

"So we're fine."

"That's not how that works, nor is that what I asked." You shut the drawer a little harder than necessary, finally turning around to face him with your arms crossed, "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth would be a good place to start." He quipped, his typical already-about-to-explode sarcasm dripping from the words. You laughed quietly, "Sure..."

His brow furrowed at your attitude. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." you shrugged, clearly bothered by something. Robby glanced around incredulously, jaw ticking once his gaze landed back on you.

"You've been avoiding me all day." You barked out a laugh at that, eyed wide with disbelief, "I've been avoiding you?"

"Okay- maybe not at first, but after our little conversation, ya definitely have been"

"yeah, cuz I need to do my fucking job-"

"Watch your mouth." His response was automatic. Not even particularly stern, just parental. The same tone he'd used when you were fifteen, when you'd tracked mud through the house after practice, when you didn't do the dishes within the first ten minutes of him asking. The familiarity of it irritated you more than it should have.

"Whatever- I've been working."

"You've been doing both." The room fell quiet. Robby crossed his arms, studying you with that infuriatingly patient expression that made him such a good attending. "You've been snapping at me since we talked earlier."

"I snapped once."

"You snapped once out loud." The words landed before either of you had time to soften them. Your jaw tightened, and your brows furrowed.

"What, so you've been keeping score?" You knew your attitude was not one you should be having with your father, and if you were in a better mood, maybe you'd give him some credit for seeming more patient than usual.

"No." he shook his head, mouth already open for the next sentence, but you cut him off, "Could've fooled me."

"I'm trying to understand what's going on here, Y/n."

"Why?" The question came out sharper than you'd intended. "You haven't seemed particularly interested all day."

Something flickered across his face- confusion, then hurt.

"What is that supposed to mean?" The room suddenly felt too bright. You looked away. "Forget it."

"Nope." His voice stayed calm, but firmer now. "You don't get to throw something like that at me and then tell me to forget it."

You let out a slow breath through your nose, pressing your tongue to the inside of your cheek. "This is exactly why I don't say anything."

"Because I ask you to explain?"

"Because you don't hear me until I finally get frustrated." Robby stared at you, shoulders sagging just enough to be noticeable. "I've been standing here asking what's wrong, honey."

"Now you are." A wave of silence fell over you as the energy began to shift. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, exhaustion written plainly across his face now. The dark circles beneath his eyes seemed deeper than they had this morning.

"If you've got something to say to me kid, now's the time to say it... I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, but you know how things get here. I'm giving you the time to let me know what's going on..."

The challenge wasn't angry, it was tired. Very tired. For just a second, he wasn't your attending, or even Dr. Robby. He wasn't the respected department chief everyone looked to for answers. He was just your dad. He was looking at his daughter and realizing he'd somehow lost the thread of the conversation hours ago.

"I'm here."

Your eyes met his and you felt your defenses drop concerningly fast. Your eyes widened and stung as tears began to film over. Your heart clenched again- you felt a little sick. For one dangerous second, you considered it- telling him everything. How every missed recital, every empty seat, every birthday uncelebrated took a bigger toll on you than you ever fully realized until now. How every time you'd watched him give someone else the version of himself you'd spent your childhood wishing for, you had to fight yourself not to act out.

The words rose into your throat, then died there. You didn't even know where to begin... The words climbed into your throat. One sentence, that was all it would've taken.

But where did you even begin?

With your mother- the divorce? With Jake? With the birthdays? With the fact that you weren't even sure if you were angry anymore, or just… sad? The weight of twenty-something years couldn't fit into one conversation... so instead, you shook your head.

"It doesn't matter." His shoulders sagged almost imperceptibly. "It clearly does."

"It doesn't."

"You don't believe that."

"No," you admitted quietly. "I don't."

The admission hung between you as neither of you moved. A knock sounded against the door.

"Dr. Robinavitch?" one of the nurses called from the hallway. "EMS is two minutes out."

Robby closed his eyes for the briefest second.

"Coming." He looked back at you. "We're not done with this."

You bit your cheek, biting back the tears and overflow of emotions that were threatening to pour out of you. You nodded and raised your brows slightly, acknowledging Robby's words.

"We're not." he reaffirmed, then opened the door and disappeared back into the controlled chaos of the department. You waited until his footsteps faded before following.

"I wish you could know me"

It was probably close to an hour later when the hallway emptied as transport rolled your patient toward CT. For the first time all day, neither of you had somewhere you needed to be.

Robby sighed as he approached you, observing as you avoided eye contact, your body language giving that of an animal with their guard up, ready to run at any sign of danger. "I'm not looking for a fight."

You laughed under your breath. "Could've fooled me."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." He rested a hand on his hip, visibly searching for the right words. He wore the same careful expression he wore with difficult families- nervous residents- patients he knew were about to hear bad news. It irritated you immediately.

"Can we just..." He exhaled. "Reset?"

You blinked. "Reset."

"Yeah."

"As in pretend none of this happened?"

"As in start over." You stared at him. It sounded so easy when he said it- like whatever had been building between you all day was just another misunderstanding, something that could be wiped clean with a deep breath and a different approach.

"You've always been stubborn," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough that he was trying to lighten the mood. "I know how you get."

Something in your chest snapped taut, and your semi-irritated expression shifted into deeper, more visible distress. Robby clocked it, and his smile faded. "What?"

"You think you know me."

"I do know you."

"No." The word came faster than you meant it to. "You know who I was, and even then, you didn't know that person either."

Silence. He frowned. He looked genuinely taken aback.

"I don't..." He stopped himself, then tried again. "I've known you your whole life."

"You've known of my whole life." His face changed immediately. It was all the subtle cues that felt massive to you- his shoulders dropped just a fraction, his jaw tightened, like he'd physically felt the words you launched at him.

"That's not fair..." his voice came out much softer, "You don't get to say that."

"I don't?" You searched his face, your own expression caught somewhere between disbelief and heartbreak. "Why not?"

"Because it's not true." Your lips parted, but for a moment nothing came out. You studied him instead- the lines around his eyes, the streaks of gray that hadn't been there a decade ago, the exhaustion sitting heavy across his shoulders after hours of running an emergency department.

You knew this man. At least… you knew pieces of him.

The physician. The attending. The father who remembered to call when your car broke down but forgot to ask how the vacation you'd been planning for months had gone. The man who loved you with every part of himself... and somehow still felt like a stranger.

"Isn't it?"

Robby searched your face, looking for some indication that you didn't really mean it. He found none.

Instead, he took another slow step toward you, leaving only a few feet between the two of you. Close enough that he could see the shine of tears gathering in your eyes. Close enough that you could see the uncertainty beginning to creep into his. "I was there."

"Were you?" The question hung between you. You weren't loud or even dramatic with your delivery, the weight of it all coming from how genuinely you asked. Like you sincerely wanted to know whether the two of you had somehow lived completely different versions of the same life.

"I was there when you were born." You almost laughed, eyebrows lifting ever so slightly, the corner of your mouth threatening to curl into something bitter.

"When you broke your arm after doing gymnastics for only a month." His voice remained steady, measured. As though walking back through your childhood might somehow help you find each other again.

"When you graduated high school." his eyes stayed fixed on yours, not even noticing the resignation starting to waft off of you. "When-"

"You can list milestones all day." You cut him off before he could finish. "That doesn't mean you know anything about me."

His mouth opened, then immediately closed again. You hated the look on his face. Not because he looked angry, but because he looked confused, like he was mentally flipping through years of memories, trying to understand how they had somehow become insufficient.

"I know you're stubborn," he said quietly. The certainty returned to his voice just enough that you knew he'd found something to hold onto.

"I know you overwork yourself."

"I know you hate asking for help- and I'll admit, that is definitely my fault." A sad smile ghosted across his face before disappearing just as quickly.

"I know you overthink." He looked directly at you again. "Everything."

"Not because you're scared of what people think of you…" His voice softened, "but because you never want to hurt someone. Even if it's an accident. Even if it's not your fault."

Every sentence felt like another tiny cut. None of the statements he said were necessarily wrong; they were just incomplete.

Surface-level observations, things any attending who'd worked with you for six months could tell you. You wanted him to say something only a father would know.

Anything.

Your favorite book. The band you'd been obsessed with in college. The way you still called your mom's sister every Sunday. The fact that you'd switched specialties three times before landing in emergency medicine because you were terrified of becoming him.

Anything.

"I know my daughter." You swallowed hard. It always hurt so bad to hear him call you that. My daughter. Not your name. Not the woman standing in front of him. Just the role you'd been assigned before you'd ever become your own person. You wished hearing him call you that filled you with pride and joy... maybe it's time to give up on that dream.

The realization was so sharp it almost made you laugh. He really thought that was enough. He really believed knowing who you'd been at seventeen meant he knew who you were at twenty-five. And somehow that hurt more than him forgetting your birthday ever could.

Because birthdays were dates. This was you.

You looked at him for a long moment. And all you could think was I wish you knew me. Not your daughter. Me. Before you could say anything else, a voice echoed from down the hall.

"Dr. Robinavitch!" Both of you turned instinctively. Dana was waving from the nurses' station. "We need both of you."

The moment shattered. Robby looked back at you. "We are finishing this conversation later."

You gave a humorless smile. "Maybe."

But for the first time all day, you weren't sure you wanted to.

"And I wish I could know you much more sometimes"

Dana found Robby first, standing alone in the physician workroom, staring at a chart he'd already signed. "You've been reading the same page for about three minutes."

He looked up, almost startled, but said nothing as he stared owlishly at the older woman. "The chart."

"Oh..." He glanced down at it before setting it aside. "I guess I have."

Dana stepped farther into the room, letting the door drift nearly shut behind her. She leaned casually against the counter, arms folding loosely across her chest.

She'd known Robby long enough to recognize when he was hiding behind work. And she'd known him even longer than that. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

Robby let out a quiet breath through his nose. "It was nothing."

"Mhm."

"It was." She didn't argue, didn't call him out, didn't tell him she knew he was lying. Dana simply waited. Silence had always been one of her greatest strengths- she understood that people were remarkably uncomfortable with it, especially Robby.

"I don't know what I'm missing-" There it was.

"I feel like every time I think we're making progress..." He shook his head. "I say the wrong thing."

"You and Y/n?" He nodded once, barely anything.

"I don't even know what we were arguing about." The admission sounded almost embarrassing.

"I know she was upset... I know it was about me. I just..." He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "I don't know why."

Dana watched him carefully, studying him for a long moment. Not with judgment, but with quiet concern. "Did you ask?"

Robby sighed, shaking his head again, "I tried."

"And?" A sad, humorless laugh. "Apparently, I don't know my own daughter."

The words settled heavily between them. He stared at the floor for a long moment afterward, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing against the edge of the countertop as though he needed something to ground himself.

"I keep thinking if I just give her enough space, she'll come to me." He shook his head almost immediately afterward, frustrated with himself. "Then I try getting closer, and it feels like I push her even farther away."

The helplessness in his voice was unmistakable now. He wasn't asking Dana for advice or looking for reassurance, he was simply exhausted. His voice dropped almost to a whisper.

"I don't know how to be her dad anymore." Dana's expression softened. "You never stopped being her dad."

He smiled sadly, shaking his head. "No... I'm starting to think, at some point, I did..."

Silence settled between them. After a few moments, he spoke again, "I know she thinks I don't care."

"I know she probably thinks work always came first." He swallowed.

"The truth is..." He searched for the words carefully, almost as if saying them incorrectly now would somehow make the past worse. "I spent so much of her childhood trying to build a career that would make her proud- something that could guarantee she was taken care of."

His eyes drifted toward the department.

"I thought if I worked hard enough, she'd understand someday." A quiet, self-deprecating laugh escaped him. "I put a lot of faith in 'someday.'"

Dana didn't interrupt. She knew better.

"I kept thinking there'd be more time." His voice became distant, like he wasn't talking to Dana anymore, like he was talking to every version of himself that had made the same promise.

"When she graduated, when residency was over, when she wasn't so busy... When I wasn't." He shook his head slowly, his gaze lingered on nothing in particular.

Almost too quietly, he continued. "There was always another milestone we'd get through first."

Another long silence, then, almost too quietly, "I think what she saw..." He looked down at his hands, "was me making time for everyone else."

"Jake," The name alone seemed to hurt him to say in this context. "I coached his rec league team one summer."

His voice was full of disbelief, like he still couldn't reconcile the memory.

"I was there- I knew his friends, I helped him with homework." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Y/n was already a senior by then, I'm pretty sure."

"I told myself it was different- she didn't need me in the same way." The words sounded hollow even to him as he looked back at Dana.

"She was independent... had her own life." Even as he said it, he could hear how empty the justification sounded.

"I thought giving her space was what a good father did." He laughed once, no humor in it. He stopped, his eyes glassed over. "And then one day I looked up and realized I'd learned more about someone else's kid in six months than I'd learned about my own daughter in six years."

Dana's heart sank. She knew he wasn't exaggerating, wasn't trying to make himself look guilty. Robby had an epiphany, simply reaching a conclusion he'd spent years avoiding. He sat quietly with it for another few seconds before speaking again, almost like he was thinking out loud.

"I don't think she ever cared that I was there for Jake..." He paused, processing something in real time. "I think she cared that I proved I could be."

Dana found you almost forty minutes later. You were pretending to organize the supply cart. She knew you were pretending because you'd been holding the same box of gauze for at least two minutes, flipping it over every few seconds

"You planning on counting every q-tip?" You looked over your shoulder. "...Maybe."

Dana smiled faintly. "You okay?"

"No." The honesty surprised both of you. She stepped beside you, and neither of you spoke for a while.

"I always feel guilty after we fight." Dana stayed silent, as she had for Robby, knowing just how alike you truly are.

"I know he loves me." Your voice cracked around the words. "I know that- I've never questioned that."

You stared down at the unopened box in your hands. "But loving someone and knowing them aren't the same thing."

Dana nodded once, humming softly.

"I don't want a different dad." You blinked hard.

"I just..." The words caught in your throat. "I want him to be curious."

Dana frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." You laughed at yourself. "I get so excited when I learn something new about him."

The books he was reading. The music he liked. The stories from residency he'd never told before. The weird fact that he couldn't stand olives but always picked them off pizza instead of just getting a frozen pizza without them.

"They're stupid little things, but I feel so special when he tells me about them... He gets so excited, and I just feel like the coolest person ever when I'm the one he decides to share things with- especially when they're little things."

Your voice cracked throughout the explanation, your sad smile dropping into a frown as you barely contained your tears.

"But every time I find one out, I think..." I think you actually like me. I think you like me as an individual and don't just love me as your kid. "Like I'm meeting him again as someone else."

You glanced up at Dana. "I want that from him."

You swallowed. "I want him to ask me what I'm listening to."

"What I do when I'm not here. What I like to cook. Who I spend time with."

"I want him to know me because he wants to." Not because he felt obligated. Not because you shared a last name. Just... because you were you. Your eyes filled despite your best efforts.

"I still get excited when he asks me anything that's not about medicine." You laughed through tears that had begun to overflow. "Do you know how pathetic that is?"

Dana reached over, taking the box of gauze from your hands before you crushed it completely.

"No." She spoke quietly. "I think it's incredibly human."

You looked away. The department buzzed around you. Patients arrived. Phones rang. Someone laughed somewhere down the hall. Life kept moving.

"I just wish..." You stopped, and Dana waited, patient as ever. You shook your head. "...I wish I could know him more sometimes."

"And I wish..." Your voice was barely above a whisper now, "he wanted to know me, too."

"Wish I could do nothing with you"

As much as you claimed to hate your birthday, you knew that wasn't entirely true. You hated what birthdays represented- the expectation, the waiting, the tiny, childish hope that maybe this year would feel different. Because some embarrassingly stubborn part of you still wanted to be celebrated... to be seen. Not with balloons or cake or some elaborate surprise. Just... known.

The problem was that admitting that out loud felt infinitely more humiliating than pretending you didn't care. Because then you'd have to explain what you wanted. You'd have to tell people how to love you... how celebrating you didn't have to mean going all out on an expensive gift or a massive party, but rather something thoughtful and that showed some effort.

The thought alone made your stomach turn, so you never asked. You shrugged off birthdays, not daring to even mention the date just to be safe. You rolled your eyes at cards even though you knew it was going straight into the box of notes and cards from everything else you refused to get rid of, thanking people with a soft, embarrassed smile.

"You should ask him." You looked up from the chart you'd been reading to where Dana stood across from you with two coffees in hand.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She held one out. "You've spent the last hour staring at him every time you think he isn't looking."

"I have not."

"You have." You accepted the coffee anyway, a slight raise to your brow.

"I don't know why you're acting like he's the one who has to make the first move."

You laughed quietly. "Because he forgot my birthday?"

Dana's expression softened. "I'm not talking about your birthday."

"'kay, well I am."

"I know, sure..." She leaned against the counter. "But I really don't think you are."

The words settled somewhere uncomfortably deep. Before you could answer, Dana spoke again, "Ask him to dinner."

You stared at her. "...What?"

"After shift." She shrugged. "Just dinner."

The idea was so absurd you almost laughed. "Dana."

"What?"

"He'd think I was dying." She smiled. "See? That's exactly my point."

You looked across the department. Robby was finishing a conversation with Whitaker, rubbing absently at the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted... older than he had this morning.

For a second, you tried to picture the two of you sitting across from each other at some diner. No pagers. No patients. No charts. Just dinner. The image hurt more than you expected.

You honestly couldn't remember the last time you had dinner, just the two of you. What would you even talk about? Would he even care to talk to you about anything that wasn't related to medicine? What would he order? Did he still drown his fries in pepper? Would he still let you steal a bite off his plate without asking, or would he scold you instead of laughing and stealing a bite off yours?

You wanted to tell him about your apartment and how you'd finally started decorating. About the herbs you'd somehow managed to keep alive for six months. About the niche anime Mel had gotten you hooked on.

You wanted to know what he'd been reading lately. Whether or not he was sleeping any better. If he still listened to that old jazz station on his drive home when it rained.

You wanted all the little things. The things people learned accidentally when they loved each other loudly. You wanted to do absolutely nothing with your dad and know absolutely everything.

That felt impossible.

Dana nudged your shoulder. "You don't have to solve twenty years tonight." You looked down into your coffee. "Just ask him to dinner."

You took a slow breath, then another. "...Okay."

The word came out so quietly it barely sounded like you. Dana smiled, clapping a hand on your shoulder hard enough to make you flinch.

Across the department, Robby looked up just as you started walking toward him. He offered a tired smile when he saw you coming, your heart immediately started pounding.

Maybe this could be different. Maybe this could be the start of something. You had no idea that before the night was over, it would become the worst fight either of you had ever had.

"Leave it all on the table"

You almost turned around twice. The first time was because you caught sight of Whitaker asking Robby something on the other side of the department. The second because you convinced yourself this had been a terrible idea from the start.

Dana, who'd apparently decided she was emotionally invested in this now, caught your eye from the charge desk. She made a tiny motion with her head, telling you to go. You shot her a look that very clearly communicated I'm going to kill you later, and she just smiled. Traitor.

You waited until Robby had stepped into one of the empty consult rooms to finish a phone call before following a minute later, lingering awkwardly in the doorway until he noticed you.

He took in how you tried to contain your anxious fidgeting and doe-eyed, patient stare, and his own expression softened. "Hey."

"Hey."

He tucked his phone into his pocket. "You need something?"

Your stomach immediately tightened, not necessarily affected by the words themselves, but by how casual he sounded. How gentle he seemed to be trying to be.

"I, uh..." God. Why was this so hard? You cleared your throat. "I was wondering..."

He waited patiently, which was quite uncharacteristic- especially when he was working- especially when it came to you.

"...if you wanted to grab dinner after shift." For a second, he just looked at you, then he smiled so softly it hurt your heart.

"Yeah." The answer came easily. "I'd like that, sweetheart."

Your shoulders loosened before you even realized they'd been tense, your eyes stinging with emotion you didn't even acknowledge had been bubbling in your chest. "Okay."

"Okay." Robby nodded as an awkward silence settled between you. Neither of you moved. It almost felt... Normal. Like what you assumed a good relationship between a parent and their child would feel like. Robby rubbed the back of his neck.

"I know today's been..." He searched for the word. "...weird."

Your smile faded. He noticed. "I didn't like how we left things earlier."

"I don't either." Another brief moment of silence hung between you, as if you were both still scared of saying something that could set off a land mine.

"I figured maybe we could just..." He shrugged. "Talk."

The word lodged somewhere behind your ribs. Talk. Finally. You nodded. "Yeah... yeah, I'd like that."

He let out a small breath. "Good."

Then, trying to lighten the mood in the way fathers often do when they're uncomfortable, he smiled again. "Maybe after we've both had something to eat."

You huffed a quiet laugh. "Probably."

"You're always in a better mood after food."

The comment should've been harmless, you knew he meant it as such, but something about it cracked open the frustration you'd been trying to keep contained all day. You should've just let it go... you knew he was just joking. But part of you thought maybe he was trying to drive you insane at this point. That he was acting clueless and throwing out harmless jokes that he knew would send you over the edge.

Of course, he thought you were just hungry. Just tired. Just irritable after a long shift. Just like every other argument you'd ever had. You stared at him for a second longer than you meant to, and he noticed immediately. "What?"

"You really think that's what this is?"

His smile faltered. "What?"

"This." You gestured vaguely between the two of you. "You think I just need dinner?"

Confusion settled across his face, hands coming up in defense. "I didn't say that."

"You implied it."

"I was making a joke."

"I know." Your voice was soft and breathy, filled with disappointment. Disappointed in your father for not getting it, and disappointed in yourself for being so sensitive.

"You alway make everything smaller than it is."

Silence lingered as Robby blinked. He shook his head slightly, clearly confused again, but aware that this was a touchy conversation again, "I wasn't trying to."

"I know." And somehow, again... that made it worse. Because if he wasn't trying, then this was just who the two of you were- a father who thought a meal could smooth over years, and a daughter who couldn't stop hearing dismissal where he meant comfort.

The room suddenly felt too small.

“You haven’t even said happy birthday to me yet...” Your composure cracks slightly- not anything noticeable to the general public, but the most obvious shift to a man who has watched you crumble many times over the years.

Robby’s face turns red, morphing from irritation to confusion and slight horror, “what’re you talking about?”

You let out a defeated sigh and glance away briefly, clenching your jaw and biting your cheek “it’s my fucking birthday, Dad…”

His brain short-circuited for a moment, practically resetting as you frowned in front of him, actively trying to push back a persistent wave of tears. It absolutely broke his heart.

“I know that- you think I don’t know that?” He closed in on you, lowering his chin as if making himself smaller would minimize the impact of the conversation.

“You’ve watched every other person in this hospital say something and all you did was give me a weak ass side hug! You didn't even say happy birthday to me...“ you felt like a child again as you began to break down in front of your father, the last bits of your tough exterior slipping away.

You really thought you’d have a better grip on your emotions when it came to him now, after so many years of rewriting your brain and spending time with people who actually put effort in knowing you. But it seems like you’ll always be that little girl who just desperately wants to be seen and understood by her father…

"Y/n, I knew it was your birthday the second I saw you this morning."

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"I-" He stopped, brows pinched together as he replayed the day. The hug. Talking about dinner. The conversation outside CT. The argument. His stomach dropped. "...I thought I did."

"You didn't."

"I..." He swallowed. "I meant to."

You stared at him. "You meant to."

"I hugged you." He immediately felt shitty after saying it. I hugged you. And that should've meant something because we never hug anymore. What the fuck Robby?

"Okay?" you threw your arms up

"I figured I'd say it when things settled down." Your laugh was hollow. "We work in a hospital"

"Exactly- It got busy." You cut him off, "It always gets busy."

He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "I don't know what you want me to say right now except that I'm sorry."

"You're apologizing because you forgot to say the words-" You shook your head.

"I'm upset because if you actually remembered..." Your voice cracked. "...then that means you made a hundred different choices today where you still didn't say them."

Silence hung in the air as he floundered, trying to find the best thing to say, "I wasn't choosing not to..."

You let out another disbelieving laugh. "Dana made sure everyone who worked here knew it was my birthday..."

There was another long, guilty pause before you continued, "Mel brought me my exact coffee order, even though she doesn't even drink coffee so she would've had no reason to stop otherwise"

"Santos has been shoving birthday cake protein bars in my pockets all day, knowing I'm only gonna take a bite of one every two and a half hours"

"Whitaker got me a card and we're not even friends!" You looked him dead in the eye. "They didn't have 20 something years to remember me, and they still did something."

The words landed hard. "I remembered you."

The conviction returned to his voice for the first time in several minutes, like he was so sure you couldn't take this away from him.

"did you?"

"I remembered my daughter's birthday-"

"But not your daughter." Robby physically recoiled, the movement so instinctive it looked as though you'd shoved him backward. His jaw flexed once, then again, his lips parting before he could think of anything to say. For a brief, awful second, he simply stared at you, searching your face for some sign that you'd take it back. Instead, all he found were tears.

"That is not what this is." His voice had become firmer now, steadier, like he was trying to hold onto the conversation before it slipped completely out of his hands.

"Then what is it?"

"It's me making a mistake, Y/n." You shook your head at the rise in his tone. "It's you making the same mistake that you've been making."

His expression shifted. The guilt that had been sitting plainly on his face all morning slowly began giving way to something else. No matter what he said, Robby knew it wasn't reaching you, and he unfortunately could breathe through his own frustrations for so long.

"I said I was sorry."

"I know."

"What else am I supposed to do?"

"You don't know?" your voice cracked with disbelief

"No, I don't!" His voice came up for the first time. "Because every time I think I understand why you're upset, you tell me it's actually about something else."

"It is about something else!" The words ripped out of you before you could try to calm yourself down, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you'd been trying to keep buried.

"Then tell me what it is!" His own voice climbed to meet yours. Even though he hadn't changed much, he had gotten better about yelling- but old habits die hard. His hands came up for only a second before dropping back to his sides, fingers flexing against his scrub pants.

There was desperation there now, replacing the measured patience he'd walked into the room with. He was carefully balancing the need to win and the want to understand.

"I HAVE BEEN." Your answer echoed off the walls, louder than you'd intended. You could feel your throat burning already, your chest tightening with every breath. Tears blurred your vision again, but you refused to wipe them away.

"You keep talking in circles!"

"Because you keep missing the point!" You took an involuntary step toward him, the space between you shrinking without either of you realizing it. It wasn't threatening. It was pleading.

"You won't let me fix it!" The words came out sharper than he'd intended.

"You can't fix something you still don't understand!" The words echoed between you, neither of you noticing how loud you'd become.

Robby took one slow breath, forcing himself back down. "Help me understand."

You looked at him- really looked at him- and for just a second... you almost opened up. Almost told him that it wasn't about birthdays, that it was about years of feeling invisible. About every little girl moment that had quietly accumulated into this one. But then he beat you to the punch

"I can't fix twenty years in one conversation." Something in you hardened immediately. "I didn't ask you to."

"No?" His own patience was beginning to fray now. "Because that's what this feels like."

"You don't get to decide what this feels like for me."

"And you don't get to decide that nothing I've done since then matters." The room fell silent. "I have spent years trying."

"You think so?" You laughed bitterly. "You have no idea who I am."

"I am standing here trying to know you!" Robby was practically pleading at this point, his tone shifting from begging to anger, giving you emotional whiplash.

"No, you're trying to stop feeling guilty!" The words hit harder than you intended. Robby actually flinched and froze in his place, as if your words had tranqulizised him.

"I am trying to be your father."

"You had twenty-five years to do that."

"I had a job!"

"You had plenty of time play house with someone else's family!" There was a chilling silence. You knew it was a low blow- it was a sore subject to this day, though it was much worse back when it was active and fresh. However, you didn't even let Robby try to defend himself from that one, "Every other parent in this hospital was just as busy-"

"I was trying to keep a roof over your head!"

"I would've traded the house for you!" The sentence hung between you like smoke. Robby looked at you as though you'd slapped him. His voice, when it came, was quieter than it had been all day. "I don't think you mean that."

"I do."

"You don't."

"I absolutely do." He shook his head. "No. You don't get to rewrite your childhood because you're angry."

Your eyes widened. "Rewrite it?"

"That's exactly what you're doing right now."

"No, I'm telling you how it felt." "And I'm telling you that's not the whole story."

"You think I don't know that?" Your voice cracked. "I know you loved me, Dad... I know you worked hard. I know you thought you were doing the right thing- but none of that changes what it was like to be your daughter."

Robby dragged both hands over his face- he looked truly exhausted. "I don't know what you want from me anymore, Y/n. I just don't know-"

"I want you to stop defending yourself long enough to hear me."

"I have been hearing you."

"No-"

"I have-"

"No, you've been waiting for your turn to explain why none of this is actually your fault." Something finally snapped.

"ENOUGH" The single word cut through the room. "I have apologized. I have listened. I have admitted I made mistakes."

His breathing had quickened now. "But every time I take one step toward you, you move the finish line."

He looked at you with tears gathering in his own eyes, voice breaking as he spoke "So tell me...what exactly would ever be enough?"

You opened your mouth, but were left without an answer. There unforutnaltey wasn't anything he could give you in that moment that would ease the heartache you've been harboring.

He nodded once, slow and defeated "That's what I thought."

He turned toward the door. "You know what I think?"

He didn't look back as his hand settled on the doorknob. "I think you've spent so long defining yourself by everything I got wrong... that you've forgotten to leave room for anything I've tried to get right."

Another beat. "And that's not all on me anymore."

The words landed like a knife. "You don't have to forgive me."

His voice was almost hollow now. "But at some point, you have to decide whether you actually want a father..."

Finally, he looked over his shoulder. "...or whether you'd rather keep punishing the one you've got."

It was cruel, Robby knew that. He knew the words would hurt you, especially because they weren't true and especially because you'd already been harboring the guilt of a child who felt responsible for the feelings of every adult in her life.

He saw it on your face and immediately regretted letting the words slip out. The devastation dragging your lips into a permanent frown, and you eyes into the saddest, most disappointed gaze. The way your shoulders caved inward. The tears that stopped looking angry and started looking heartbroken.

For one impossible second, he almost took it back. Instead, he looked away. More tears fell freely as Robby turned around and took a few steps toward the door. His hand twisted the knob, about to pull it open.

"Yeah?" you sobbed, sniffling and taking a deep breath before shouting with your whole chest, "WELL, YOU'RE NOT THAT FUCKING GREAT EITHER"

Your throat hurt, raw from a combination of the crying and screaming, and sore from the tension of holding everything in for so long. Your father stilled, practically frozen. He didn't flinch, didn't sigh, he didn't even tilt his head back in your direction. Robby just opened the door and walked out.

The click of the door echoed far louder than it should have, and then there was nothing. No hospital chaos or background noise, just you.

Your knees gave out before you even realized they were shaking. You caught yourself on the edge of the counter, your breathing ragged as another sob tore its way out of your chest.

How had dinner plans turned into this? How had wanting your dad to care somehow become telling each other the worst things you'd ever thought?

You squeezed your eyes shut. You'd finally done it this time... You left it all on the table- every moment you'd spent wondering why everyone else seemed to know him better than you did. every awful, ugly thought you'd buried because saying them out loud made them real. And yes, you still didn't feel any lighter, just hollow.

A quiet knock sounded against the door. You didn't answer. It opened anyway. Dana's face fell the second she saw you. "Oh, sweetheart..."

She crossed the room in two quick steps, wrapping you in a hug before you could protest. You folded into her, sobs immediately picking back up.

"I ruined it," you whimpered into her shoulder.

"No." you felt her shake her head

"I did- I did. I ruined it." Your voice cracked. She shook her head again, gentler this time, "You had a fight."

"I said horrible things."

"So did he."

"I don't know if he even wants me around anymore." Dana pulled back just enough to look at you. "I have known your father for a long time, Sweetheart... he's not leaving you behind cuz of one bad fight."

You sniffled. "He walked out."

"I know."

"He just..." Your breathing hitched again. "...he walked away."

Dana's expression softened with something that looked almost like sadness. "He walked away because if he'd stayed another minute, one of you would've said something neither of you could survive."

You crumpled in on yourself even more at that, devastated by his lack of patience and understanding. For his lack of wanting to be better and kinder.

She brushed a tear from your cheek with her thumb. "Leaving wasn't the worst thing he did today."

"No."

"It wasn't."

"But I don't think it was because he stopped loving you."

"I don't think he ever will..." You looked down at your shoes, "I just don't know if he likes me."

The confession was so quiet Dana almost missed it. It wasn't the kind of fear a twenty-something-year-old should still be carrying. But there it was- small and fragile, waiting years to be spoken. Dana's heart broke all over again.

"Oh..." She pulled you into another hug. "I think he loves you so much that somewhere along the way he forgot you needed him to show it."

You cried harder, because that was somehow much worse.

Down the hall, Robby stood alone outside the staff exit. His keys sat uselessly in his hand, he couldn't even make himself walk to the parking lot.

The words replayed mercilessly. I would've traded the house for you. You have no idea who I am. But not your daughter. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and when he finally lowered them, they were wet. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried at work.

A nurse walked past, offering him a polite nod, he returned it automatically, then leaned against the wall once she was gone.

He'd forgotten to say happy birthday. Two words. Two stupid words. And somehow they'd unearthed twenty years of grief he hadn't realized his daughter was still carrying.

He thought about turning around, going back, apologizing again, maybe finally saying it the right way. Instead, he pictured your face after the last thing he'd said. The way you'd looked at him... You weren't angry, you were heartbroken and devastated.

His own stomach twisted.

Some apologies were too small for the damage already done. He couldn't apologize again tonight. Tonight, anything else he said would only make it worse.

So, for the first time in his life, Michael Robinavitch did the one thing he had always hated doing... he admitted to himself that he had absolutely no idea how to fix the person he loved most.

Long after the department had quieted, long after the birthday cake had been wrapped in foil and forgotten in the break room refrigerator, long after the night shift had settled into its own rhythm...

There sat an untouched dinner invitation between a father and a daughter. Neither of them hungry anymore. Neither of them knowing that wanting to be known had felt impossible only because neither believed the other person still wanted to learn.

And somewhere beneath all the anger... beneath every accusation, every missed birthday, every word they wished they could take back... that was all either of them had ever really wanted.

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WOWOW do I love me so dad angst!!!