summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader
warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint
notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂↕️
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
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masterlist
“Ew.”
The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.
You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.
“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.
McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.
“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.
You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.
After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.
“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.
“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.
“It’s raspberry flavoured.”
“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”
You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.
He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.
You: Are you coming in early today?
JA ❤️: Always.
You quickly typed out another message.
You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible
The reply came almost instantly.
JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.
You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.
JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.
You: are you psychic?
JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.
Your smile widened as his reply came through.
You: thank u 🩷
JA ❤️: 👍
“What are you smiling at?”
You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”
“Nothing.”
Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.
Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”
“What?”
“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.
“That?” Whitaker supplied.
“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”
You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”
Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”
You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”
Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”
Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."
You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.
“Never give your triggers away Santos.”
“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.
You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.
You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.
“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.
“You all good?”
“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”
“Not for a little while.”
“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”
“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”
You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”
Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”
You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”
“Apparently so.”
You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.
Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.
“Hey.”
You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.
“What?” You asked warily.
Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”
“The what?”
Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.
“Absolute smoke show.”
Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”
Your brows knitted together.
“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.
“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.
You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.
At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.
And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.
“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.
You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.
Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.
Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.
“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”
By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.
“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”
Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.
“Well I’ll be.”
That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.
“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”
Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.
“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”
“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”
“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.
He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.
"Someone has to."
Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.
“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.
"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.
“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.
“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.
Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"
Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.
"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"
"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"
"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."
McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.
Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”
You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.
“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”
You snorted. “Please.”
“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”
You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”
He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."
He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”
You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”
“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."
"No."
"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”
“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”
"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.
“Wait let me guess.”
Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.
His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”
He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”
From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”
Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep that bulged as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.
Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.
For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.
Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”
Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.
“I’m right."
You didn't answer.
"I am."
“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”
“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”
“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”
Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."
"He also has excellent aim."
"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."
And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.
"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.
“You’re happy?”
You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.
“I am.”
“He good to you?"
You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”
Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”
For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.
You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”
“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.
"So the usual then?"
“The usual.”
He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”
“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."
Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”
“Sloan.”
The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.
Mark's grin returned instantly.
“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.
"A lot less hair since I last saw you."
Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”
Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.
Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.
“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”
“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”
“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”
Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.
“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”
Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”
McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”
The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."
Robby’s brows knitted together, his eyes darting between you and Mark.
“You two know eachother?”
“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.
“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.
Robby's confusion deepened. “Cupid…?”
You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.
“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“
“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea."
Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."
“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”
Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.
You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.
He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.
"Ex?"
You sighed. "...Ex."
Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”
“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”
Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.
You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.
“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.
Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.
You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.
When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.
“Don’t you dare say a word.”
She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”
You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.
For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.
By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.
“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”
You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.
“The old lady with the chest pain?”
“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.
You frowned. "That sucks."
“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.
“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."
Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”
Your eyes narrowed.
"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.
"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."
"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.
"I hate all of you."
Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"
Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.
You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.
You waited a couple minutes before moving.
The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.
A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So… that’s your ex.”
“That’s my ex.”
He nodded. "You left out a few details."
"Such as?"
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.
“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”
Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"
Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."
Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”
“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”
“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”
“You’re not.” You insisted.
Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”
“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.
Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.
"Jack."
"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”
You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.
“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.
“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.
“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”
You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”
Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.
“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”
His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”
“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”
The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”
“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”
His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”
Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.
“Well, lucky for him it worked.”
The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.
He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.
“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”
You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”
“Yes.” He answered plainly.
You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”
Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”
You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”
Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”
Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.
“Did you eat?”
You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”
Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”
“I will.”
“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”
Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”
“Of course.”
You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”
His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.
“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”
You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.
You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”
You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.
“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”
Jack raised a brow.
“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”
“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.
“I know I am.”
“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.
You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.
Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍
pairing: dr. jack abbot x f!plus size dating influencer reader
rating – explicit. minors dni
wc – 5.4k
series masterlist | chapter 01
series summary - forty and recently divorced, you come across the world of tiktok dating influencers. in need of pick me up, you decide to make a profile for yourself and see how it is with your own eyes. you have your own rules; no picking you up, never bringing a man home even if sex is on the table, never repeating a date and no strings attatched. but what happens when you meet a certain silver fox doctor at a bar that comes to your rescue after an awful date?
chapter summary – rules are meant to be broken, and the consequences of it come fast.
warnings – angst, fluff and SMUT. drinking, mentions of smoking weed. feelings of unworthiness and self sabotage. jack is a babe (as usual). reader still is a menace and is in her head a lot, some inner monologue. sort of a SMAU. public sex, car sex, oral (m! receiving), p in v, reader’s head working extra hours while doing it. shit happens ig.
she/her pronouns and afab!reader. reader is described to be fat, other than that, no specific descriptions race or ethnicity. all lowercase for styling purposes.
a/n – heyyy! this is a shorter one but i think it’s pretty sweet. hope you enjoy it!
dividers by uzmacchiato and cursed-carmine
jack abbot arrived late at the PTMC that monday.
well, late for jack abbot standards. for someone who usually arrives at least half an hour earlier than he needs to, arriving 6:55 for his 7p.m. shift was arriving late.
he walked in with a pep in his step. jack greeted everyone who crossed his way, asked how lupe and chantanah’s weekend had gone, bet one hundred bucks on ahmad’s newest betting pool (apparently, robby and baran had a spat so big that weekend that everyone decided that the reason of their animosity towards each other is because they were secretly in love. after that, ahmad’s beloved white board was cleared, who, how and when columns were created, and now they’ve amassed almost one thousand dollars in bets. oh, jack’s guesses are: both, after a bad case and in three months), and even entertained in myrna’s shenanigans, twirling her wheelchair around a couple of times.
robby shook his head when he heard the frequent flyer say “that’s why i like you better than dr. fruitcake, dr. abbot.” between giggles. his friend laughed and shook his head, giving her an “oh, myrna” as he made his way to present himself for shift change.
“i’ll take the date went well.” robby said to jack without taking his eyes from the chart he was finishing.
“date?” dana and lena shouted in unison.
“louder ‘cause whoever is in north one didn’t hear it.” he said with not one ounce of anger in his voice and opened a huge smile before continuing. “and yes, i went on a date on saturday and it went really well.”
dana patted jack in the back, her smile just as big as his. “happy for you, abbot.”
those close to him knew the importance of this step on jack’s life. eliza, liz, lizzie, the love of his life. the woman jack met when he was eighteen, fresh out of high-school, through liz’s cousin and jack’s best friend, diego, at a birthday party at diego’s parent’s house and were inseparable since then. she was the one who was with him through the highs and lows of life. during med school, his deployment, the death of his father, the loss of his leg and everything that came with it. liz was jack’s rock and guiding light.
and he had to watch that light dim over the course of a year.
on a routine check up, they found out liz had stage 3 cancer. liz tried every treatment available, but the worst outcome possible happened one year to the date they discovered the disease.
the first year without lizzie was the worst of jack’s life. he blamed himself for it everyday, even if he knew he did everything he could. jack felt like a zombie, pilling shifts on shifts, pulling doubles whenever he could and sleeping no more than an hour a night. jack lost so much weight that his phone face recognition didn’t recognise him anymore.
it was a particular case that helped jack take his first steps to ask for help.
he may not admit, but jack remembers that shift particularly well. the day of the first anniversary of his wife’s passing was approaching and jack had been on edge all week. it was one of those harsh winter shifts that doctors had a hard time arriving and patients only set foot in the streets if extremely needed. a strong snowfall hit pittsburgh earlier than expected and robby’s day team had a difficult time arriving at the PTMC, so jack, shen and a few of the night shift nurses pulled a double.
it was around two in the afternoon that a wife arrived at the pitt with her husband, a prostate cancer patient in palliative care. jack was the one to attend him, not before robby insisted he could take on the case.
jack couldn’t lie, it was one of the hardest cases he had been a part of, not because it was beyond his capabilities, but because it hit too close to home. jack saw liz in steve; the way he breathed, the hums, how he looked at his wife like silvia meant the world to him.
jack had to blink twice whenever he entered steve’s room as his mind kept playing tricks on him.
steve left this realm a little over an hour after he arrived at the hospital. like he always did, jack lent a sympathetic ear to the widow in case she needed it. and jack found someone who was in a much more sane state of mind than him.
he learned that steve and silvia were a few years older than him and high-school sweethearts, kind of like him and liz. they had been each other’s only partners and had eighteen year old twins. like he had seen in his chart but hadn’t computed the information, steve discovered his cancer ten years prior and the disease had come and gone twice, but ended up being fatal the third time.
when the third time came around, steve made a bucket list of things he wanted to do before he passed like going on a worldwide cruise, watching a football match in england and writing a book. the book was a love letter to silvia in the form of poems; in the last one, steve made silvia promise that she would live her life, that she wouldn’t mourn him for long and that, if she ever felt like falling in love again, she would do it and not think about her dead husband.
the morning after she had won the gift, silvia called a therapist specialised in grief, who helped her understand and go through the grief stage four cancer brings.
jack found him one during his lunch break that day.
“is she pretty, jack?” lena asked.
“she’s stunning and smart and funny and i seriously don’t know what she saw in me.” jack laughed and shook his head.
robby snorted at his best friend's self deprecation. “give yourself your due credit, brother.”
across the hub, trinity listened to the conversation and thought about the video she had just watched, happy that the attending would, supposedly, be getting his second date.
you walked down the halls of university thankful that you would be getting ten days off starting tomorrow.
since leaving his apartment that sunday, all you could think about was your date with jack. you weren’t one to compare, knowing the circumstances and everything in between, but taking into account the last few years of your marriage and the dates you had gone since you started the experiment, the moments you shared with jack were the best you had had in years. jack made you laugh and was attentive, he actually listened to you and was interested in knowing you and what you had to say. jack looked at you with reverence and the want in his eyes made your skin prickle.
but there was still a side of you that was on alert.
the rules you created were set for a reason. eighteen years with someone aren’t eighteen days. and, even if the only feelings you had left for paul were disgust and annoyance, you felt like you couldn’t get into another relationship. firstly, as independent as you had been your entire life, you didn’t exactly have the time to develop and get to know the you out of a relationship.
secondly, this was the first time in your life that you had been living alone since you went straight from your parents house to college, where you shared dorms with grace and leticia, to living with paul once you graduated and got married, and you were loving living alone. there was something about getting home after work and not having to play house and pretend to be lively that was so enticing and liberating to you. and the silence, god, the silence.
thirdly, the dating pool was shit. yes, overall, you had been graced with (mostly) good dates since the experiment started, but the measly ones you had and the horror stories you heard were enough for you to want to protect your peace long term.
that is why your newly found infatuation for jack scared you so much.
you felt an inexplicable pull to him from the moment he joked about your choices of drink that first day at the bar, and it only grew day by day as you texted or called, when you went to sleep with “goodnight” texts everyday for the past two weeks – even if jack was having a busy shift – and when you woke up to his 06a.m. “good morning” messages.
you knew you were fucked, but you were trying not to think about it.
with a groan, you sat down on your comfortable orthopaedic chair, stretching out all limbs before pulling your phone from your back pocket. it had been going off with texts almost all morning, and you were pretty sure ninety nine percent from them were grace’s, so, after confirming your suspicions, you facetimed her.
“look who decided to finally stop avoiding me.” was grace’s “hi” to you. you rolled your eyes.
“you know i was in class.”
“yeah… well, i gotta be dramatic somehow. but what you’ve been avoiding is telling me how things with your hot doctor are. you posted that short ass tiktok weeks ago saying he was going to get the first second date, and that was it. i still don’t know how the date went.”
after the post button was hit and realisation downed on you that you had just told your thousands of followers that you were going on a second date with mcdreamy, you panicked. you kept your weekly vlogs that served as a rundown of what you did that week and shared a few things here and there, but refused to open the comments on the post jack’s date video. grace didn’t get much either, as much as she bugged you for it daily.
you decided to put her out of her misery.
“i’m afraid of my feelings.” you said with a sigh.
“elaborate.”
you told grace everything. from how the date went, to the museum educator saying you and jack were a beautiful couple, to how he acted with you all night and how easy it felt for you to be truly yourself with him, how you didn’t have to make yourself smaller next to him (not only physically, but personality wise too), to how he acted like he was the one who was granted the biggest opportunity of his life that was being in your presence, to the sex (grace was particularly amused by the way he had to eat you out before breakfast), to the fact that you guys text daily and talk about nothing and everything.
“again, what are you afraid of?” your friend asked.
“grace, you know what i’ve been through. you know the rules and why i’ve set them, i can’t just go and mess it all up.”
graced laughed like you had said the most ridiculous thing.
“this is ridiculous.” ok, she confirmed what you were dreading. “those are self imposed rules, there’s nothing in the constitution saying you can’t catch feelings for a pretty awesome guy just because your ex-husband ended up turning into a bitch after a few years of marriage.”
“first of all, i’m not–“
grace interrupted you, calling your name using the stern tone of voice reserved for when you were being unreasonable or going on a spiral. and you were about to be both.
“remember that conversation we had when we’re high as a kite and talked about walking past our soulmates and meeting them? you’ve just said he often goes to the brewery with his best friend and apparently the two of you have the same habits,” in those two weeks of texts, you found out that you and jack shared too many habits, from going to the same farmer’s market almost every sunday, to only going to the century square luxury cinemas, even if it was out of your ways, because of their chairs.
you shook your head. “yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s my soulmate. or that they are real.” grace gave you a look that felt painful.
“i hate that paul hurt you so badly that it turned you into a sceptical person.” she inhaled and rubbed her hands across her pretty face. “what i’m saying is that maybe you shouldn’t pass out on a good opportunity because you are afraid of a ‘what if.’ you don’t– he’s texting you, isn’t he? you face just lit up like you won the lottery.”
damn it. sometimes you hated that your face had a life of its own. and yes, the same notification came up on your phone and macbook at the same time, your imessage app warning you that jack abbot had finally woken up from his post shift sleep.
jack from the bar: Hey, sweetheart. Robby is going away for a couple of weeks and I’ll be on the day shift for the foreseeable future starting thursday. I have the whole day off tomorrow and would love to finally take you out on that second date.
you read the text out loud to grace.
“you better tell that man ‘yes’ right now.”
sent: would love to. dealer’s choice.
“hey, guys! we’re having a morning/afternoon date today. mcdreamy has the day off today and so am i, so we’re embracing the opportunity to be out in the sun. anyway! make up is the same old, forgot to record it, sorry. skirt is H&M and the top i have no idea where i got it from, because i cut the tag off. flats because ja–“ you cut yourself short, eyes widening when you realised his name almost slipped out. you muttered a “fuck”, deleted what you had recorded so far and started again.
“flats because mcdreamy told me to be comfortable and a coach bag.” you twirled around, showing off the white flowy, cotton midi skirt, the red and white gingham shirt that showed your cleavage well, your purse and shoes of choice.
“i have no idea where we’re going, but apparently he has the whole day mapped out, and i’m soooo excited! as usual, see you guys after the date. bye!”
jack had been secretive about where he was taking you from the moment you agreed to the second date. he offered to pick you up at your place, and, as usual, you told him you would rather meet him there. you don’t know if that annoyed him, jack never showed any annoyance and respected your wishes when you didn’t agree with something he offered. but, to reach a middle ground, jack told you to choose a coffee spot for you to have breakfast together, so the first stop of your date would still be a surprise.
you picked the little coffee shop two blocks down from your building that you loved so much.
jack was already there when you arrived, looking a little anxious and a bit out of place as he played with the lid of his drink of choice. there was a another drink on the table that looked a lot like your favourite iced coffee, and you had to stop yourself from squealing at the sight of the handsome man.
the tingling sensation you felt whenever you talked with, thought about or were close to him grew stronger as you approached the table, and you took a deep breath when you saw his eyes light up when he saw you.
can’t run away now.
shouldn’t have agreed to this.
what was i thin–
“hey!” jack greeted and hugged you. you moved awkwardly around each other, not knowing if you should kiss the other on the cheek and, on a whim, you pecked jack’s lips. the man visibly relaxed on your arms and kissed you back.
i am sooo fucked.
“hope i didn’t keep you waiting long.” you told him shyly.
“no, of course not!” jack shook his head enthusiastically. “i ordered you that coffee you told me you liked.”
you thanked him.
when jack told you to choose a place to have breakfast together, you mentioned the brazilian coffee shop you discovered when you moved to your new neighbourhood after the divorce, and how you went there almost everyday. their doce de leite iced coffee was the only thing that made you happy months after your life got turned upside down.
“what should we eat?”
you pursed your lips, considering the options. “everything is so good, but for breakfast? pão de queijo.”
“pão de queijo?”
“yeah, it’s these little cheesy bread ball thingies that are so fucking good.”
jack smiled at your enthusiasm. “alright, ‘pow’ de queijo it is.”
you giggled and held jack’s arm. “jack, hold on.”
“what?”
“pão de queijo.”
“yeah, ‘pow’ de queijo.”
“no, pão.”
jack furrowed his brows. “what am i saying wrong?”
“it’s like ‘pawn’. the way you were saying sounds a lot like the brazilian portuguese slang for “cock”. i know because i asked for ‘cheesy cock’ for almost two months before the girls took pity on me.”
the owners and the whole staff of the brada coffee shop were brazilian, and in the short time you started going there, sabrina and fabiane, the morning cashier and barista, became good friends of yours.
“oh god, no cheesy cock for us.” when you and jack turned around, you found fabiane and sabrina smiling at you. “two ‘pawn’ de queijo, please.”
“did you like your breakfast?” you asked jack when the car turned into a familiar road.
“loved it, actually. i walk by it on my way to the hospital but never had the curiosity to sit down. i’ll definitely go there more often.”
“right? i’m happy you liked–” you noticed the building you haven’t visited in ages and stopped yourself. “jack, are you serious?”
“surprise!” he smiled at you.
“god, i haven’t been here in such a long time. thank you!”
jack took your hand as you walked inside your favourite place in the city, the pittsburgh zoo & aquarium. that place became your second home during your college days; whenever you had a bad day, you would buy a ticket and sit in front of the shark tank and look at the animals swimming around until your problems washed away.
walking around the zoo and aquarium with jack abbot turned out to be another tick on the ever growing list of things that made jack abbot a living breathing threat to your rules.
he had an enviable knowledge of the animals there, having a titbit about almost all of them, played around with some of the kids visiting, asking them about their favourite animals and telling them his, and even explained the concept of a prosthetic leg when a group of three four year olds gathered around him once he sat down and the fabric of his pants lifted up, leaving a bit of his prosthesis exposed. one of the little boys screamed “cool!” before they went back running to wherever they came from.
when you got to the aquarium, jack listened to you as you talked about the animals there, stared at you as you excitedly told him about the good and bad days you had in front of the shark tank, laughing when you told him about the day you and grace smoked a joint in the parking lot and went straight to the fishes, only to leave the building having the worst trip of your lives, and was incredulous when you told him you tried to volunteer to feed the animals, with a very thoroughly put together presentation, only to never hear back from them.
“ready?” jack asked when he pulled out of the aquarium’s parking lot, heading to the next destination.
“i don’t know what else will top this.”
“oh, you just wait and see.”
the forty minute drive was filled with laughter stemming from silly shared stories, and with you judging jack for his playlists after he handed you his phone with spotify opened, so you could choose something to listen to on the way to the second part of your date.
after poking fun for his countless dad rock songs saved, you searched for your favourite divorced dad rock playlist, and even had a very off key duet to audioslave’s like a stone.
it was close to three in the afternoon when jack parked his truck in the red barn winery’s parking lot. you had heard good things about this place, apparently a professor from the history department had had her bridal party there and it had been memorable enough for the whole campus to know of.
the place was indeed beautiful, the green of the trees that took over the property contrasted really well against the red of the old building. the staff was just as welcoming, and the rustic, woody interior of the barn felt warm and cozy, you had finally understood why it had been such a hit with the wedding party.
you could definitely see you and jack celebrating–
“jesus, fuck!” you hissed to yourself and pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes so hard, you saw stars.
this was a second date that shouldn’t have had happened. how the fuck were you thinking about getting together with some guy, some very sweet, caring and hot guy, one that acted like giving you the world was too little, after everything?
you had your rules, no strings attached being the biggest one of them.
just a date. no strings attached.
just a date. no strings attached.
just a date. no strings attach–
“you okay?” jack interrupted your internal mantra chanting when he came back from the bathroom, looking concerned and so delicious that it made you forget you were about to go on a spiral.
“great, handsome.” the term of endearment slipped out of your lips before you could think, making jack perk up and turn red instantly.
he cleared his throat. “umm, do you know what you’ll order?”
you and jack decided on sharing a charcuterie board, with a hazy IPA for him, that he soon switched for dr. pepper, and a couple glasses of their on-site crafted lemontine moscato for you.
it was another couple of hours of you and jack talking about nothing and everything, and of you falling more and more for him. you learned more about his relationship with robby, how, after everything that happened with him, they had each other to count on. it was beautiful the way he talked about and praised his friend.
you shared some more about you and grace, how you knew she would be there for you for anything (and you for her), and how you couldn’t see yourself without her in your life.
the wine helped you loosen up a bit, so much so that your flirting got bolder and you got touchier. jack ate it up, and gave you as much as you gave him.
next thing you knew, the bill had been paid and you were making out against his truck.
thank fuck jack parked in a secluded spot.
“shit.” jack hissed against your lips when you ran your hand against and softly squeezed his obvious hard on.
with swift fingers, you opened the truck’s door and told him to get in.
“how do i pull the seat back?” you asked as you felt the seat around.
“there a lever under it, in the middle.” jack said, showing you where to find it, and doing what he had just told you with his own seat.
you mimicked him and it pulled back abruptly, making you laugh. you kissed jack again, this time with hurried lips as you fumbled with his belt, your dexterous fingers circling his hard as a rock cock.
you pulled back to spit a glob of saliva on his red tip, eyes never leaving his while you massaged his length.
“you’re so good at this, honey.” jack murmured, eyes and voice filled with want. you smiled back at him, dropping slowly to press a barely there kiss against his leaking head. with eyes still glued to his, you licked a torturous stripe along the prominent vein that ran under his dick, making jack’s grip on your hair tighten when you finally took him inside your mouth.
thank god for tinted windows.
you sucked jack off, hollowing your cheeks, head bobbing up and down, hands covering where your lips couldn’t reach. the glint on jack’s eyes and the look of want and care he gave you made a pit on your stomach rise.
jack was all over you – with the salty taste of his precum on your tongue, with his member heavy on your jaw, with his fingers circling your clit, and with the smell that was so characteristically his – overriding your senses.
it was after a throaty moan, a sign that he was getting you to your tipping point, around his cock, that jack pulled you back.
“come here, honey. i need to be inside of you.”
jack helped you lift your skirt, staring intently to where your body met as you sinked slowly and bottomed out.
circling his arm around you, jack brought you closer and held you tighter, working his hips progressively faster against yours.
a kiss and god, it feels so good.
a thrust and why am i doing this.
a tongue on nipples followed by the graze of his teeth and i want this to last forever
a pull on your hair and fuck, i can’t keep doing this
you don’t know how long it lasted; torn between guilt and pleasure, the mix of his tip hitting your cervix repeatedly and the way your brain played tricks on you, the feel of his lips against your ear as he whispered sweet nothings and the filthiest words known to men got you floaty and how you were letting an honest-to-god-good-man on. you came after a particularly erratic thrust, followed by jack telling you he wanted to feel you forever, and being filled up by jack’s cum and the dread of knowing the best thing that happened to you in years should end.
the drive back was done in comfortable silence and with jack’s hand softly caressing your left thigh, and you questioning a thing or two about the last month of your life. breaking another rule – after many had already been broken – jack dropped you off, with the promise of seeing you again in a few days.
dread took over you the moment you closed your apartment’s door when the fresh memories of your date flooded your mind. the praises, the talks, how his hands felt against your back, the fact that you had forgone a condom and the way his spend was still inside of you after he dropped you off.
you tallied off all the things you said you wouldn’t do and did.
the strings were attached. too attached.
you knew exactly what you had to do.
with shaky hands, you grabbed your phone and typed “i’m doomed” to grace, hitting “send” before getting into a much needed shower.
jack had been in a foul mood for what felt like forever. one day he came in looking renewed for the slew of day shifts he had ahead of him after his second date, and a few later he was telling patients to shut the fuck up like it was nothing.
dana tried to pry on, asked if anything had happened, wanting to know how things were with you – to which he replied with a very short tempered “fine” – and even texted robby to ask if jack had said anything, to which the answer was “no.”
it was after jack gave poor whitaker a less than nice answer to his (kind of stupid) question that dana pulled him out to the ambulance bay and told him to take five.
“this is the type of shit i expect from robby, not you. what happened?”
jack sighed and said your name. “ten days since i last heard of her. no news since a couple of days after our last date.”
“did you do something?” dana asked softly.
“i don’t think so? no. we had a great time, she told me so. she just… vanished. i’ve tried texting her, she replied a couple of times and then nothing. i know she hasn’t blocked me, but all i got was a ‘read’ on my last message.”
dana ran a sympathetic hand over jack’s arm, her face a mix of pity and sadness for her friend. she looked at the watch around her wrist and asked “we still got forty minutes to go, think you can handle it?”
“yeah, i’m fine.”
john, parker and crus came in not long after he went back inside the emergency room, promptly doing the rounds with jack and the day shift residents. he was back at the central hub, discussing with shen a few shift details so he could pass the torch to the younger attending, when jack heard a very familiar voice, one he missed very much. he looked around, his heartbeat increasing when the mere thought of you being hurt graced his mind, only to find out it was coming out of trinity’s device.
“hey, guys.” jack took the phone from the R2’s hand and rewinded the video. he was met with a you he hoped to never see, sad, with bags under your bloodshot eyes, like you had been crying for days. “hey, guys. i’ve been missing for a few days and i know you are worried about me, but i’m fine, i promise! the date went well and mcdreamy was perfect as usual, but–“ you sniffled and wiped your nose “but my feelings got in the way and i… i don’t think i can do this. the experiment is over.”
jack stared at the phone with glossy eyes as the video replayed. he was in a trance, your words echoing in his head over and over again.
it was when parker ran a careful hand over his shoulder and asked “you alright, boss?” that jack woke up, only to find both the day shift and night shift crews staring at him. jack dropped the phone back into the hands of a very stunned trinity, who muttered an “i’m sorry” before he turned around and left.
jack doesn’t know how he got home. the last thing he remembers is asking john to meet him in the break room and asking the younger man for help to set up a tiktok profile for himself, and next thing he knew, jack was in bed, sans prosthesis, watching hundreds of your videos for hours.
his heart was in a rollercoaster of emotions he didn’t know how to name and, quite frankly, didn’t want to feel. jack felt betrayed; he understood that you two didn’t have anything serious, that you were just getting to know each other, but as days passed, all he wanted was to spend more and more of his time with you and cherish your moments together.
jack also felt used. the way you posed the dates as an experiment made him feel like a toy who was easily discarded when it didn’t serve its purpose anymore. did the moments you share together not matter? was it all a play for you to have fun for a couple of hours? should he feel happy that he was the only one who ever got a second date?
six in the morning hit and jack didn’t know when exactly he stopped watching your videos, he didn’t even know if he had fallen asleep at all that night, if he got some shut eye, or if his sleep was so restless that all he dreamed of was your date videos.
the only thing jack abbot knew is that he needed answers.
in the morning after you posted your time off video, when you woke up from another restless night, in place of your dearly missed “good morning” texts, you woke up to the link of your tiktok profile and a “we need to talk.”
domesticblisss 2026. comments and reblogs are appreciated.
୨ৎ pairing .ᐟ.ᐟ michael robinavitch x psych fellow!reader
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ there had been a shift between your relationship with robby. you weren't sure what to make out of that. it wasn't until trouble had stirred up at the PTMC, with you at the center of it, that you came to terms the type of man michael robinavitch was.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no physical description, no use of y/n, workplace violence, medical assault, discussions of violent assault, workplace harassment/verbal abuse, mentions of anxiety/ptsd/depression, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, trauma aftermath, slow burn, protective!robby, enemies to lovers, colleagues to lovers
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ OKAY this is just a blurb reallyyy...wanted a little filler between the last part and what i have planned for the next, longer part. plus, this might set up this dynamic well (if it works out the way i want it to lol). also tried something new with the format…
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 14 k
the slippage in the system >> a mirage on sand
8:00 AM
"Are you doing better?" The voice rang familiar to your ears. While typing at the workstation down at the Pitt, you didn't even see the figure strolling up from behind you.
Craning your head to the side, looking past your shoulder you noticed Caleb rolling up, parking his wheelchair to angle in your direction. Pausing your typing, you pushed the chair back, one hand still holding the edge of the desk. You gave him a smile, letting out a deep sigh, "Alright as I can be. Haven't exactly cleared it out of my system, but I'm here."
A stomach bug was no joke, you supposed. The last thing you expected was for it to keep you locked in your apartment for a week. It was an unsettling week, but you somehow survived. Walking into the PTMC this morning felt like riding a bike. Breezing in all while your feet did most of the work.
"You sound better. I was worried I would need to make a house call the last time we spoke on the phone." Caleb chuckled endearingly. The small grin was amused, but as he looked you up and down, he really was relieved it was milder than he thought.
“I had a friend drop off some things to ale me.” You stated, hoping to calm his worry.
Which was the truth—you wouldn’t dare lie to Caleb at this point. He was right about most things, and you were comfortable enough to relearn trusting your superiors. What you were omitting from him was that the particular friend was one he had a special interest in as well.
And as if the world enjoyed playing tricks on you, that ‘friend’ came strolling towards you, hands in his green fleece jacket pocket. His eyes landed on you before shifting to Caleb, your names slipping from his mouth with ease. He had dropped the ‘Doctor’ title from your surname a while ago, since the blind-dinner-date.
He looked you up and down, eyes crinkling with familiarity. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“Shoot away, Robby.” Caleb welcomed with a grin on his face as he examined you both.
He must have noticed your controlled expression. You were attempting to obscure the small, hesitant smile on your face with a quiet ‘hi’ as Robby stood across the workstation.
Truth was, you weren't sure how to act with Robby anymore.
The floodgates of your past had been opened, and at this point, there wasn't much Robby didn’t know about you—and that thought alone was chilling. You had never been this exposed, and with him having your home address, the urgency to run over rolled around your mind.
“I have a teenager in Central 14 whose mother is expressing concerns about her sudden lack of energy and inconsistent mood.” Robby shared, careful with his volume as he scanned around the department floor. “Mother stepped away for coffee. She was hoping someone could come down to talk with her.”
You hummed, nodding along with his words. Craning your head to the side, you smiled. “Let me finish up my notes for the patient in south 20, and then I will meet you with your patient.”
Robby gave you a silent nod, rubbing his hands together. “Thank you. It’s good to see you back.”
Clearing your throat, you agreed frantically, accepting the newfound compassion from him. Weird, you thought. Robby spared Caleb one last look before excusing himself. Without second thought, you bowed your head, typing away on the chart, hiding the heat rising on your cheeks from Caleb.
Caleb leaned one arm on the desk, bearing his weight to his left. You missed the not-so-subtle look he aimed at Robby who was standing by the nursing station, talking with Whitaker. “You never told me how the dinner went.”
You scoffed, playing it easy and cool. Internally, sirens were going off. It had been a couple of weeks, and you were still digesting the conversation over the meal. You both lasted longer than you had anticipated, laughing even, over your personal embarrassments like a couple of college friends—not that you knew what that felt like.
Since moving to Pittsburgh, you didn’t allot yourself time to socialize. Upon landing, you always assumed this would just be a stepping-stone to where you wanted to go. Now, it was settling too deeply in your heart for you to abandon it so mercilessly. Something too good to say goodbye to.
“I’m surprised you haven’t asked Robby yet.” You coolly deflected, your eyes laser focused on the words you were typing. Your fingers were moving fluently, but your brain was spiraling elsewhere.
It was as if the fogginess from being sick hadn’t completely left you. At least that is what you hoped it was. At least then, you could excuse yourself, more so than some sad excuse to hide your preoccupation. Why would it matter if Caleb knew? He’d be gratified that two coworkers he was invested in could mingle and bond over fact beyond their personal missions to improve patient care.
Caleb chuckled, his body rattling with the vibration. “Who’s to say I haven’t? Maybe I just want to hear it from you.”
“You make it a habit to set up people on blind-dates?” You rhetorically asked, not expecting any reply. Saving the changes on the chart, you swiftly logged off, and scooted the chair back across from Caleb.
“You made me resort to those methods.” Caleb shrugged a proud smile on his face.
God, you hated to admit he was right, especially when he was aware of the positive reaction of his actions. You rolled your neck, preventing him from reading your expression entirely. Caleb thought for a beat, before wheeling himself back. “Think of it this way: the likelier he is to endorse you, the likelier admin is to keep you. It’s convenient and logical. I thought that might appeal to your senses.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “You chose logos over pathos. Well played, Dr. Jefferson.”
Caleb bowed humorously, gracefully accepting the sarcastic compliment. You stood from the chair, playfully rolling your eyes. While looking up at you and preparing to wheel in the opposite direction, he called out for you. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“See you later, Dr. Jefferson.”
As you began walking by the nursing station, you sensed a taller presence strolling beside you. With practiced ease, you glanced beside you to see the device handed to you. Robby stared down, sporting his round glasses. “Jenny McGuire, seventeen, came in presenting abdominal rigidness. Mother expressed concerns over lack of appetite.”
“Apparently, the family experienced something traumatic, and Jenny has been secluding herself more than usual.” Robby swiftly shared, watching your fingers scroll through the annotations made by Dr. McKay.
“Did you or McKay get anything out of the mother about what happened?” You questioned, eyes peeking between your eyelashes, to guide your way through the bustling halls.
Robby hummed, shaking his head. “Nothing in specific, but she seems distraught from it, per her mother.”
You stopped before approaching the room, turning to stand in front of Robby. Eyes flicking across the floor, watching nurses and other ER personnel pass by briskly. “Based on that, it could be signs of depression or some form of PTSD, but won’t know for sure until I talk with her. Would you like to be present?”
Robby’s eyebrows shot up. His hands were on his hips and despite the green Patagonia he had, the muscles in his biceps flexed subconsciously. He stood there slightly puzzled. It wasn’t an odd question, nor a jab at the last major conflict the two of you had, but you did find value in his involvement.
Upon the blossoming trust you were slowly conforming between you and him, there were small epiphanies you had about the wise doctor he was. He was older than you were by a decade at least, which gave him an advantage you yet to have. While observing him (even sourly), there was a command he would always have in a room.
While speaking with the residents and med students, you have always noted the respect they had for him. The similarities in some of their forms of treating could be traced back to him. So even when you wanted to escape him, it was near impossible.
“If you’ve spoken with her before, I have no problem with you present. She may feel comfortable if you introduced us first, anyway.” You shared, offering some reassurance for his hesitancy.
After a beat, Robby allied with a closed smile. Mimicking the action, you spun around walking in the direction of Jenny’s room. Robby maneuvered around you, approaching the threshold of Central 14. Stopping at the door, he knocked lightly, putting on a soft smile and stepping aside once the door was wide open.
“Hi, Jenny, how are you holding up?” Robby asked softly.
Jenny, a small frail, blonde girl sat up on the bed, both hands bracing around her stomach. She tried to hide the grimace in her face, but you immediately noted the action. She shrugged, making no effort to vocalize her current condition.
While pulling up a stool at her bedside, you introduced yourself, mirroring the soft and mellow presence Robby emitted. You rested your hands still holding the tablet on your lap, providing your undecided attention to Jenny. She scooted over, staring at you with wide eyes.
“I am a psychiatrist here at PTMC. Would you like to tell me why you came to the ER?” The question came out inviting, ignoring the fact, you had already read over her chart. You figured if she could put into words what was wrong physically; it would be an indicator of whatever else was wrong.
Jenny sat there, her eyes observing you up and down. It was like she had seen a ghost, and when you turned to Robby, he caught the same vibe from her. Robby leaned forward, hands folded. “I know it seems intimidating, but sometimes talking to someone can help.”
The silence was deafening. She didn’t peel her eyes away from you, even as Robby tried to slip his presence in. Staring at her eyes, she was fixated on one physician; as if the only person that existed worth acknowledging was you. Right as you were about to continue speaking, you noticed the quick shift in her demeanor, sitting taller, face tightening.
“You were a part of my sister’s case.” She mumbled, trembling on the hospital bed. “I saw your name in an article.”
You furrowed your brows, straightening your posture. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
“Diana Richards.” She croaked out, her voice firmer as it bounced off the room walls. “My sister had acid thrown in her face right before Christmas.”
Your body froze, hands tightening around the device in your lap. Shit. You hadn’t expected your name to make national news, considering the court personnel was small, and those sitting in the viewing gallery were family and friends affected. Too distracted by the question thrown from both parties, you didn’t distinguish anything past the prosecution and defense tables.
When you double-looked the chart, ‘McGuire’ on the header, you never could have assumed relation.
“I did testify at the trial,” You confirmed, nodding your head cautiously. The palpable tension between you and the distressed teenage girl was something buzzing all around your body. With the weight like a ton of bricks, the pressure in the small exam room was crushing. “I am sorry about what happened to your sister.”
“Are you?” She quipped up, her furious glare firing up as she leaned towards you. The tension was no longer concerned over what to say, it was contemplation on how to deescalate a growing fire. “The man who did that to her should be in jail. You’re the reason he’s not!”
Before you could react, she aimed cold saliva at your face, landing below your right eye. You flinched from the action, your hand instinctively reaching for your face. Completely focused on the emotional teenager, you didn’t realize Robby had moved around the corner.
Hurriedly, he pulled you up from the chair by your shoulders. Without another word, Robby led you to the direction of the door, calling out for Princess passing by. As she saw you hunched forward, she rushed over, taking you in her arms. “What happened?”
“The patient spat in her face.” Robby hurriedly mumbled, standing in front of the room, turning back to look through the window. Jenny was now sitting back on the inclined bed, staring off to the side.
“Why?” Princess questioned with obvious apprehensiveness as to what might lead a meek teenager to act as vicious as some of the grown adults they have treated. This was abnormal and out of character for a patient of her demographic.
Robby sighed, watching you carefully as Princess directed you to an office chair. He followed along; close enough to remain a reachable distance to the patient’s room. She immediately grabbed a tissue, carefully wiping away the residue on your face. “It’s a long story.”
The soft plushness scratch the surface of your skin, causing your body to shiver. Stuck in daydream, it was a bad case of Deja vu. Instead of a man insufficiently aware of his actions in one of the behavioral rooms, a disturbed teenager was trying to consolidate with the current events of her life. Regardless, you were losing both fights.
Princess craned her head, standing right in your view as she furrowed her brows at you. “Did any of it get in your eye?”
Fumbling over words, you lightly shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not sure. It happened too quickly.”
When you were able to flutter your eyes open, Robby was standing from the distance, watching Princess work vehemently. His expression hardened by the events that just unfolded. This was the most emotional you had seen him at work.
When you walked out the behavior room with blood pouring out your nose, his natural caregiver instincts kicked in. He was ordering test and examining the integrity of the bones in your face. Although he was only monitoring from the distance, the natural instinct kicked into gear. You skittishly turned away, avoiding the darkness in his eye.
As if on cue, McKay was making her way around, casually waving her arms as she strolled around the desk. Princess and a couple more nurses gathered around you. McKay’s steps faltered, and before she could utter a word, Robby called her over.
You’d flutter your eyes carefully in their direction, mostly focused on McKay’s back. You could see the hush exchange of words. She craned her neck, peeking back at you with her face scrunched in confusion. No doubt, Robby was trying to form some intervention.
If this were any other moment or patient, you would have fought against being pushed aside. Tell Robby there was no need to coddle you or deem you incapable of staying committed to your work. Sitting with Princess still gently trying to wipe away the excretion from your face, you still tried to convince yourself this was something you could overlook.
Instead, you were succumbing to the idea you had screwed up.
Some girl was sitting on a hospital bed, completely overturned by the actions of a stranger whose paths crossed hers. It didn't have to be Dianna Richards, nor her family, but it was. You had unluckily been stuck having to repent for your involvement in the matter.
Your eyes caught the dirty blonde woman, approaching Central 14. With the coat she was wearing, two disposable coffee cups in her hand, you sense your stomach drop. It was a surreal moment from the second she peered into her daughter's room to the slightly panicked expression when she looked at Robby.
With his hands on his hips, he turned to whom you presumed was Mrs. McGuire. McKay stood back, eyes flicking between the two like she was preparing for a bad movie. You sat up straighter and Princess took a step back to follow your line of sight.
“You should stay here. Robby can handle it.” Princess whispered to you, one hand on your shoulder as she pressed her lips in a thin line.
You didn’t argue or make any sudden movement. Suddenly, you were in a state of catatonic shock.
Everything was blowing up in your face. A record of your actions suddenly taking a turn for the worse. A man who you had a conflicted relationship with was managing to interfere in your life even from miles away. What you had thought was a good idea was now souring like milk.
The patience Robby was displaying made it clear he was trying to calm her down. You had suspected she was overtly distressed as her daughter from the chair you were sitting in. It wasn’t until the voices started growing louder.
Everyone in the vicinity heard it.
“I don’t care what you think about what happened to my family. I don’t want her involved with my daughter's care.” She stated definitively. You could see her motion to you in the corner and you knew your entire cover was blown. “Find someone else or we will leave.”
If her eyes were daggers, you’d be bleeding on the linoleum floors. The glare of pure fury and disgust she sent your way was enough to bury you where you sat. Without another word, she made her way into the room, sitting at her daughter’s bedside.
Your eyes remained glued to the room, suddenly cold, enough so to elicit chills down your spine. Tugging onto the cardigan you were wearing, you crossed your arms over your chest. Robby spared Mrs. McGuire one last look before slowly approaching you. There was a hesitation in his steps, as if he were approaching a stray kitten starved and scared.
Standing a couple of feet away, hovering and obscuring your figure from the room, you flicked your eyes at him. “The mother?”
He confirmed with tight lips. Rubbing his hands together, his eyes roamed over you in the similar fashion as when Mr. Richman lashed out at you. It was only saliva, but he still examined you like he would any patient. He sighed, “Look, for your safety, I think it’s best we find someone else to cover the consultation.”
“We’re a bit understaffed today.” You mumbled, sagging your shoulders as you leaned back in the chair. Princess standing behind you excused herself. You could sense she didn’t want to be caught in any animosity between you and Robby.
She knew better than to intervene between two doctors who dominated their respective fields.
“We’ll find someone.” Robby assured, glancing at McKay who was fiddling with the zipper of her gray jacket. She remained quiet yet observant of the entire interactions. You noted the small narrow of her eyes, but made no effort to ask her about it. “Things seem tense enough. You probably shouldn’t go back there.”
You opened you mouth to speak, before shutting it completely. Was it worth it? Fighting nobly over the tired out issue when forces outside were telling you otherwise? You work was meant to be charitable, but you were finding it harder and harder to give it up so willingly.
“Let me make the call. I’ll explain it to whomever I find.” You explained to Robby. Willing to listen to his advice while you were still in a place to do so.
You stood up promptly, breezing by Robby and McKay and heading straight for the elevators. With your head down, you avoided the questioning side-eyes from those who were tempted by the scene. It was as if you were sacrificing your dignity every time you came down to the Pitt. You were barring yourself to every challenge, which was starting to chip away the brick wall around your heart.
It didn’t help that someone like Robby was watching the worst of it. From the argument over patient care and the revelation of your condition. Robby was finding his way through you blindly, but he was much closer than some.
Standing in front of the elevator, it had hit you that you were losing control of the separation you meant to have from your work and personal life. The life you were trying to preserve, sensitive to the details, was merging into the professional life meant to compartmentalize. Everything was hitting you like tons of bricks, and you were only hoping things change before they get worse.
10:00 AM
If you had more to do, you wouldn’t have felt the day drag. Considering Caleb was occupied with the patients in the behavioral health ward and you had been condemned to the Pitt, it wasn’t like you didn’t have work. There were patients popping up throughout the morning rush that needed menial attention from psychiatry. Basic consultations that didn’t require follow up.
However, your mind wasn’t as focused on the patients as you should be.
You stood at the workstation, digital chart in hand, as you wrote notes from your last consultation. It appeared as you were busy, but your eyes kept wandering over to central 14, like something was called upon you from inside.
It has been over an hour since Dr. Malek had entered; a fourth year psych resident who was more interested in forensic work than critical-care. You were gnawing away the inside of your cheek, practically mutilating your mouth from the riddle of anticipation. It wasn’t your place to judge whether Malek was capable of doing the work, despite having a year of experience over him.
Caleb was solely responsible for putting the residents in line, but that didn’t stop the doubt you sensed.
While staring intensely at the door, you caught it clicking open. Malek slipped through, gently closing it behind him as he whispered farewells to the McGuire’s. Your body jolted up. Waiting like a lion on the prowl, you joined Malek as he walked past you, stepping in harmony.
“How did things go?” You asked in a hush tone. He didn’t flinch as you settled beside him, shoulders partially brushing against one another. He was expecting the ambush from the small flex of his jaw.
He barely looked at you, preferring to scroll through the device in his hand. He kept trying to advance, swerving around people as he searched for someone other than you to speak with. “I don’t know if I should be sharing this with you.”
“Consider this as consulting a colleague.”
The quickness of your comment had him halting in his steps. He turned to you, slight frustration in how you pushed for the answer. Although being a few years his senior, he exuded an energy that was fit for someone your age. He let his hands fall to his side, exasperated at this point. “The girl is depressed. Hell, the mother too.”
You tucked the device under your arm, staring at Malek with desperation that he didn’t understand. It must’ve made you look pathetic from an outsider view as he rolled his eyes in frustration. “Jenny was with her sister and her husband when the assault happened.”
The deep breath you sucked in was stuck somewhere because the tightness in your chest didn’t decompress. Your eyes darted across his face, trying to make out more with the silence. It couldn’t have been a joke, that was distasteful, even for him. He had spoken it intentionally, trying to give you what you wanted while also warning you to stay away from where you shouldn’t be.
That was your fault.
“Thankfully she didn’t see anything, but she heard her sister screaming.” He sighed, pretty devastated even while he put up the front. “Imagine having to live with that sound for the rest of your life.”
“Outside of the fact her sister won’t be able to see or recover from the injuries on her face.” The vile taste in his mouth was evident as he scowled, personally hurt by the offense.
You faced away as he narrowed his eyes at you. With the tension, you were wishing Robby would suddenly need you for a consultation or pick a fight. Something of that sort would be better than the scrutiny of a colleague who was treading towards a scarily esoteric farce.
“None of us understand why you defended that man.” Malek shrugged, lips tightening in a thin line. His nostrils flared and he shook his head.
Lifting your head, you looked at him with a blank expression. What the hell? Cocking your head to the side, you scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“He assaulted a woman, and you, let us not forget.” He all but spat at you.
It was a reprimand for having come to ask questions. For lingering in a space, you knew better than to test. You should’ve known the repercussions of being a recluse, of not putting in an effort to be friendly enough was going to come back at you.
He took a step forward, and the hallway you two stood in started feeling stuffy. Retracting your neck slightly, you futilely attempted to put a boundary. Malek's forehead creased, “He had to pay for what he did.”
Smiling sarcastically, you chuckled dryly. “Because suddenly you care about my well-being.”
Malek chuckled coldly, the same detachment you had heard from Robby before. At least now, you assumed there wasn’t that animosity between you two. Malek had a fury that was unrecognizable, like he had spent time repressing that only you could pull out of him. “I think sometimes you forget you’re not as brilliant and perfect as you mistakenly think you are.”
“All because I refused to let a sick man go to jail? For a mental condition he has little control over?” You retorted. It felt obvious. All the reasons you could’ve possible defended anyone who put their hands and weight over you shouldn’t have existed,
Except, it wasn’t for you and everyone was missing the point, just as Malek was opening up wounds again.
“Because you believe you’re so virtuous. Too virtuous to put aside your beliefs and worry about how they might’ve felt about the verdict.” Malek motioned his head back to where the two of you came from. Where the McGuire’s were, confined in the same hospital Mr. Richman had unleashed a ruckus in.
Malek pointed a finger to his head, eyebrows furrowed down. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe he wasn’t the right person for you to enact your crusade of righteous indignity?”
Your head was telling you to walk away. With the sudden rise of his voice, uneasiness settled in your weak stomach. The fogginess from before was more than just brain fog from being sick. This wasn’t the typical arguments over patients and who presented the most competent plan of care. This was quite unsettling. Malek, who had kept his honest opinions about you hidden under sarcasm and cocky grins, was finally laying it thick.
“All of us tolerate you because Jefferson dotes on you, but you’d be surprised to find out how few of us want you as an attending after your fellowship is up.” He bluntly stated with no shame as he stared you in the eyes.
He was suddenly closer in proximity. From the tunnel vision you were experiencing, your body was suffocated by his .You urged your feet to step forward. To react as quickly as you did with Robby. Witty and decisive leaving no doubt of your confidence within yourself.
It was like being stuck in paralysis. You mind kept wandering at a hundred miles per hour but your body was tossed to the side of the road like a carcass.
“Dr. Malek,”
You welcomed the voice, turning away from your colleague to meet Robby’s hardened stare. Pulling yourself away, you stood meekly in between both men. If your legs hadn’t stiffened, you would’ve taken the chance to run. Instead, you stood there, in the midst of the silent standoff the two were having.
“Please show yourself out of my ED.” Robby ordered, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “I will not tolerate you degrading a fellow colleague in a department full of staff and patients to hear.”
Malek glared over to you, the tightening of his indifference to the entire situation. Chilling from the physical enmity, you learned Robby cutting swiftly through was a worse idea than you imagined. Robby inclined himself further, pushing his overbearing presence and standing prominently in Malek’s line of sight. “You can debrief with Dr. McKay once you get your fucking act together.”
Robby didn’t relent, and you were thankful once Malek resigned, huffing away with an agitated pace. You kept staring at his back, almost waiting for him to turn back and enforce himself again. When he disappeared behind the walls and into the rest of the chaos of the ER, you let a shaky breath go.
When you turned to look at Robby, he was already looking down at you. His eyebrows furrowed in the same effort he’d examine patients, sitting on a hospital bed, laying their health in his hands. You didn’t want to play that role. You weren’t defenseless as much as he saw you at the moment.
“I didn’t need you to save me.” You muttered, heading in the opposite direction of where Malek went.
Your arm barely brushed by him, and he swiftly recovered by maintaining an equal steady pace behind you. “I was mostly sparing him. I sensed you weren’t going to tolerate that shit for much longer.”
With a sour chuckle, you tried to hide how breathless you suddenly were. The stack of issues in the past three hours were losing its foundation. It was like the mountain of what was wrong with your life was crumbling with time, and you couldn’t hold up the front you had worked on for years. “Sounds a lot like an unwelcome intervention to me.”
With the speed you were walking, everyone could tell you were trying to evade Robby. Except, he was tailing you. A dog with a bone. Your eyes darted around, effectively trying to find some escape for the ER and everything reminding you of the shit-show.
“This is my ER, anyways. I should be entitled to cut bullshit when I see it.” Robby pointed up, still trailing behind you. It wasn’t a remark or sarcastic. It was a reminder that he was always aware of his department, and he didn’t take disruptions lightly.
Finally looking ahead, the elevator beside the trauma rooms was right in front of you. Stopping in frustration, you bowed your head. Your hands clammed up beside you and the weight over your chest as you tried steadying your breathing was like lifting a boulder. It came back down with each exhale unsteadily.
After a moment, you turned around carefully. Your eye landed on Robby’s feet, trailing up the dark cargo pants he wore. Eventually, when you stared directly back at him, you crossed your arm, hiding the trouble you had breathing correctly.
Shrugging, you scoffed. “He's probably right, you know?”
Robby narrowed his eyes at you, suddenly confused from the immediate switch. You let him think it was a deflection. It was easier than trying to explain why you froze up in front of a hostile colleague, when you had encountered worse patients. “Maybe I’m too holed up in my personal world to acknowledge the damage of my intentions.”
“About Mr. Richman?” Robby questioned, trying to make out from the cryptic look in your eye. He couldn’t make out anything at face-value, and you were hoping he’d just walk away. “I’m sure the judge based his decision on different testimonies made. None of us know what truly sealed the deal for him.”
“But I defended him, inside, and outside the courtroom. Morgan, you, even Jefferson warned me what might happen if I spoke out too much.” You explained, reminiscing over every occasion where you could’ve avoided this.
Mr. Richman was the catalyst for all these interactions. From Robby, to the McGuire’s, to Malek. You would never regret treating a patient, but you weren’t sure you wanted to go out on a limb ever again.
You frowned, holding onto the strings in your heart tugged into all directions. There was too much at stake, and the last thing you needed was for Robby to pull at them like a puppet master. With a shaky smile, you let your hands fall to your side. “I just wanted someone to walk away from the entire process with something positive.”
The rattle of your body scared you. It had you turning away, trying to hide in plain sight from Robby. He stood still, straightening his posture. His hands were now on his hip, and you caught the slight air stuck in his throat.
“I haven’t been able to stop looking over my shoulder since then.”
Your hand extended lazily in the direction of the patient's room. “But that girl and her sister may never be able to go out in public without fearing something of this magnitude may happen to them again.”
Robby’s stoic expression didn’t pave anything for you to rely on. It gave little insight of whether he opposed Malek’s words or found you amateurish in the face of conflict. You were hopeless. Standing in front of the one man who could ruin your position apart from Jefferson. He was right.
It was practical to play nice and feed into the role Robby would need you to act. You didn’t want to conform to giving into the challenge of the chief attending for the simple necessity of keeping a job. It was the only reason you had fought about Mr. Richman before, during, and even after the trial.
“Is it selfish to have wanted Mr. Richman to have the help he never did have?” You questioned, your wispy voice barely scratching through the noise of the ED.
Robby didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure you were searching for one. This was the one time he had seen you out of your depth in your facilitation in his department. Apart from the dinner, where you tested how close you could inch into the deep well of suppressed emotion, there wasn’t anything personal of you in your work.
There was no way you could treat patients if you were stuck in the flawed aspects of your life. Today was making all of that evident.
“The hospital where I did my residency has an outreach program. “ You explained quietly, reluctant to tell Robby.
You pursed your lips, and the heat in your cheeks contradicted the shivering down your spine and the frigid coldness of your fingers. “Their mission wasn’t just to treat- and-street patients but to meet them halfway for them to have some continuation of care no matter their circumstances.”
Robby shook his head, “Has anyone—“
“That’s beside the point.” You interrupted, fluttering your eyes close briefly. The raise of his eyebrows finished the question you cut off rudely. You didn’t need this to turn into another ‘bonding’ moment. “I was willing to do that no matter the danger of it.”
“That’s what I tried to explain to the judge and prosecution and they made it sound like I had some hero-complex I hadn’t resolved.”
The groan that escaped you was the subsided disappointment of your composure. Everyone around you had seen too much. There wasn’t much to hide from Robby at this point, and once this shift was over, you were committed to the idea of planning where to run once your fellowship was done.
Your ears were tingling from how quiet the ED became. The department was attached to your soul, which only knew how to prioritize patient care. In your years of training, you heard all about compartmentalizing as well as the consequences of burning out. You thought you had mastered the first part enough that you wouldn’t have to worry about drowning in a lake; but the rocks in your pockets were finally weighing you down.
“So, the incident with Mr. Richman had been the first time a patient had assaulted you?”
When he gauged your reaction, he had a wide eye stare that tried to hide the intensity of his personality and role in the ED. It worked with patients well enough to foster a safe space for them to grieve or release what they’ve kept inside them.
It worked on patients–but you weren’t one.
“I hadn’t been punched, pinned to the ground, and choked before if that’s what you're asking.” You scoffed, your lips curving upwards, but it missed the same sarcastic wit you would usually deflect him with. “Even when they spat, yelled, and fought the treatment, I reminded myself they were just scared people who needed help.”
Sacred. If you were treating yourself, maybe that would be the one word scribbled all over your chart.
Afraid of further repercussions from the Richman case. Frightened of how the rest of the staff would see you after Mrs. McGuire and Malek painted you out as a self-absorbed health-care worker unable to make out an indescribable debt. Terrorized by the idea Robby might concede to what he thought of you when you initially transferred to PTMC.
Months of unraveling to be burned by a spark and caught aflame.
The dinging of the elevator ringed behind you. Turning to the sound, you found a couple of respiratory therapists walking out, laughing at the conversation held. You pulled yourself aside, letting them past before stalking to the elevator.
When you faced Robby’s direction, he stood stiffly, uncertainty in whether to approach or forget the conversation occurred. You made the decision, pressing the button of your assigned floor. “Maybe, you won’t have to worry about me overstaying more than I'm welcomed.”
As the doors closed, the last thing you saw was the slight twitch of his eye
12:00 PM
In the last couple of hours since you spoke with Robby, you were almost hoping not to work with him for the rest of your shift. Not because you were offended or mad about his course of action earlier. With the buffer since Mrs. McGuire’s blowup to that of Malek’s, you came to the realization Robby was sparing your dignity from worse.
He could have thrown you into the wolves. Make you pay for all the times you blew up in his face over the executive action of patients in his ER, but treated by you. A part of you believed he should have. Maybe putting you in ‘contempt’ would teach you a lesson.
Instead, he was handling you like a box with a ‘FRAGILE’ label on the side. Wanting so desperately to open the gift, but too afraid to break it before he was safely able to.
Sitting in the ED, it was like an animal in a cage. You knew the staff passing by were likeliest engrossed in their jobs, patients, and lives to be distracted by you, but that didn’t stop the onset paranoia; sensing eyes pitying you while behind your back.
You tried to focus, rolling your shoulders rhythmically as you typed away at the workstation. Every time a resident came by to grab a device on the docks, you would flinch before refocusing on what you were doing. As McKay stopped, putting the tablet on one of the slots, her eyes found you. Attempting to hold onto the current train of thought, you continued flitting your attention across the screen.
“Mrs. McGuire is wondering when they can be discharged.” She mentioned casually, moving aside to not stand directly in front of you. She leaned forward on the nursing station counter.
When you lifted your attention from your work, she gave you a polite smile. You peeled your hands from the keyboard, which spent the better part of an hour stuck together. Returning the action rather stiffly, you tried easing your tense muscles. “I don’t know. I’m not the primary psychiatrist on their case, nor have I been updated on their plan of care.”
McKay stood there silently, letting her weight sit on the counter for a beat. She glanced around warily for anybody who might be looking for her. “I heard Robby kicked out Dr. Malek.”
Her words didn’t prompt a visible response, but from under the desk, your leg was bouncing. She leaned in closer, her voice huskier as she spoke in a hushed tone. “And I also heard what he said. What an asshole. And he’s supposed to be the girl’s psychiatrist—“
“I have another patient to check in with. Sorry.” You interrupted before McKay could utter another word.
Standing from the desk, you sauntered away as if your worst nightmare had walked into the ED. Hastily curving around McKay, you kept your head down. Your feet were practically guiding your decision. If you no longer wanted to face the music, they were moving before you could doubt the action.
Except, your feet weren’t your brain.
When you did finally bother to look up and across, you noticed they brought you by central 14 again. You cursed under your breath when you noticed the glass exposing the department outside the room. Before Jenny or her mother could assault you with their eyes, you turned your back towards them, opting for a stealthy escape.
Your brain said to ‘move forward.’ If you left up to the behavioral floor or found some other passion project to screw up, you would forget them long enough for them to leave. The hospital. The forefront of your mind. Your life.
Cutting them out like a weed in your garden.
However, your feet halted you once more. This time, you weren’t just stuck in place, you were turning back around to cross paths with central 14. With your feet moving disorderly with your brain, you hadn’t made up your purpose for having to confront the situation. You knew you had to decide once daring to step into the room.
It didn’t run as smoothly as you recklessly planned once confronted with Mrs. McGuire coming out of the room and running into you. Reacting rapidly to the intrusion, you stopped, stepping back a couple feet to provide space.
She firmed up in front of you, taking in your attire. Her eyes zeroed onto the badge clipped to the waistline of your black slacks. Hyper-aware of the conclusion she was reaching, you tried not to fuel the fire. You finally decided this wasn’t worth the fight.
“When can my daughter be discharged?” She questioned brusquely while crossing her arms.
Her stare was just as hardened as Malek’s was. A warning. You shouldn’t poke the bear and you shouldn’t have put yourself in this position again.
Clearing your throat, you shook your head. “I’m not sure, ma’am. I am not familiar with your daughter’s case. I can try to locate—“
“So, unless my daughter is a deranged lunatic, she won't be receiving immediate care here?”
Your mouth remained agape, words slipping from your mind completely. Your defenses had been at an all-time low. Every chance to defend yourself–where you would have shut down coolly and responded with the rapid professionalism Dr. Jefferson admired in you—-was just another trap to drag you through shrubbery and dirt.
This shift may just ruin you before you even make it to the end.
“With all due respect, the case was a little more complicated than that.” You mumbled in return, defeated over the same skipping record. It was painful having to remind yourself why you took an opposing stance. You could not cave in now.
Her sour scoff had you flinching slightly. “Actually, it isn’t.”
“You’re the reason that son-of-a-bitch is locked in some cushy mental hospital instead of prison.” She enunciated, one of her fingers wagging at you, like she was scolding a child. “The integrity of my daughter’s face was completely burned off by acid.”
“And all you see is some poor sick man? What about my daughters?” She begged, her voice trembling.
There were tears welling up in your tear ducts. You strained your jaw, containing the raw emotion. It had been reckoning brought by you. How dare you be sad now? Before you could open your mouth, respond with a weak excuse and weaker voice, you heard your name called from behind you.
“Is there a problem?” Robby questioned coming around you. He stood by your side, providing a shadow over your shorter stature.
You kept your eyes ahead, opting to let Mrs. McGuire paint the image. There was no repairing the damage to your reputation. It would have to linger and exist in the area, leaving everyone in the prerogative to make a narrative you had no control over.
She retracted herself, letting her arms fall to her sides in defeat. “I just want to take my daughter home.”
Knowing Robby, his eyes shifted towards you, hoping to read into the situation or possibly check in with you. The exhaustion had to feel as palpable as the bags under your eyes when you walked into the department. Avoiding his gaze shamelessly, he nodded to Mrs. McGuire. “I will go ahead and start the paperwork once I check in with behavioral health.”
Mrs. McGuire’s fury and desperation must have simmered as she dragged herself back in the room. Your body succumbed to the action of Robby, who was turning around and leading you gently away from the room. You sensed the presence of something lingering on your lower back, only hovering and not touching.
“You shouldn’t have been talking with her.” Robby warned, bringing his head closer to your ear. He remained even in his expression, just two colleagues conferring with each other closely. “That could’ve gone a lot worse.”
“I can control my emotions.” You muttered, flickering your eyes side to side. At this point, you were depending on Robby like a north star—allowing his burly body to hide and guide you elsewhere.
“That’s not what I was referring to.” He motioned softly, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not concerned over your objectivity more so her apprehension in a busy ER. You’ve dealt with enough for one shift.”
When you stopped by the elevators, the coldness of his hand coming away made you cower. It was as if the only form of physical protection from your mishaps was tearing itself away. You were a soldier stuck in a landmine without Robby. Sniffling slightly, you nodded in understanding. The meekest you have probably been taking something adjacent to a command.
“You should stay up there. I can handle whatever consultation comes in with Caleb.” Robby suggested politely.
He stared at you, taking in the daunting expression. You felt like a ghost, stumbling around the halls of the hospital, equally haunting anyone in your path. Everything you touch turning as sickly as you are. After a beat, you nodded cautiously. “This doesn’t make me incapable of doing my job.”
“I never said it did.” Robby assured quietly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
He reached over to press the up-arrow. With the glow of the button, he stood in wait with you. He was now sporting his black scrub top with a gray long-sleeve under top, stuffing his hands in the pocket. A silence settled. If this were any other person watching you slowly decompose, you would have escaped away and ran for the stairs.
Except this was the same person who you debated and reasoned about a plan of care for patients. Who, at times, made you feel alienated enough to push his buttons. You treated him with sarcasm and embittered his fizzling emotions, evoking responses unsuited for an attending physician who should have better governed his reactions.
He didn’t owe you kindness, and yet he was extending an olive branch for you to make peace with.
When the elevator dinged, he outstretched his arm, holding it open for you. Once settled inside, he reached in to press the numbered floor for you. Standing on the opposite side of the threshold, he smiled earnestly, lips curling upwards, crinkling the corner of his eyes. “Take care of yourself.”
Then the doors shut.
You weren’t sure that was a task you were capable of. If it were, you would have protected yourself from all the previous heartbreak. From your failed attempts at becoming a neurosurgeon, to coming to terms with your illness, to moving across the country with little emotional support. The lack of practice you had regulating your mind and body outside of working was making itself obvious and you hated the sensational need to be comforted.
When at the behavioral health floor, you walked around like a zombie straight from the ground. You beeline for the dictation room. At least you had enough charting to be done to keep you away from the public eye for the second half of your shift.
Situating yourself in the far corner of the room, you opened your laptop and went straight to the full inbox. Most of the messages you had been ignoring were requesting professional statements of Mr. Richman in a medical and observational sense. News outlets and publishing journals begging for statements to contradict one another.
You knew neither were worth participating for, with the current rising waters you were drowning.
The rest were administrative notices you’ve missed since you were gone. As you scrolled through the latest of your e-mails, you eyes landed on a new chain of a previous conversation that hadn’t existed before.
JEFFERSON, CALEB 6:46 AM (unread)
FW: INTERNAL REVIEW W/ ADMIN
Whenever you have the time, review the testimonies. Robby and I discussed scheduling a time to sit down to review timelines and order of events. With your unexpected absence, we were waiting until you came back to plan that out accordingly.
Do not fret over the logistics. This is customary when an incident occurs, especially with the arrest of a federal crime. The objective is to protect other staff from this type of violence. This shouldn’t affect you finishing your fellowship (not if I can help it), but you will be interviewed alone with the compliance and risk management panel.
They will reach out when they have the schedules available.
STILES, MORGAN 4 days ago
To: ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL, JEFFERSON, CALEB
42 attachment >>>> click to view all
Attached are the current translated transcripts for the upcoming internal review. (I happen to know the stenographer closely, so appreciate this favor.) Please be made aware you will be asked about all aspects of the decisions made while Mr. Richman was under the hospital's care.
Brace yourself for questions regarding the testimony of the victim and witnesses as well as those relating to the assault of hospital staff. Their testimonies were included.
Thank you,
Morgan Stiles, MHA, J.D., CPHRM
PTMC - COMPLIANCE HEALTH ATTORNEY
ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL 4 days ago
To: STILES, MORGAN, JEFFERSON, CALEB
Thank you, Morgan. Is there any legal repercussions either the ER or Psychiatry should expect up to this point?
STILES, MORGAN 3 days ago
To: ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL, JEFFERSON, CALEB
The internal review is an evaluation of the course of events to analyze flaws in the plan of care for the patient (and defendant, in this case), in which the hospital may improve on. A compliance-focus meeting handled through the course of a few days by interviewing the involved personnel. The hospital will not contradict the judge’s ruling. As of now, they seem agreeable to the reason for the ruling.
There are current discussions of the family suing the city for their failures during and after detainment, specifically in their failures to contain Mr. Richman while here. You will need to answer questions of the test, examination, and protocols applied regarding the incident.
The hospital has been receiving criticism publicly for treating Mr. Richman. I do advise you and your staff to refrain from making public acknowledgment of the ruling, the defendant, or the actions whether they occurred in this hospital or not. I do not believe any explanation needs to be given about the matter.
JEFFERSON, CALEB 3 days ago
To: STILES, MORGAN, ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL
All is appreciated, Morgan. We are mostly pleased Mr. Richman will be receiving the care he needs.
We will be awaiting further instruction from admin regarding the reviews.
Your fingers scrolled up towards the attachments Morgan included. Each labeled with the name of the witness and the date of testimony. The ‘McGuire’ name stood out on the document titles. Jenny had testified a few days after all the expert witnesses including you, Robby, Jefferson, and the court appointed psychiatrist to reevaluate Mr. Richman.
The cursor of your mouse hovered over the files warily. Reproachfully, you swallowed a lump down your throat. To have access to all the testimonies as if they were secrets made you shift.
All court records are public, you reasoned.
After a beat, you decided on starting with what mattered most to the hospital admin. You did not need an awful replay of your amateur display of defensive strategy.
Your mouse moved to the right of your testimony, clicking onto the file ‘ROBINAVITCH_M.’
3:00 PM
To say your eyes were sore was an understatement. Two hours behind a computer screen, reading and logging every small detail you could devour through words was bound to do that. You hadn’t bothered to get up and do much. Once for the restroom, once to grab water, and the rest of the time you spent it stationed in the corner.
Some of the younger residents and interns came in, charted for a few minutes before leaving again at the sound of another page. None of them made too much noise to distract you, just a shy greeting as they walked in and then busied themselves with their work.
You had lost track of time as you stared down at the last few pages of Robby’s first testimony. You would have assumed you would be much farther in your preparation for the internal reviews, but the line of question and responses had you glued to the particular file.
It wasn’t questions regarding Dr. Robby’s ability to lead a department let alone his credibility as an emergency physician. They were punitive judgments they disguised as questions for Robby from the prosecution. All judgments made about you and the testimony you had given a week prior. With that understanding, you couldn’t just look away while the judge and the rest of the court had to listen to the prosecution tear your credibility without your knowledge.
Robby hadn’t bothered to bring it up either. You rubbed your eyes lazily as a way to reboot its ingrained focus. Scrolling towards the next page, you started on the first line.
MR. FOWLER: In your professional opinion, did any course of action taken by the psychiatrist involved with Mr. Richman’s care raise concern of her judgment?
MR. HUDSON: Objection. Beyond the scope. Dr. Robinavitch is not a psychiatrist nor the chief of psychiatry.
MR. FOWLER: Your honor, the witness is an emergency physician. His professional judgment is still pertinent to the psychiatrist involved. She is a fellow, who is specializing to work alongside the department Dr. Robinavitch supervises.
THE COURT: Prosecution may proceed, but tread lightly, Mr. Fowler. Witness may answer.
THE WITNESS: No. She presented reasonable judgment when she requested nurses to remain as witnesses while evaluating Mr. Richman. She consulted with the arresting officers before entering the room–
MR. FOWLER: Whom she rejected the request to have inside the behavioral room the defendant was in, is that correct?
THE WITNESS: I am unaware if the officers made an offer to be present. Whatever executive decision made complied with the type of care provided to any patient who comes into that ER.
MR. FOWLER: But not every patient brought in is detained for a felony-level crime. Nor are they prone to having an outburst, which results in the assault of a healthcare worker, correct?
THE WITNESS: Violence against healthcare workers is an ongoing issue with no resolution. Staff in my department do constantly fear the next time a patient may punch, scratch, spit, or shove them. It happens more often than I would like.
MR. FOWLER: Please answer the question, Dr. Robinavitch.
THE WITNESS: [pause] No.
MR. FOWLER: So, did you agree with the approach taken with Mr. Richard, understanding the circumstances he came in? As you said, violence against healthcare workers is of utmost concern to you.
THE WITNESS: I do believe that what occurred in my department was unfortunate, but it wasn’t an error on the decisions made in the plan of care.
MR. FOWLER: [pause] Isn’t it true you and the psychiatrist involved have had previous conflicting opinions about patient care?
THE WITNESS: Yes.
MR. FOWLER: Enough so to question her judgment or her psychiatric opinion?
MR. HUDSON: Objection. Beyond the scope, again, your honor.
MR. FOWLER: Rephrase. Has it made you doubt whether the plan of care for patients, who have come to the ER needing a psychiatrist consultation, is in their benefit?
THE WITNESS: No. My conflicting opinion isn’t a question of her competence, as you allude to. It is to challenge her recommendations, as I would any resident or consulting physician. That’s how we all learn. It is how I ensure enough consideration has been put in all aspects of a case.
MR. FOWLER: So Mr. Richman, is what, negligence on her part? So much to ignore precautions in order to prevent the assault? What if it had been one of your doctors or nurses?
MR. HUDSON: Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence. Prosecution is arguing with the witness over lack of foundation.
THE WITNESS: Mr. Fowler, you are making a judgment from words on paper and images you do not have the comprehensive knowledge to understand. This delicate case was handled by someone who has more experience with patients of this caliber than you and even I have.
MR. FOWLER: Your honor—
THE WITNESS: Mr. Richman is an individual deemed to be in need of care from someone whose professional opinion I respect. If she sees it that way, so do I. What concurred from that was unpredictable, but in no way is it a representation of what she is incapable of doing. It should be a wake-up call about the issues in our healthcare system from those inside as well as outside the hospital.
THE COURT: Please contain yourself, Doctor. [pause] Mr. Fowler, you were warned to tread light. Either move along or rest your case.
Before you could scroll to the next page, something vibrated on the table beside you. With the screen of your phone pointed up, you simply turned to the side to view the incoming message.
DR. KYLE MALEK now
There are a couple consults down in the ER. Got tied up with Jefferson.
Dr. Robby couldn’t reach you.
When you opened the call phone, you noticed no notification except from Malek. Pausing, you stood from the chair, wandering to where you had left your backpack across the room. When you pulled your personal phone out from the side pocket, you found the missed messages from Robby.
ROBBY 15m ago
I didn’t want to bother you unless necessary, but Caleb got caught up in an emergency upstairs.
Have a couple of other pediatric psych consults. Nothing urgent or serious. Just some concerned parents.
You knew it must have been a last resort if he messaged you privately. From the verbiage, he was probably agonizing whether to finally pull you down to the depths of the ER after two hours of solitude. It was considerate, which was more than anything you had received now and days.
When you made your way down, you headed straight for the nursing station, starting the manhunt for Robby. Stopping by the station, you picked up a device. Glancing around, your eyes caught Dana stalking around the station, glasses propped on the lower bridge of her nose.
She smiled when she looked at you, moving towards you. “Well, thank goodness you’re here. I have patients in need of a psych consult and we need beds.”
Trying to muster as joyous a smile as she had, you chuckled nervously. “So I heard. Who’s first on the list?”
“Central 12 is a 13-year-old boy. Dr. Mohan is the primary, but he is all yours, honey.” She instructed with a small wink.
You nodded, listening to the information. When you lifted your gaze, you noted the illuminating patient board. Fractured wrist was the primary complaint. Your eyes went further down the list to Central 14. Still occupied by the same patient.
Taking in a deep breath, you composed yourself to head in the dreaded corner of the ER. You were hesitant, hoping another altercation of some sort wouldn’t occur. That your paths would not cross to forsaken you again. Keeping your head down you thought would be a worthy way of disguising your presence.
From McGuire's accusatory stare. From Robby’s genuine concern. You needed to stay concentrated on the patient you could help. You were no use if you couldn’t unscramble your brain enough to do that.
However, to curse your already terrible day, you caught the exact people you were hoping to avoid exiting central 14 together. Slowing down your pace, you watched with careful eyes as Robby stood facing Mrs. McGuire, one arm draped across her daughter's back, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. They must have been discharging as Mrs. McGuire carried her purse with her and a packet in her hand.
Something told you there was no reason to linger. She had said her piece and there was no way to explain yourself to them. It wasn’t gallant to stumble over your words and teeter on the edge of breaking down when you came off vehement in court.
Except, despite that new look that you were sporting since then, Robby hadn’t changed from the time you met him. You had been focused too much on everything else to realize he extended that warmth towards you.
That’s when Robby’s voice cut through your indecision. His furrowed brows were trying to understand why you stood alone in the hall, device in hand. He instructed with his head to come closer, and when you woke yourself from the daydream, you approached cautiously. You tried not to zone in on the McGuire’s staring at you like a prey approaching a much smaller, weaker predator.
“Mrs. McGuire’s here wanted to speak with you.” He initiated, scratching the side of his beard. With one-step back, he let the attention be centered on the two of you, but he remained in the background. You could sense his presence like a bug on your shoulder.
Mrs. McGuire, with wet eyes, cleared her throat. She looked at her daughter before facing you with her chin held up. “I wanted to apologize early. What happened was uncalled for. You’re here to do a job.”
“Earnestly, I signed up to do this job regardless of what came with it.” You responded, hands gripping on tighter to the device.
If that hadn't been the case, you would've quit after Mr. Richman, and you wouldn't have willingly stood in front of her and Jenny--who was shrinking the pink hoodie and avoiding obvious attention on her.
She hummed, eyeing you carefully. Your body tensed, as if bracing for some blow yet to come. Your shoulder sat up higher as the silence fell. With your mouth agape, the words stopped as Mrs. McGuire sighed. “We won’t see eye to eye on the verdict made, but I am sorry he did that to you."
"In our grief of what occurred, I’ve forgotten that you also fell victim to his hands. I’ve been recently reminded of that.” Her eyes flicked to something behind you, and you knew she was staring appreciatively at Robby.
You put on a shaky smile, nodding in gratitude. The skin where the punch landed and his hands squeezed around your neck heated up. It was like his life marked you, but you did your best to hide the grimace. “Likewise. I am hoping for the best for you and your family moving forward.”
With a stiff nod, she glanced over at Robby, indicating a conclusion with actions only. You stepped aside, putting on a polite smile as Mrs. McGuire guided her daughter to where Robby was motioning. While he stepped behind them, he looked at you over his shoulder. The encouraging smile that was gently reminding you that it wasn’t ill will. There weren't huntsmen coming for you and your strong sense of identity in your work.
They were people who were confused and hurt, similar to how you were after the assault and with the reminder of the trial. He was still here telling you there was nothing wrong with you or the work, and you didn’t have to feel let down by the reaction alone. You sighed, before clearing your head once more to approach Central 12.
8:00 PM
“I don’t need to be safeguarded.” You sighed out, sitting across from Caleb in his office. You had managed to catch up with your charting at a decent time. If it hadn’t been for the emergency on the behavioral floor, you would’ve gone home an hour ago.
But you knew Caleb would need the help after sending home one of his residents.
“It’s not pity. He acted out of line for a fourth year resident and I won’t tolerate harassment in the workplace.” Caleb spoke definitely, staring at you from above the rims of his glasses. He was typing away on his computer. You didn’t want to know if it pertained to the discussion at hand.
You groaned lightly, uncrossing your legs while sitting up taller. “It's fine.”
“No, it isn’t.” Caleb emphasized, stopping his typing. He repositioned his wheelchair, before slipping off his glasses and letting them fall against his chest. “I wish you would stop pretending it is. It’s okay to be mad or upset over what he said. It was uncalled and unprofessional.”
“And he’s a fourth year resident with one foot out the door! It’s not personal, whatsoever.” You joked, chuckling tiredly as you stood up. Grabbing your backpack from the floor, you slung it on your shoulders. “His residency is almost over along with my fellowship. After that, neither of us will have to worry about the other ever again.”
Caleb sat pensively, hands folded in his lap. From the small scrunch of his face, you knew another question was brewing. He pushed his thumbs together. “And what do you plan to do after your fellowship?”
You scoffed with a tight grin on your face. “After the shit-show today? I don’t think you or Robby need me as a liability, let alone this hospital. I’ve brought on enough issues.”
“Is this about what Malek said? Or the McGuire’s?” Caleb questioned his voice softer as he probed. The same technique you used on Jenny that morning. It was a sad reminder of failures you should have been able to control on your own.
“And if it was?”
“I’d tell you not to fixate on these lapses alone.” He suggested firmly. “They are in no way an accurate representation of the type of character and work I’ve seen.”
You glanced away, the attention too centered on you for your liking. It wasn’t bad attention (compared to the scrutiny from earlier) but it was attention that focused on the part of you that didn’t belong in work. The insecurity you had walking PTMC that you had managed to keep wrapped under the fold of your personality. Cold and calculated while protecting the intimacy of your thoughts.
Or at least, what was once protected.
“I should probably head home. I have a night shift coming up soon.” You excused yourself by making your way to the door.
It was a somber conclusion, like you might never see him again. Your depleted energy had no effort to give to anything else--especially regarding your emotion convocation.
“You are good at what you do. Inside and outside of here.” Caleb announced, like it was a doorknob concern you joked patients always had. One last anchor thrown into the sea like a redeeming feature. The difference between walking out of the office with nothing and walking out with salvation from ailment.
Your hand grasped the doorknob, not turning back. You silently nodded, gesturing to him that you were listening. From the small twitch of your lips, you knew better than to turn around and worry him with your fractured emotional boundaries. Instead, you wished him a quiet ‘good night’ before closing the door behind you.
Your brain was running on autopilot and before you could process your decisions, you had taken the elevator down to the Pitt instead of the main floor to head to the parking garage.
When the elevator doors open to reveal the chaos of the night-shift settling in, you cursed under your breath. You had been too exhausted, bone-dry for too long, that you were questioning if it was a good idea to drive.
Thankfully, it was enough to obscure you from any lingering day shift. You merged around like high-traffic, curving around nurses and other ED staff. Whenever you catch wind of a night-shift doctor, you lower your head further.
Your eyes landed on Shen, who waved at you lazily while holding a Dunkin’ iced coffee. That’s when you scurried out towards the ambulance bay. As wide automatic doors slid open, the breeze hit your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered from the heaviness of the wind kissing your face.
The red lights from the ambulance glowed sitting stationary on the driveway. You proceeded carefully; making sure a couple of paramedics weren’t going to jump out the vehicle with some trauma patient. Looking around like a kid lost, you turned your head to the right.
Kneeling down, craning his head to the side, Robby was fiddling with something on a motorcycle. Despite the body of the two-wheeled vehicle, Robby taunt muscles still seemed wide in comparison to his ride.
“Do you wear a helmet with that thing?” You asked aloud, stopping away from the emergency entrance.
Robby looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. You flashed him a playful smile, tired albeit, hardly capable of synchronizing with your eyes. He still chuckled hoarsely. “Yes. I am an emergency physician. I know better.”
Tossed aside, you could see the durable backpack. Clipped to the handle at the top was the helmet in question. You hummed, nodding lazily. “So what? Your ride broke down on you?”
“Yeah. Perfect way to end a 12-hour shift.” He huffed out. “First time I test drive this thing and it fails on me.”
He cursed under his breath at the same time something clattered on the ground. You inched forward, standing beside the wall of the hospital, you could see the ratchet on the ground glinting against the light.
Scrunching your nose, you sat yourself slowly on the small ledge wide enough to sit. “This is your first time taking it out for a spin?”
Robby had grabbed the ratchet again, twisting it against something in the body. With a heavy sigh, he let go, letting his elbow rest against his one lifted knee. “Longer distance than from my house to my local grocery store. Figured it was about time to see how it ran before commuting over hundreds of miles with it.”
“You’re still adamant on that spiritual journey of yours?”
When Robby turned to look at you, he hesitated on his response. He put on a charming smile, even when his body would heave with every breath out, as if the weight of the shift was dragging him. “It’s the only thing close to a vacation I have to look forward to.”
Scoffing unconvinced, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Most people go somewhere tropical or at least choose not to bet against the odds.
“What odds?” He questioned the back of his exposed to you as he continued tightening something. His hands reached up toward the ignitions, twisting the key, the motor came to life. The low grumbled emitted loudly from where you stood. Robby smiled appreciatively at the sound, before shutting the ignition.
“The odds that the only thing guaranteed for us on this Earth won’t come get them first.” You crossed your legs, leaning forward slightly as your voice lowered. You knew the wind would carry the vibration of your voice, and Robby’s body gave him away as he squared his shoulders. “You should know the statistics of motorcycle accidents by now, Robby.”
“I’m a safe driver.” Robby assured, groaning as he pulled the ratchet off. He secured whatever area he tinkered with, standing up slowly. He reached down for his backpack, resting it over the seat of the motorcycle. “I wear my helmet. I don’t speed.”
“That’s not the point.” You mumbled. After putting the ratchet away, he slung the backpack on one shoulder, holding it up naturally. He turned his body in your direction, staring at you absentmindedly.
Sighing, you rolled your neck. It wasn’t the type of night to be picking a fight, not that you had the energy; but you’d shelf the conversation for another day when your mind wasn’t exhausted. Robby tapped one foot on the ground, watching your body slump back into the wall. “How did the rest of your shift go?”
With eyes closed, head pressed against the brick of the building, you snickered. “Fantastic. I’m excited to come back and do it all over again.”
When you opened an eye to gauge his reaction, he shook his head trying not to appear amused by your sarcasm. From the way he slouched, you assumed he felt the same after today. Playing mediator while running a department was not for the weak. You had proven you weren’t up for half the responsibilities he currently had.
“I’m sorry if I wasn’t much help today.” You apologized, while wiping your hands on the side of your pants. “I know I brought on more problems for you.”
Robby stood silently, the small crease in his forehead giving him away. He softly negated the statement with his head, “You couldn’t have predicted how today would go. I’m sorry this is how we welcome you back after being gone for a week.”
Your hands ran down your face, laughing out tired and still in denial of the entire day. Even if you had a magic eight ball that could warn you of the choices you made up to this point, you would’ve made them all over again. “I wouldn’t have expected it to go any other way.”
Cocking his head to the side, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack while the other he stuffed into his jacket pocket. “Are you starting to see the appeal of this place?”
When you pulled your hands away, you stared at Robby with furrowed brows. Over dinner, Robby had inquired of your plans. He knew you were planning to stay in a clinical setting, considering the fellowship you chose, but you made no affirmative decision of where you wanted to work.
You made it clear California was no longer an option, despite the fact you did your residency there. You could go back to Boston, where you went for undergrad or settle back in your hometown trying to remember old stopping grounds. Whenever you thought of the projection of a life like that, it didn’t align with what you had envisioned before.
Pittsburgh happens to have the best emergency-psychiatry fellowship. Even though you have spent less than a year establishing yourself, it felt more like a sanctuary than all the places you’ve been.
“I think I’ve dug myself a hole too deep to climb out of.”
Robby resonated with the statement. He examined you carefully. You were certain you looked exhausted. The bags under your eyes weighed heavier as you delayed your trip home.
Before Robby could follow up with some smooth distraction or deflect from your current disappointments, you sat up taller. “What did you tell Mrs. McGuire?”
He paused, inhaling a sharp breath. Glancing around warily, he considered his words. You chewed the inside of your mouth, bouncing the one foot on the ground rhythmically. The night was filled with dying anticipation, which sat much thicker than smog.
“You must have told her something. She was cursing my existence in the morning.” You tried to lighten the mood, but the joke didn’t land the punch.
There was a timidity in Robby as he stared down at his feet. He wasn’t the assertive chief of a bustling ER department outside under the glowing lights of the ambulance. He was irresolute because you were sitting in front of him about something. You feared he thought this was some ploy to dig venomous fangs in him.
“She asked me what I thought about your position during the trial.” He clarified, lifting his one free hand to rub the back of his head.
“And what did you tell her?” You questioned with a meek voice. The shaky breath released a clear indicator of the lump forming in your throat.
He let his head hang, the disheveled top of his head now clearly visible. “I explained that as someone who has worked with you for the few months I have, I don’t need to question your judgment.”
When he peered at you through his eyelashes, he saw you unravel your legs. Both hands grabbed the edge of the wall you sat on. You lean forward, eyes darting across his face. “Mr. Richman’s state of mind is complicated, and if anyone was more than capable of making a clear evaluation of his needs and rationale, it would be you.”
Instead of giving in to the misty sensation of your eyes, you composed yourself, glancing at a rock on the ground. “How did she take that?”
“The wound is still fresh and she may still hate him for what he did, but I think she came to terms we are all flawed individuals.” Robby’s words were melodic. It was like reading off a fortune cookie. A well-rested you might’ve made that joke out loud, instead you caved into yourself as Robby readjusted his backpack. “It won’t necessarily make sense now, but maybe in the future, when the tensions have settled.”
It was ironic, if anything. After what Malek said, it made it clear that Robby’s incessant indifference came from what he interpreted as defiance. The perfectly educated persona you put on while in the hospital to make patients trust your easier was all he saw.
He had found a weak spot, though. Even through the immaculate professionalism, he realized there were attributes within yourself you let weigh you down. It somehow didn’t confine you to the ‘FRAGILE’ box. It made him more attentive and invested in watching you succeed.
“I saw Morgan’s email this morning.” You mentioned casually, standing up tall. You inched one-step closer. “I read over the transcript.”
He simply nodded, making no indication he noticed the hints you were dropping. I know what you said about me. I know how you truly see me. “I read over the transcripts of your testimony. Most of the prosecution's questions, at least.”
With the truth out in the open, Robby straightened himself, curtly nodding. He awkwardly chuckled, finally understanding the subliminal message you were sending him with your wide, eye gaze. With his silence, he was inviting you to criticize him, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted honesty.
The part you read was familiar to the Robby you faced while in the ED. Unrestrained when pushed. Brutal honest if necessary. Except, he wasn't fervent. He didn’t tell you he pushed you while fully convinced of your training and competence to treat patients. That he never questioned whether a patient was safe under your care. He trusted you to enact respectably, and he let the court know that too.
“You shouldn’t have stuck out your neck for me.” You scolded gently, sighing in defeat.
“I didn’t do it just for you.” Robby countered, as if attempting heroism while too overworked and beat by the day would convince you both of the noble effort. He meant it though. The way the corner of his eye crinkled while his cheeks flushed a color too crimson for the spring air.
“And the stuff with Mrs. McGuire? Malek?” The questions came out like digging with desperation. You had to find something more, because you couldn’t accept the charity from a man whom you tortured for his respect.
It was as unethical as lying on the stand, swearing an oath to attest to the truth of the facts and events. You knew Robby wouldn't have lied about that. He was aware of the risk to himself and the hospital if he tried to spin what occurred, because he had thought about being in the room with you.
And if you had known what you did now, you might've initiated that conversation.
“Dr. Malek was out of line and frankly, I’ve never liked him.” Robby laughed dryly, his shoulder shrugging. You rolled your eyes at him, head cocked to the side. He scratched the side of his beard, eyes fluttering lightly. “And I was simply having a conversation with Mrs. McGuire.”
Simple. Nothing about that was simple, you thought. When you finally reached a point to be professional partners, it was like the universe was reminding you that ‘partnership’ wasn't in your vocabulary. Trusting so blindly to let yourself guide by the reasoning of another man. You hadn't given Robby an inkling of that impression. He must have known that from the times he stared at you once something else blew up in your face.
He considered turning his back and looking the other way, but some line and hook sunk him into the cold waters of your pond. It was temperatures he was learning to survive in, and you were adjusting to sharing the vast, sparse space with something other than your thoughts.
You turned to the hospital walls, scaling the sides with your eyes. He classified you the most competent person to do the work. Even when you doubted it, and even after admitting psychiatry was never your first choice. Despite that, your judgment was the one he relied on without your realizing it. “You’re making it harder to settle on where I want to go once I’m done with this fellowship.”
You raised your eyebrows at him, noticing the grin. His eyes sparkled, playfully wounded by the words. “Would it be so bad if you stayed?”
“After today, it might be.” You tried not to mellow the energy. Maybe he took it as a joke, but you knew he was reading in between lines to understand your shrewdness.
“I disagree.” Robby responded automatically. It was instinct. After spending most of his shift listening to the strong superficial beliefs of your character and intention, he must have been too used to speaking nicely about you.
Clearing your throat, you started slowly making your way closer, wrapping up the evening to just rot in the same bed you had been forsaken to a week prior. Reaching towards the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out your keys. “We shall see what the hospital review brings. Maybe then I’ll change my mind.”
“It won't be as bad as the trial, that’s for sure.” Robby assured you. With the red lights still flashing, his freckled skin stood out more with each crease and wrinkle accompanying every time he stretched his lips into a smile.
“Like I said, we shall see.”
You flashed him a tight smile, the fabric of your cardigan brushing against the thicker, canvas material of his dusty, brown jacket. Before you could disappear into the darkness of the side of the hospital, you spun back around.
Robby was already looking at you.
With your hands clasping onto your keys, you tried focusing on the smell of the metal and the cold material stabbing into your skin. “If it doesn't pan out, I still appreciate all of it. Just thought you should know.”
You didn’t clarify what ‘all of it’ was. In eight months, Robby made an everlasting mark. Whoever was supposed to follow him wouldn't get to taste the bitter sweetness of your inner soul. Robby fought for that satisfaction, and you didn't think anyone except him could attempt to do so again.
He stifled a boyish grin on his face. “I hope it isn't the last of it.”
❀⋆.ೃ࿔*Chapter 8: Tell me how (you reach the moon)❀⋆.ೃ࿔* Sugar Daddy!Michael Robinavitch x Reader
w.c: 5.5k
summary: Robby doesn't have a chance to cower and leave once you show up at the ER. Things complicate when you leave only to come back in a worse condition than you arrived in.
f.c: ER visit, talk of stomach pain, symptoms of appendicitis, talk of minor surgery, fear of needles/hospitals, light mention of Adamson's death, Jack and reader might just work it out in the remix
masterlist ❀⋆.ೃ࿔* chapter 7 (previous)
The sound of your name being called causes you to look up, and you wince faintly as you slowly sit up from your chair in the waiting room. The clerk smiles at you when you come up to reception. Her name tag reads Lupe. When she repeats your name to confirm it, you nod.
"Come around back through those doors, hon," she says, sliding your insurance card back over.
You turn to leave but pause, smiling sheepishly at the woman behind your mask and pulling it down to speak clearly. "Um, by any chance, does a Doctor Robinavitch work here?" It wasn't as though you'd ask to be seen by him if he did. You were merely curious as to how he was at work. The only work version of Robby you've seen so far has been the one after hours, where he's completely exhausted by the end of whatever grueling shift he endured that day. Even catching a glimpse of him today would be nice.
You wonder if he wears a white lab coat with a button up and tie, stethoscope hanging from his neck. You almost smile at the thought.
Cute.
"Sure he does. You a friend of Doctor Robby?" She eyes you curiously when you nod, but still smiles politely. "Do you want me to call him, let him know you're here?"
You shake your head. "Ah, no, I wouldn't want to bother him while he's working."
"Okay, honey. Well, go on in and a doctor will take care of you."
The doors buzz around the side and a young doctor opens one of them. He introduces himself as Dr. Shen and takes care to mention he's a student doctor. All of the triage beds are occupied by other patients, but he assures you that's not an uncommon issue.
"Sorry, guess we'll have to join the band in the back," he says, giving you a goofy wink and a cheeky smile that immediately makes one of your own tug at your lips. "Don't worry, you're in good hands."
Whatever expectations and images conjured by your wild imagination of the ER from the times Robby's spoken of it with anecdotes of patients or his workers are blown away the second you find yourself actually inside.
It's…organized chaos.
That's the best way you could manage in an attempt to describe it, anyway. At a first look from afar, everything overwhelms you into the inability to process a single thing. After you begin walking behind Shen, however, you see things little by little.
It's loud, in a gathered noisy sense of way. Everything's accumulated into a mass of noises and voices. Nurses are bustling about, and the screens above the station standing in the center of the ER contain a myriad of color codes and words you don't understand to overwhelm your vision. Curtains are pulled open and closed all around, with staff flittering about their patients. Your head snaps back when you see Shen hasn't broken his stride and is still walking, so you hurry after him.
The young doctor is in the middle of a word vomit about how he personally finds the day-shift ER a bit too chicken plain for his taste, and how he's been considering switching to nights at first chance when something on the wall to your left catches your attention, and you pause before it to examine it properly.
"Oh," you murmur, glancing up at the wall of framed pictures, all of which contained healthcare workers who have passed on. A particular frame grabs your attention, and you step closer to read it.
Dr. Montgomery Adamson
Chair. Department of Emergency Medicine
1948—2020
Robby had mentioned he and the other doctors of this ER had lost good people. Most had walked out from the severe stress the pandemic had brought, as well as other crushing factors. He hadn't exactly disclosed those exact reasons, but the internet held no secrets, and you'd quelled your guilt of being nosy about the matter by telling yourself you simply wanted to understand his situation better. Apparently it was a nationwide dilemma that was only growing much more severe.
Had this Dr. Adamson been whom Robby had been referring to when you accidentally prodded about whether he'd lost anyone to COVID?
Shen notices you're no longer following behind him and stops walking to turn back and look at what you were staring at. "Did you know anyone on there?" he asks. You shake your head, a small sad smile on your lips.
"No, I—I've only heard of one of them." You point towards Adamson's frame.
"Oh. Yeah, apparently he passed away a while before I started my residency, think like last year."
Last year? And how long had it been after his death that Robby decided to sign up on a sugar daddy website? Or did that occurrence have nothing to do with his decision?
Your lips part to speak, but a hesitant, startled call of your name distracts you.
Robby is standing halfway across the bustling ER, staring at you with brows furrowed in growing confusion and parted lips. In a few blinks, he's standing right before you, bending down to check you over in every which way. Despite yourself, a fluttering warmth grows between your thighs at the very much noticeable height difference between you, and it takes everything in you to fight off the dazed smile threatening to pull your lips from how obviously big Robby is.
Your wandering thoughts about whether or not he might also be in other areas are unfortunately interrupted by the man's concern for your well-being.
"What's going on? Are you okay? Hurt? What are—why did you come?"
"I'm okay!" you rush to say, squirming and fighting back a giggle while his large, warm palms sent a tickling sensation from their worried grasp. "I've been here for a bit and I haven't gotten worse, so." You shrug, beaming up at him.
His brows knit even closer and a frown pulls at his lips. "How much is a 'bit'?" With your choice of vocabulary, he knew that sometimes when you said something, it actually really meant something else entirely.
"…Since eight," you say, looking sheepish when Robby's face drops into a deeper frown. It was currently noon.
"You should've called to let me know you were here, honey," he murmurs. "Would've brought you in so much sooner."
"I wasn't even sure you worked here," you laugh lightly. "I was actually gonna go to Urgent Care, but it's—"
"Closed temporarily," he nods. "It's closed on certain dates as a provider for COVID vaccinations. Been like that since state expanded its eligibility this month."
Well, shit. You'd go above and beyond to keep yourself healthy and safe just to never have to end up back in that waiting room, then. You had better ways of spending your day than evading coughs from a man sat next to you who refused to pull his mask over his mouth and not jeopardize everyone else's health.
"What did you come in for?" He frowns as he looks you over, then glancing up at Shen when the student doctor clears his throat, then at Dana, standing a few feet away at the Hub when she calls his name.
"Central seven is open," she says. She's not even trying to be subtle about the fact that she's openly staring at you rather than Robby, to whom her words were directed at. There's a look of understanding on her face, as though a puzzle she's been trying to piece together for weeks has just been completed before her.
"Let's go somewhere more quiet, yeah?" Robby says, growing acutely aware of the attention his VIP treatment was harboring. It seemed his display of concern had already brought the attention of a few staff who were nearby to witness it. Perlah and Princess will have something juicy to gossip for days, and if it still has some give, there'll be a betting board set up by Ahmad at the security office by the end of shift.
"My stomach started hurting really bad this morning," you're explaining sheepishly, sat on the edge of the patient bed. "Way worse than the cramps I get from drinking whole milk."
"Think it might have to do with the never ending supply of spicy noodles you keep stocked in your cupboard?" Robby quips with a raised brow. You squirm.
"I don't eat them every day," you protest.
"You eat them often enough," he retorts. You only huff and pointedly ignore his grin while answering Shen's further questioning.
You'd figured it was a bad case of stomach pain from the spicy food you've been eating lately, but it's nice to be assured by doctors that's all there is to it. Even if you had to suffer through Robby's knowing look of your bad habit and the sigh he gives when you make a cheeky joke about having worse ones.
I am well aware of your little nicotine friend, angel, he had said before letting himself be pulled away into an incoming trauma while Shen finished up with you.
Shen is a friendly guy. The two of you end up bonding over your love for movies after he made a Shrek reference, leading to more shared references to discover how many you both knew, which may have then ended in you offering a discount for your services at the nail studio. The "health worker" discount, you'd call it.
You decide from that single conversation that you like Shen. He was cool and didn't make you feel bad for coming in with something as silly as a stomach pain.
"Believe me, you probably saved my ass. Dana gave me a bowel disimpaction case the other day," he grimaces. "I'd take filling out prescription orders for stomach cramps than do that again any day."
After your medication prescription is handled and your discharge papers are signed at the Hub, Dana says you're good to go. She gives a side eye when Robby practically materializes at your side once he's done in Trauma 2.
"I'll walk you out," he says, and his hand twitches to stop the reflex of placing his palm on your back like he always does when the two of you are together, alone and away from everyone else he knows. He idly ignores Perlah and Princess' stares and the way Dana is trying to pin him down with her gaze over her lenses.
Though you've missed the soothing sensation of the morning summer sun on your skin after so many cold winter days that had now waned into the cool spring, you're not looking forward to the infamous heatwaves Robby has mentioned that tended to bring larger amounts of clientele to his ER doors. One of the many under appreciated perks of the mid-season is its gentle breezes. From the small conversations you've had with clients over the past few weeks, however, many are eager for the transitional month of March to be over to be just a little closer to summer.
Today's weather is very agreeable. You'll soak up all the good spring days before summer inevitably catches up. Maybe if you feel better later, you'll take Sonny for a walk in the park.
"Sorry I wasted your time," you say sheepishly once you're both standing on the sidewalk leading back into the street. "Pain just didn't feel normal."
To his credit, Robby makes no pointed comment about your spice intake. "Never apologize for being concerned about your health, OK?" he tells you firmly. "I'm glad you came in. It's good that it ended up being nothing serious."
You promise him you'll follow the medication instructions properly and skip the spicy noodle dinner tonight, though the second one is begrudgingly agreed to. After making you promise to come back if the pain got worse or if you began to experience other symptoms, he sends you off with a scruffy kiss to the corner of your lips that leaves you flushed and airily disoriented the entire walk home.
It's around 9PM when you end up back in the ER. This time, you're grimacing and talking in a breathless tone with Lupe, who doesn't seem to recall your earlier interaction until you mention knowing Dr. Robby. She says that you must be the girlfriend the nurses mentioned had stopped by earlier.
"You could've told me Doctor Robby was your boyfriend, hon," she says. You're too busy trying to not puke your guts out in the middle of the waiting room to do much but allow your lips to pull into a wobbly twitch that's supposed to resemble a smile and is instead mistaken for shyness by the woman. "You wouldn't have waited here so he could see you. Anyway, he just left, but Doctor Abbot is our night shift attending, and he's very good friends with Doctor Robby. He'll see you in triage, OK?"
A small dread begins to bubble in your tummy, but that might also be the sharp cramps you were currently suffering through. Some part of you, a rather childish one, wants to delay the interaction for as long as possible, but it's snuffed out by the rational part of your brain firmly telling you to simply put on your Big Girl pants and get it over with.
If Jack feels anything else apart from the surprise written on his face when he sees you, he does a superb job at not letting it show.
"Lupe said a VIP was coming through."
You huff. "Everyone thinks I'm Michael's girlfriend." You wouldn't have minded if they did, had you already had a talk with Robby about yesterday's kiss that let you know where the both of you stood. For now, it was just a little embarrassing for everyone to think you were together before you did.
You end up in an empty triage room, where you're thankful for the quieter space to alleviate your growing exhaustion. All of his questions seem regularly concerned with your symptoms, except for—
"Any chance you might be pregnant?"
That makes you glare. Meanly.
Jack doesn't know you, but the anger doesn't fit you, and he has half a mind for an apology and a lame excuse you'll both know is a lie about the question being pure procedure, rather than half curiosity and half accusation.
You know he hadn't specifically asked about your sexual history with Robby and any possible consequences from it, but you were strongly aware the question was skirting around whether or not you were…compensating Robby for his financial support. And you're having none of it.
"No, asshole. Michael and I—we haven't had sex."
His unspoken question lingering in the tension between you is promptly shut down by that answer and is instead addressed with a firm, silent statement: I am not whatever you think I am.
"Standard procedure question," he decides to say, choosing the lame excuse.
"Sure," you mumble. "I already came in earlier. I—" you grimace, brows pinching together while you clutch at your abdomen. "I had really bad stomach cramps, so Doctor Shen and Michael prescribed me medication. But the pain is worse, like, right here—" you point to the lower right side of your abdomen.
Jack unfolds the glasses hanging from the neck of his scrubs and leans down to examine your body. His eyes briefly flicker to yours while his hands hover over your tank top before he begins peeling it back tentatively.
"Got some rigidity here," he murmurs, lightly tapping at the skin with the pads of two fingers. You let out a hissed whine and allow your head to drop back. "Looks a little swollen, too. Probably looking at appendicitis, but we'll do a CT scan and some lab work to be sure."
"Like a urine sample?"
"And blood tests, just to rule out any infection."
"Oh." You swallow, and you're completely sure now that that the queasiness in your stomach has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought of needles. "How long is that gonna take?"
Jack raises a brow. "Got somewhere to be with this maybe-appendicitis?" he asks dryly.
"I-I left my dog at home," you stammer, and now it's your turn to sound as lame as you are honest. "He has food and water but he stresses if I'm not home on time—"
"You got any family nearby we can call? Friends that can drop by your place?"
With that, you mourn your chances of leaving this place without getting a needle stuck into your skin and shake your head. "Michael's the only one I know in the city."
Jack nods with a sigh, taking out his phone from his back pocket and frowning at the lit screen. "Service is shit in here," he mutters. "'M gonna go out to the ambulance bay, see if I can't get a good signal to call Robby. Dana's ready to leave, but Lena and her nurses will take care of you."
"How you doin', hon? Have any pain still?" It's Dana, or at least who you're about 99% sure is Dana, if any of Robby's ER anecdotes were accurate with the way he described her. Apart from the clear no-nonsense attitude she radiates, you also note that she's absolutely beautiful.
Jeez, is it a requirement to be drop dead gorgeous to work here? Even Jack, you thought begrudgingly but wouldn't dare ever confess, had a gruff attractiveness to him, with his husky, dryly-toned voice, peppered gray curls, and stupidly buff biceps you were absolutely sure had the nurses blushing.
"No," you shake your head, then smile sheepishly. "No, miss. The meds really helped." Sore as your arms were from the blood tests taken from one and the IV currently attached to the other, you were grateful to have been given something to numb the pain.
"Miss?" Dana chuckles. "Cute. Knew I liked you for a reason, kid. Robby went home already, but Abbot's just as good a doctor. You met him yet?"
Under worse circumstances, yes, you almost want to say, but you just nod instead.
"You're in good hands, alright? Wouldn't trust anyone else in the city but this crew to treat me if I was a patient."
"Thanks," you say. For some reason, you want her to like you, and that reason alone is making you nervous to be around the woman. "Um, it was nice to meet you."
She winks. "You too, kid."
"Does—" you pause, then look down at your lap with a quiet, "Does everyone know about me and Michael?"
“Much as I try and stop 'em, my nurses stay sane with gossip around here," Dana offers, not unkindly. "But I'd known there was a good reason why Robby’s been actin’ odd lately. Actually makes time to eat something other than those God-awful protein bars, and tries to go home on time when he can. 'S not much, but—" she shrugs. "It's better than nothin'. All makes sense now. You been taking care of our good doctor, yeah?"
A small smile forms on your lips at her words. It felt good knowing you could take care of Robby the same way (or something close to it) he did you. “Trying to,” you say shyly. “He’s very easy to care about.”
She chuckles and pats your back. "I'll see you around, hon."
You're surprised by how uncharacteristically barren the ER is once the transition from evening to night settles. Whatever you knew of the emergency room's typical environment came from the crumbs Robby offered over your nightly phone calls or when he was at your place, de-stressing over takeout and whatever show you had playing in the background.
It's only when you begin to wonder whether Robby's alleged cases of mangled limbs and horrid injuries had been stretched for the sake of storytelling that a screaming patient is brought in by several paramedics and immediately rushed to one of the trauma rooms by Jack and several other staff members. You were so startled by the noisiness that you nearly miss the bone that's clearly sticking out from his knee.
You swallow back bile and turn your wheelchair away from the scene, pushing it to move elsewhere, to be anywhere but near that.
"Hey, you're the doc's girlfriend!"
You look up to see an older man also sitting in a wheelchair with an IV attached to him, grinning widely.
"Um, yeah," you say. "I think."
He introduces himself as Louie, and after you tell him your own name he shares all too casually that he was brought in for alcohol poisoning, then asked for your reason
"Doctor Abbot said I need surgery," you mumble, rubbing at your teary eyes. "For my appendicitis."
"Oh, that's nothing!" Louie's quick to wave off. "The doctors here will take care of that quick. They're all great. You got nothing to be worried about, kid."
"I know, 'm just…scared of hospitals."
Louie doesn't have the chance to reply before someone else is chiming into the conversation. It's another older man, but he didn't look quite as cheery as Louie
"Only thing to be scared of in this place are their damn tuna sandwiches!"
You can't help the small, wet laugh that escapes your lips. The man's promptly guided away by a nurse who promises to give him an egg salad sandwich, and soon enough Louie's also being pushed off by a doctor to be further treated in one of the trauma rooms.
You've just managed to gather all your courage to seek a nurse and ask for a blanket when yet another patient in a wheelchair approaches you.
"Psst! What are you in for, sweet-cheeks?" It's a blonde woman, maybe twenty years older than you, staring at you with a bit of a manic look, but maybe she's just as tired as you are.
"Appendicitis. 'M waiting for someone to take me upstairs. What about you?"
"See that pussy-ass cop standing over there, talking to Nurse Lena?" She points a wrinkled, manicured finger towards the direction of the Hub. "Brought me in here after I had a seizure."
"Wow, that's—that's really nice of him—"
"Bastard's gonna get what's coming to him," she mutters, glaring down sourly at something on her lap. You only then notice the handcuffs keeping her tethered to the wheelchair.
You blink in surprise. "Oh."
The woman must've noticed the way you begin eyeing her warily, because she grins and winks dramatically, tugging at the cuffs so they'd clink against the arm they were locked around. "Don't worry, honey, I don't kill cute girls."
You slightly tilt your head. "I am pretty adorable, I think."
"Ooh, cheeky. I like that."
"Behaving, Myrna?" Jack's voice emerges from behind. He walks around to look at the two of you, something akin to amusement at the sheer alarm on your face and the mischievous grin on Myrna's.
"Always, Doctor Abbot," she purrs.
The man looks at you and opens his mouth, but he turns when your face eases into a grin at something behind him.
"Mike!"
Robby, who'd rushed in wildly through the ambulance bay entrance and was restlessly looking around the ER, turns at the sound of your voice and rushes towards you, disregarding the crack of his bones to properly kneel before you. He doesn't have a chance to ask what happened or if you're okay or why you were wearing a patient gown before you're wrapping your arms around him. He's thrown aback, but gentles his rigid shoulders to soften into the embrace.
"Hey," he murmurs, pulling back just slightly to look at you. His eyes soften when he sees yours are twinkling with tears. "What happened, honey?"
"I need surgery," you sigh. He nods, taking one of your hands into his and rubbing his thumb along your knuckles.
"Jack told me," he says gently. "What surgery? Appendectomy? Cholecystectomy? Think Jack might've told me which one already, but I was too busy running out the door to hear him over the phone."
That makes something close to a smile tug at your mouth, but you're still worrying a lip under your teeth. Had he not been scared half to death just ten minutes ago, Robby thinks he could appreciate the humor of you, someone completely and utterly terrified of hospitals, going out with a man who stares at mangled injuries and bloody bodies every day for a living.
"Appendectomy," you say. "The medication didn't help when I took it earlier, and the pain was really bad. I couldn't eat anything 'cause I was getting nauseous. You said I should come back if the pain got worse—"
"And you did," he says. "You did good, you know that, right?"
"I was scared," you whisper, and you feel a little silly now, growing teary again, but that's soothed when Robby pulls you into a tight, warm hug.
"I know, baby, I know." He stands up and glances down at the tablet Jack is holding. "That her chart?"
"Absolutely not."
"Excuse me?" Robby says flatly.
"'S my ER for the next ten hours," Jack says pointedly. "My ER, my rules. Gotta keep the circus running smoothly."
"Yeah? Where's Myrna, then?" Robby jerks his chin towards Jack, making the man whirl around to face an empty wheelchair, where the woman had sat merely a minute ago and only a pair of lock-picked handcuffs remained on the seat uselessly.
Jack mutters a curse under his breath. "Lena! Myrna just—"
The woman doesn't even look up from her tablet. "Already on it!"
"And that's our cue to leave," Robby leans down to whisper.
"I like Myrna," you say, laughing softly while he pushes your wheelchair through the bustling ER.
"That makes one of us," he says dryly, allowing himself a grin when you laugh again, but it wanes down to something quiet. "Scared the shit out of me tonight, angel. When I got that call from Jack saying you were back in here and needed surgery—" he sucks in a breath and shakes his head. "I don't know."
"I'm okay," you assure softly, reaching back to rub his knuckles gripping the back of the wheelchair.
He lets out a sighing breath. "You'll have to be on NPO for tonight until tomorrow's surgery," he says. "That's no food or beverage after midnight."
"I didn't get to eat dinner earlier 'cause of the pain," you mumble.
"I know, sweetheart," he says sadly, leaning down to kiss your temple. "I'll bring you something from the vending machine to get you by, alright?"
It's then that Jack catches up, huffing and just close enough to catch what his friend had said.
"Lena can ask Jesse to do that," he tells him. "You need to go home." Robby scowls.
"If she needs surgery, I'm going up with her—"
"Michael," you murmur, reaching for his hand. He lets you rub along his knuckles, his lips falling into a frown. Despite his reluctance, he still softens under your touch. "You should go home. You were here since seven."
"You need surgery—"
"—but I'll have to wait a few hours before I'm operated on," you interrupt gently. "Go home, shower, have some dinner." You look at him pointedly, very much aware of his habit of skipping meals, like how he knew of your habit of over-consuming spicy food, to which he sheepishly rubs the nape of his neck. "I'll be here all night 'til I'm taken up for surgery. I'll just…play cards with Louie to pass the time."
That makes Robby's lips quirk into a small smile.
Jack watches the entire interaction with a strange look on his face.
It's a combined effort between you and Jack to get Robby to leave the hospital, which he comments on with a grumble, deciding he didn't appreciate the team-up to get rid of him. Nevertheless, he tells you he'll be back in the morning as soon as he can.
He doesn't kiss you, but his earnest promise is as good as.
Time in the ER is weird. It's slow, like a spoonful of molasses being dropped back into its jar. You wander the ER on the wheelchair, munching on a Clif bar and watching everything and everyone move. You find Louie in North 4, where you finally park yourself and stay with the man, who seems content with the company and keeps you entertained with stories from his work as a groundskeeper back in the 90's. When he dozes off, you stay and decide to stay awake with your phone.
Jack's doing rounds when he passes by North, hurrying as he does quick check-ins per bed before moving on. He gives you a small glance before doing a double take. In his abrupt stop, he notices what's on your screen.
A guided meditation video.
"Robby doesn't do yoga." It's said as a realization, and Jack's lips are parted while he looks at you with knitted brows. "You bought me that yoga book for my birthday?"
"Yeah," you mumble sheepishly.
"Why?"
"I don't know, I—" you sigh. "Michael asked me to help with a gift for you a while ago, back when he and I were barely—" you glance at him and shake your head. "He just seemed really stressed about buying the right thing. Something you'd like and actually use. He said you're ex-army, so I…I did some research on healthy rec activities for veterans that deal with PTSD. I do a lot of yoga, so I felt kinda confident buying the book."
Jack says nothing, continuing to take Louie's vitals quietly. You've just started growing comfortable in the silence when he speaks. "I do use it. The book. Every morning after shift."
The words are quiet and gruff, but nonetheless cause a small smile to spark at your lips. "Yoga always helps ground me for my day. If I didn't have anything to do, I think I would've gone insane with the pandemic already."
That makes him huff out a chuckle. It's more air than laughter, but it's progress for both of you. "Could say that again."
There's another silence, though this one feels much more lighter now. Again, it's broken when Jack speaks up. "About that night at Robby's," he says lowly. "I was just—“
“Upset that Michael came to me for help instead of his best friend?” You say quietly. The faint frown tugging at his lips is enough of an answer, so you offer a small, dry smile “I get it, okay? You just didn’t have to be an asshole about it.”
An apology is needed, but the moment wasn't quite there yet. Jack must know this as well as you do, because he leaves you be once he's done.
Still, the shift between the two of you is subtle, but present.
The next morning, with bleary eyes and a newly bruised, scarred abdomen as only proof of the monstrous pain you'd endured, you're handed off by Walsh, the attending surgeon who'd introduced you the night before to the student surgeons who were to be assistants during your surgery, to Jack.
They trade snarky remarks with every update and question on your condition, which you watch with loopy amusement. Walsh rebukes his sarcastic wave with a rude hand gesture of her own before he begins pushing your wheelchair.
"I like Doctor Walsh. Think she's funny," you murmur, playing with a frayed edge of the blanket on your lap. Jack huffs.
"That makes one of us. Now let's go before Robby has an MI in the waiting room."
"Delivery for Doctor Robby," Jack announces dryly as you enter the main floor lounge. Robby looks as though he didn't sleep well, but he stands up eagerly all the same and groans when his knees crack. You stifle a giggle while Jack smirks.
"Sure took your time with it," he drawls.
"He was flirting with Doctor Walsh," you say. Jack immediately crosses his arms while Robby chuckles.
"Yeah?"
"Uh-huh."
"Yeah, and that's my cue to leave," Jack huffs. He and Robby share a side-hug before he heads back towards the elevator.
"How was the surgery?" Robby asks, sitting back down and grabbing your hands.
You hum. "Weird. I fell asleep counting back from one hundred and woke up with stitches."
He smiles, rubbing your knuckles gently. "That's our best case scenario in that situation, honey."
You just hum again, grunting softly when you pull yourself forward and rest your head on him. Probably exhausted, poor thing. "Are you calling me an Uber so I can leave?"
Robby scoffs as if the mere thought of the idea offended him. "I have a perfectly functioning car in the parking lot that can drive us to your apartment. Besides, I need to have a vehicle in case I have to go buy anything at the store. You can't drive the first week of recovery, remember?"
The implication makes you perk up. "You're going to take care of me?" you mumble, cheek mushed against his warm chest. Robby hums, a deep, vibrational noise that makes something inside you settle, and kisses your temple.
"I'm always going to, angel. Let's go home now, yeah?"
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
a/n: this chapter is so late but i genuinely could not figure out some of the dialogue and spent like a good 2 hours total looking up everything about appendectomies😭that n I do have some personal stuff going on in my life that can't be put off (hate being 20 lol) i feel evil and sick having to tell u guys that angst is coming but this whole series was literally building up an idea i had so long ago that was purely based on angst. show me how is literally just a backstory fic for its main fic where the idea will finally be coming to life🫠 but im always open to requests/chats about this series since i really want to expand reader and robby's relationship before it sinks<3
I know Bee wants to keep Chicago and Jack separate, but what about the first time they meet Jack?
Like if they go to Chicago for some reason he sees this other side of her that is completely amusing or Chicago comes to them and they see this new side of her that is so calm in her own space with Jack?
Either way it would be fun to see either in each other's different elements!
blurb requests are open ! — read more of the honeybee verse.
so i'm actually saving the moment of jack meeting the rest of 'the bear' crew for a full fic (ahem, tiff's wedding in s4) !! but i'll gladly write uncle jimmy, nat, and pete flying into pittsburgh to visit bee and peanut and inadvertently meeting jack!
content warnings: none, just pure fluff! jack and bee are already established ♡
jack's no stranger to your chaotic extended family in chicago; he's chatted it up with one of the faks on facetime once when you've left your phone unattended as you tried to get peanut to stop fussing in her crib.
he's asked a couple times if he could tag along to meet some of them but he'd been given a vehement no — the last thing you need is your insane family to scare off the only other man that might've stolen your heart. but fate's got a funny way of ignoring your pleas and the first meeting is happening sooner than you planned to. at least fate had some sense of mercy by sending over your more 'sane' family members.
"jack, this is uncle jimmy, natalie, and pete."
you take peanut from jack's arms where she'd been happily squirming so your boyfriend could shake your father figure's hand before natalie and pete go in for the hug.
"pleasure to meet you, sir," jack says warmly and you can see the way uncle j seems to soften under the doctor's kind gaze. "i'm dr. jack abbot."
uncle jimmy merely grunts but there's a sparkle in his gaze that tells you he most definitely approves. you release a soft sigh of relief before turning to enter your home with peanut babbling happily in your arms. in the corner of your eye, you see jack help pete out with grabbing the luggage from the cab. natalie and uncle jimmy flank you.
"he's cuter in person, bee. nice catch," nat winks before stealing her niece right out of your arms. behind you, you can hear pete get along perfectly well with jack and you smile fondly as the two of them lug in the rest of the things that they brought for their week trip. natalie blends right into the conversation as your daughter gets passed around like a stuffed animal in the living room, basking in all the attention as you and uncle jimmy catch up by the door.
when jack manages to make it back to your side, however, you give him a gentle nod when he offers to get you something to drink. he plants a soft kiss to the top of your head (and peanut's; she's made it back into your arms). conversation flows far more smoothly now, everyone lounging around your living room.
but as peanut's bedtime is fast approaching, you excuse yourself to try to get your daughter to bed, leaving jack alone with your family for the first time.
"you know, she's calmer with you," natalie murmurs first. "it's nice to see."
"i haven't really gotten to see any other side of her than this," jack replies before he corrects himself with a fond chuckle. "although she does get riled up whenever the faks or neil call."
"eh, richie's good at that," jimmy grumbles. "knows how to dial every fuckhead's disposition at an eleven. s'a good thing that we didn't bring the idiot, might've made little peanut stressed out of her little goddamn mind. no, you're good for her, kid. she's... settled with you."
jack blinks at the mini monologue. "i'm glad she can relax with me, that's all i want for her. safe and happy."
pete smiles. "and she is. i haven't seen her this happy since mikey."
summary: you have to go on a business trip with gloria which means mars has to stay with his dad until you return. he doesn't want to do that and chooses to run away secretly living in the hospital for the week until you return. robby finds him and has him stay with him instead.
a/n: this one is sweet and sad-ish. enjoy!
tags: child neglect, mars living in the hospital is quite sad, slight angst, mars' dad and his family aren't good people, fluff, robby being the dad that stepped up. l-bombs
wc: 3.7k
˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆
You had to go on a business trip. You hated going on business trips but Mars hated them more. You going on a business trip meant that he had to his dad's house for the week. And he hated his dad's house.
Mars had two older brothers; Oliver, age 9, and Corey, age 10 and they did not like Mars. They thought he was weird and pushed him around. Because he was much smaller they would rough house, taunt, and tease him. Their parents would dismiss his complaints, mostly their mother. She seemed to hate Mars the most.
His dad, David Edwards, partner lawyer of a firm, was unremarkable as a parent. Too busy on the phone to care for the children and when he wasn't distracted he only focused on the older boys to please his wife. It was because of her that Mars would never had a strong relationship with his dad. Not that he wanted one anyways.
Tatiana Edwards, was the matriarch of the house. Whatever she said goes and everyone did as she told. Whenever David was alone with Mars she was quick to interrupt. She would make him go and play with the other children. Mars really hated being at his dad's house.
So the day you drop him off, he plans to run away. He sits in his barren room all day pretending to read or do work packets to be left alone. While at dinner, he picks at his plate. The family talk to each other about their plans for the week as if Mars wasn't there. He wishes you'd given him a phone. Not to call you for anything but to entertain himself during these dull moments.
"I can't make the baseball game, son, I have to go to Philly for a few days." David says not looking up from his phone. Sending lewd messages to whatever secretary will give a damn probably. Mars has seen his emails.
"There's another on Saturday." Tatiana shoots him a death glare. "Daddy will be there for you, sweetie."
"What are you looking at?" Corey spat towards Mars.
The boy doesn't respond, knowing it wouldn't matter what he said; Everyone would get upset. "I'm not feeling well, may I be excused?" Mars mutters.
Tatiana looks him up and down, "Sure."
After he leaves the dinner table, he puts his plan to escape into play. He gets ready for bed but puts on his days clothes before getting under the blankets. He waits for his dad to come "check on him," turn off the light, and close the door to say goodnight.
After the light is out and the door is closed, Mars jumps into action. He locks the door and grabs his backpack. He puts some stuffed animals under a blanket to pass off as himself. It was time to put his wits to the test now, as he blocks the door with a cinder block. A 'dare' Corey made him bring it into the house. They wouldn't be able to see his bed from the door with the cinder block skewing the view.
From his window, he climbs out onto the porch roof. Carefully, he walks across to the garden trellis attached to the porch. He climbs down and lands in the garden. He runs along the front lawn and heads to a place he knew he could get to.
-
"Hey, good morning, you're probably busy getting ready for the day right now but I just wanted to check on you. I miss you and Mars. I feel like my day doesn't really start until I hear from either of you. I hope everything is going okay. Call me when you can. Bye." Robby ends the voicemail before heading back inside the ED.
It's been a few months since you've officially started dating Robby. He didn't think that you going away for a week would affect him so deeply. He used to be grateful when you were out of town but now he didn't know what to do with himself.
He'd come over, you'd make dinner together, Mars would show him a science project he was working on. You'd talk late into the night in bed. He missed your voice, your smile, your skin, your touch, your eyes, your lips—
"Robby, MVA incoming. Where are you right now? La La Land?!" Dana shakes her head.
He was distracted all day, thinking about you. Waiting for you to call him back. A little bit of him hoped that Mars would come barrelling through the bay doors to tell him something.
After a few trauma and a dozen patients discharged, he sits at the nurse's station to chart before picking up some more patients. As he walks down the hall when he's done, he swears he sees a boy who looks like Mars walking around. It had only been a couple days since he's seen the boy, delirium seems a little excessive. He shrugs it off and enters a room to see a patient.
As he finishes, he sees the boy walk past the window. This time he was sure the boy was real. "That boy… I saw him in the lobby earlier rooting around in the vending machine for a snack," The patient says, "I gave him a dollar fifty for a bag of chips." Robby furrows his brows and excuses himself. He then goes into the hall looking for the boy.
"What's the matter?" Dana notices his concerned face.
"I could have sworn, I saw Mars down here." He looks around troubled, "But he should be with his dad right now."
"Maybe he stopped by for a visit?" Dana suggests.
Robby doesn't feel confident that it was Mars or not. And if it was, his father would go out of his way to visit your workplace for Mars. Another patient is wheeled through the ambulance bay door making him concentrate back on work.
They are put in trauma one and Garcia comes down for an assist. When she enters, she jokes, "When did the hospital start hiring toddlers for food service?"
Everyone looks between each other confused then back at her. They wait for her to elaborate on the punchline, "I just saw a kid with a bunch of snacks in his hands heading up the elevator."
Robby's brow furrow, "What did he look like?"
Garcia gives the description and he swears under his breath. The boy really was Mars. His mind goes a mile a minute as he thinks about where Mars could go in the hospital. After the patient is stabilized he asks Garcia, "Did you see what button he may have reached when you got off?"
"I think he asked for the sixth floor." She recalls
Sixth floor was the Pediatric floor. Robby enters the elevator with a worried sigh. He pulls out his phone and calls you. After a few rings, you answer, "Hey, I was going to call you back. I miss you too."
"Hey, I don't want to scare you—"
"Oh god."
"I think Mars is in the hospital right now."
"What?! As a patient?!"
"No, no, just here wandering around." He explains, "I thought he was with his dad."
"He is supposed to be. Are you sure it was him?" You worry, "I have to call David. I can't believe this is happening."
"I'm looking for him right now. I'll call you back when I find him." He assures, "Hold off on calling in case I'm just being a lonely sociopath."
He hangs up as he arrives to the Pediatric ward. He searches the hall and stops at the nurse's station, "Have you seen a little boy here? About yay high, wearing a shirt with an astronaut on it."
"Oh, there's a boy in the waiting room matching that description. He said he was waiting for his mom." A nurse says.
He nods and thanks them before heading to the waiting room. There by the fish tank, the boy sits staring at the fish swim around inside. Robby comes up beside him and confirms it was Mars. He sits down beside him. The boy looks tired as he watches the fish. He smelled a little dingy like he hadn't showered in a few days. "The Carrassius auratus commonly known as the goldfish. It's actually an invasive species in America due to their opportunistic feeding tendencies. When they are released from captivity they have the ability to destroy entire ecosystems." He says.
"Mars, what are you doing here? How did you get here?" Robby asks the boy softly.
"I ran away." He confesses, tears welling up in his eyes, "I hate my dad's house."
"When did you get here?"
"Late Monday night. Tuesday morning when it was still dark out."
It was Wednesday now. Robby tries to hide his disbelief. He's been missing a day and a half and his dad hasn't come looking for him. "Where have you been sleeping?"
"The abandoned wing of the hospital." He purses his lips.
Robby sighs, "C'mon let's get your stuff."
"No!" The boy flinches, "No! Don't take me back! You can't make me!"
"Mars, please. I won't make you go back. I just want to see where you're staying and call you mom to let her know you're safe." He pulls the boy into his lap and dials your number.
"Is it him?" You picked up quickly.
"Hi, Mommy." Mars murmurs
"Mars," You whisper in relief, "Why did you run away?"
"They don't care about me. I was going to wait in the hospital until you came back."
"What were you going to eat?! Or where you sleeping?! Oh my god…" You take a breath, "I am going to call your father and tell him what has happened before he calls the cops. When did you run away?"
"Monday night?"
"Monday?! You've been missing for almost 2 days?!" You shout, "You are in so much trouble. Your dad is in bigger trouble. I can't believe you, Mars."
"Please don't make me go back." He begs.
"Then who will watch you, Mars?! You can not keep making grown up decisions without a grown up!" You raise your voice then calm down again, "I am going to call your dad and we will discuss what to do."
"Wait, hang on, I know it's not my place but… if it's bad enough for him to want to run, maybe I could watch him until you get back." Robby proposed.
You pause for a moment, "Are you being serious?"
"Yes, he can stay with me. He can sleep in my bed. I can take the couch. All until you get back." He offers again.
"Yeah! I could stay with Robby! Please!" Mars smiles. The first time since being found.
"I don't know… I've got to call his dad." You sigh, "Can you keep him until I get back to you?"
"Of course. Call me back as soon as you can." He hangs up. He gets up while carrying Mars and goes to the abandoned wing for his stuff.
While in the room he sees all the food wrappers of what he had taken. There were some gowns on the bed for blankets. Mars grabs his backpack and starts to clean up. Robby helps him by collecting the gowns and arranging the room as if it was untouched.
When they arrive in the ED, Robby puts Mars in a bed for him to rest. "So it was Mars." Dana watches him as he does a check up on the boy.
"Yeah, he ran away from his dad's. He was living in the hospital the last few days." Robby sighs, "Go ahead and rest here Mars, I'll come back to check on you okay?" The boy nods before laying his head on his pillow.
They walk out the room. "I offered to let him stay with me for the week."
"Really?" Dana gapes.
"Why not? He looked miserable when I found him. He would rather be eating bags of chips and hospital scraps than be at his dad's. That says something, right?"
"I guess," She shakes her head, "What did the missus say about it?"
"She'll let me know." He checks his phone for any new massages, "I'm going to catch up on patients to keep my mind off things. Could you check on Mars? He's a little dehydrated."
"You want an IV?"
"Nah it's not severe, maybe a Gatorade? Or some milk?"
"You got it."
"Thanks"
-
It's late into his shift when you call. Robby was getting nervous. When he answers, he hears the quiver in your voice like you had been crying, "Hey."
"Hey, is everything okay?" He asks.
"Um, for now. The fucking prick went to Philly, neglecting to tell me he was leaving too." You sniffle, "His wife, that bitch, thought Mars was sick but didn't check on him for a day and a half. Like who does that?!" You sob, "They disgust me. You know, it's always been like this. Mars suffers because what they really want to do is take it out on me."
"It's okay. It's okay." He hushes you, "We can figure it out. Mars can stay at mine until you get back."
"Could you? I told David a friend could look after Mars. I do not want him alone with that woman and her hell spawn."
"Of course, I am almost off. It'll be fine." He smiles, "I'm in your corner, Honey. Take a breath for me."
Silence.
"I want to hear you," He says. On the other end you audibly inhale through your nose and out through your mouth. You do it a few times.
"I should just come home." You say defeated.
"Hey, the crisis is averted. Mars is in trusted hands again. You'll just be upset all over again," He says, "It's just a few more days, we'll be okay."
"Okay… okay. I trust you. I am trusting you." You say, "Thank you, Robby."
"You're very welcome. I'll see you soon." He hangs up.
He heads back inside to check on Mars. Dana sits by his bed as Mars lays asleep, "He went to sleep after I have him a cup of milk. He was mumbling about flight paths and orbit until he closed his eyes."
"He's going to come home with me." He says, "Spend the weekend together until his mom comes back."
"He'll be happy about that. How is she doing?"
"Upset. Rightfully so, I can't imagine neglecting a child the way that family has. Pretending he doesn't exist. It's horrible," He touches Mars' forehead, "To look at him and not see him as an innocent child, his son. Never in my wildest dreams could I do that."
Dana looks at Robby's face. He looks fondly at the sleeping child. A smile grows on her face, "You should take him home soon."
"As soon as Shen comes in." He rubs the boy's head and leaves the room to finish his shift.
When Shen arrives, Robby carries Mars as he hands over his patients. The boy lays on his shoulder, eyes closed and unbothered by the movement and chatter. "Cute kid," Shen points.
"Thanks. That is everything. We are out of here." Robby says, "You all have a good night."
Robby thanks his lucky stars he drove his car today. They arrive at his house. It was a small apartment; one bedroom, one and a half bath. Even with his salary, he felt no need to upgrade. He lays the boy on the couch and nudges him awake.
"Robby?" Mars rubs his eyes, "Where am I?"
"My house." He smiles, "You always seem to get your way buddy."
He hugs Robby, "Thank you."
"No, thank you! You got me out of work on time." Robby pats the boy on the back, "You must be hungry. What do you think we should have for dinner?"
"I don't know. What do you have?"
What did Robby have? He was good a cooking but he never had ingredients at home. Last time he made a meal it was at your place. The two of you went grocery shopping together. He looks through his cabinets with a sigh, "I don't know."
"Let me see." Mars gets off the couch and inspects the food in the pantry and the fridge, "Here, we could make spam fried rice. You have all the ingredients." Mars holds the can of spam.
"Do you know how to cook?" Robby raises an eyebrow.
"I'm not allowed to operate anything in the kitchen other than the microwave without adult supervision." He recites.
"You're in luck, I am an adult who supervises for a living." Robby brings over a dining chair for the boy to use as a stool.
Mars instructs him on what to do. The rice cooks and he dices the spam and puts it in the soy sauce marinade. When it's all ready he tosses it in a pan with some frozen veggie mix to fry. When it's all finished he serves the food at the table.
"So, why don't you like your dad's?" Robby asks.
"Because his family sucks," He says plainly, "His wife makes me call her Mrs. Edwards as some weird power trip. My dad doesn't know anything about me. I don't think he cares to. And their kids hate me."
Robby purses his lips disappointedly, "But your mom takes you there…"
"She has to. When I was little there was a huge custody battle. They spent a lot of money on lawyers to get their way," He explains, "I was going to have to live them full time but my dad changed his mind. Said a month in the summer would suffice. I think he still cares about her. Feels bad after his wife's cruelty."
"Still seems like kind of a dick." Robby mumbles.
"Mom says that too," Mars giggles.
They laugh together. "Surely, they know how smart you are."
"They know…ish."
"Ish?"
"I only read books in my grade level around them. And I don't talk much." He scoops his food, "If they found out, they'd probably try to ship me away to MIT or something. They would just try to turn a profit from me."
"But your mom still treats you like a kid." Robby nods.
"Exactly. Even if I'm some prodigy my mom treats me like a kid. We go to Kennywood in the summer, she takes me trick or treating and helps me make a costume, she builds snowmen with me in the snow. I like all that stuff. Just because I'm smart doesn't mean I'm not a kid." Mars smiles.
After dinner, Robby calls you to talk to Mars, "You'll be respectful in his house. Do as your told."
"Yes mom." Mars says.
"Good, I love you and I miss. Please don't give me a scare like that again." You blow kisses to the your phone. "Now put Robby on the phone." Mars hands the phone to Robby and goes to the living room to sit.
"Hi, you." Robby puts the phone to his ear.
"Hi. I can't thank you enough for doing this. I've been on and off the phone with David all day. I've got a bit of a headache and Gloria is trying to force me to attend a mixer tonight.
"Then don't go." He chuckles, "Say, Mars isn't feeling well."
"You're being a bad influence," You giggle, "I just want to stay on the phone with you instead."
You sigh dreamily and Robby's heart squeezes at the sound. He's never yearned for someone before. He smiles, "I miss you too."
"Oh, I know you do, from the endless voicemails you send throughout the day."
"Don't make me sound so desperate." He cringes.
"That's because you are." You laugh, "Should I take an earlier flight to make you feel better."
"Maybe?"
"I'll head straight to your house from the airport too."
"I'm sold," He smiles, "Go and have fun. Mars and I can manage without you for a few days. Actually Mars is…" He checks in the living room to see him reading one of his medical textbooks. He sits in Robby's cozy reading recliner with the book in his lap. He lays his head on the arm rest and fights his eyelids from closing too long, "He's doing fine."
"Alright, I'll talk to you later. I love you…" You trail off. A smile grows on his face as you start to sputter, " I didn't mean to— I mean I did but I didn't want to— It's just a little soon to—"
"I know what you meant. I feel the same." He assures, "See you when you get back."
He hangs up the phone and walks over to Mars. He takes the book from his lap and picks him up. He carries him to bed. He looks so small in Robby's big bed as he tucked him in.
Robby stands at the door as Mars gets more comfortable in the bed. He smiles to himself before closing the door. He lays on the couch as he replays your words in his mind. He would have said it too, but you were so flustered he didn't want to overwhelm you. He opens his phone and calls you back. It's goes to voicemail.
"Good evening, I know we just got off the phone. I put Mars to bed and I am laying here thinking about what you said. I just want to say, I love you too. I didn't want to freak you out any more but I didn't want you to think what you said was wrong and—"
"Say it again." You pick up the phone, "I want to hear you say it."
"I love you too." He bites back a smile.
"You're not just saying it because I said it first right?"
"No. It's something I felt for some time."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"And you're not going to get sick of me?"
"Not for a while, no."
"Okay, define a while because in my mind a few months is a while."
"Oh longer than that," He chuckles.
"Then when? It's a very valid concern."
"With how this conversation is going it may be shorter."
"Robby!"
You continue talking on the phone through the night until you both asleep.
Warnings: Mild Violence. Period expected misogyny.
Summary: A knight from another century crashes -literally- into a florist’s life and turns her world upside down.
Word Count: 4.3k
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
The brief encounter with the street outside the store had done nothing to prepare him for this.
He counted the buildings without meaning to. Four here. Six there. All of them tall in a way that offended his understanding of what stone and mortar were meant to do.
Small stone, at that.
He tilted his head back once, studying the face of a structure looming over the street, and felt something close to vertigo.
The bricks -if that was even the word- were absurdly small, identical, and stacked in rows so precise they might have been drawn with a ruler and simply willed into permanence.
Higher than any keep he'd laid siege to. Higher than the bell tower at Wintermouth Cathedral, which had taken forty years and three master masons and had still needed scaffolding twice in his lifetime.
How does it hold?
She stopped in front of one such building, smaller than its neighbors, though smaller was doing considerable work in that sentence, and mounted three steps to a set of doors.
She pulled one open without ceremony, without announcing herself to anyone, without a steward or a porter to bar entry to a stranger, and walked inside as though the building belonged to her the way a woman owns a shawl.
He followed, because there was nothing else to do, and stepped into a hall.
Marble underfoot, or something convincingly like it. A row of small brass boxes set into one wall, each with a slot and a number, they purpose entirely opaque. Light again without flame, hanging in a glass fixture overhead, steady and shadowless.
This is not a florist's household, he thought.
He knew what it was to walk into a great house as a guest and be received as one. He knew, with rather more bitterness, what it was to walk into a great house as staff, had spent enough of his squireship fetching, carrying, standing at attention in halls not unlike this one, waiting to be noticed or ignored, whichever suited the lord in question that day.
Was that it, then? Flowers by morning, service by evening? some second position in a household large enough to warrant it, explaining the marble, the brass, the strange indifferent grandeur of the place?
He said none of this. He had learned, in the space of one morning, that his conclusions about this century had a poor survival rate once spoken aloud. So he held his tongue and followed her toward a narrow staircase at the back of the hall.
The climbing did nothing to improve his opinion of the day, since each step was a constant reminder of the state of his bruised ribs. He kept his breathing even through will alone, one hand trailing the rail, and said nothing.
She glanced back once, near the second landing, some question half-formed on her face. He gave her nothing to work with, so she turned around and kept climbing.
By the third floor, sweat had gathered along his spine beneath the ruined shirt, and his vision had gone a touch too bright at the edges, a warning he chose to ignore in favor of counting doors instead of stairs.
---
She'd clocked it two flights ago, the careful, deliberate way he was breathing, the hand that never quite let go of the rail, the fact that a man who'd crossed half of Camden without complaint had gone very quiet somewhere around the second landing.
She didn't say anything. She had a feeling he'd sooner collapse on her stairwell than admit to needing a minute, and there was something in the set of his jaw - stubborn, absurdly proud, entirely unbothered by what it was clearly costing him - that she found herself, against her better judgment, a little charmed by. Which was not a thought she had time for right now, with a bleeding stranger three steps behind her and a landing still to reach.
She kept climbing. Slower than she strictly needed to. Just in case.
----
A corridor stretched ahead of them, narrow, lined with identical doors, and identical brass numbers screwed into identical wood.
He catalogued it out of habit -the width, how many doors stood between them and the stairs- before it occurred to him that there was likely nothing here worth defending against, and the habit still refused to switch itself off.
From behind one door, there was music. Not lute or pipe, but something layered and strange, a woman's voice threaded through with instruments he couldn't place.
From another, the smell of onions frying, rich enough that his stomach gave a low, traitorous rumble.
He frowned at that second door as they passed it.
The kitchens were on the third floor. It made no sense.
Kitchens belonged low, ground level, or below it if the house could afford the excavation, close to the well and the fuel stores, far enough from the sleeping quarters that smoke and grease didn't creep into a lord's bedding.
Every keep he'd ever served in, ever laid siege to, ever simply visited, kept its kitchens low. He turned it over, half convinced he was missing some obvious explanation, and came up with nothing.
Unless this household ran differently. Unless the entire logic of the place inverted itself the way everything else in this century seemed determined to.
She stopped in front of a door indistinguishable from the others save its number, and drew a ring of keys from her purse, finding the right one without hesitation, the ease of long habit. The lock turned, and the door opened onto a narrow entry, dim and modest, but unmistakably a dwelling.
He stood in the corridor a moment longer than necessary, his gaze moving once more down the row of identical doors stretching in both directions. Service quarters, he decided.
"You may introduce me to your employer at your convenience," he said, following her through. "I would prefer not to be mistaken for an intruder in his household a second time today."
She turned to look at him with an expression he was rapidly learning to be wary of, the kind that came right before she informed him he'd misunderstood something, in a manner she found simultaneously exhausting and, despite herself, a little bit funny.
He didn't yet know what he'd said wrong. That, too, was becoming familiar.
"My employer," she repeated.
"The lord of this house." He gestured back toward the corridor and its row of doors, already bracing -without quite knowing why- for the ground to shift under him again.
She closed the door behind him and looked at him a moment, one hand still on the latch, working through how precisely to explain something she'd clearly never had to explain to a grown man before.
"Mr. Barnes," she said slowly. "There is no lord."
"Then whose house-" He stopped himself. Every theory he'd voiced aloud today had met the same fate, and he saw no cause to expect this one would fare better.
"This is my apartment." She said the word carefully. "It's mine. I pay rent on it every month, out of what the shop makes. Every one of those doors you just walked past, that's not one household. That's a different family behind every single one. A different kitchen, different bathrooms. Strangers to each other, mostly, sharing a staircase and nothing else."
He stared at her, and felt the shape of the building rearrange itself in his mind. It was not a great house at all, but something closer to a hive. Dozens of lives stacked one atop the other with nothing holding them together but shared stairs and walls.
"An entire building," he said slowly, "of strangers."
"Yes."
"Stacked."
"...Yes."
She was watching him, but with an attention that had nothing to do with the conversation they were having, and he felt it land somewhere just beneath his collar before he'd decided what to make of it.
"Hey," she said, softer than before. "You look like you're about to go down again. Sit for a minute?"
She gestured toward a low, upholstered thing pushed against the far wall. Two cushioned seats joined into one continuous piece, the fabric a bright, unrepentant orange.
He had never seen its like. Not a bench, not quite a settle, too soft-looking for either, its cushions plump and uniform in a way no upholsterer he knew could have managed by hand.
It looked, if he was honest, extremely inviting.
It also looked new. Unmarked. The kind of thing a household kept for guests of consequence, and he was aware, with some discomfort, of exactly how far he fell from that description at present.
"I would ruin it," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
"The seat." He gestured at himself, at the dried blood, the dirt ground into the linen, the general catastrophe of a man who had crossed six centuries without the benefit of a bath. "That fabric will not survive contact with me. And I am not dressed to sit in a lady's parlor regardless."
Something flickered across her face, not quite amusement, but not quite exasperation either.
"It's not a parlor," she said. "It's just the living room. And it's a couch, Mr. Barnes, not a coronation throne. It'll survive."
"All the same." He held his ground, aware even as he did it that the ground in question was faintly ridiculous: a man arguing etiquette while swaying on his feet in a stranger's home, in a century that had already proven it cared nothing for the rules he knew.
He couldn't seem to let go of them regardless. They were, at the moment, nearly the only thing of his own he still had. "If you have something less consequential."
She studied him a moment longer, then exhaled through her nose in a way he was beginning to recognize as her particular flavor of surrender. "Fine. The kitchen, then."
She led him into a smaller room with a tiled floor, pale and clean, a window over a deep basin, and, against the wall, a small table with two chairs, their seats covered in the same relentless color as the couch, though blue instead of orange.
He lowered himself into one carefully, his ribs complaining the entire way down, and studied the chair beneath him.
Bright, even, unfaded blue. The kind of pigment that, in his experience, cost more per yard than the chair itself was likely worth.
For kitchen furniture.
"Water?" she asked, already moving toward the far wall.
He nodded, distracted, still cataloguing the room: the smoothness of every surface, the absence of soot anywhere. Then she opened a tall white cabinet set against the wall, and he stopped cataloguing anything at all.
Cold air rolled out of it. He felt it from where he sat, and some old instinct, the one that had kept him alive through winters of campaign, sat up and took notice before the rest of him had caught up.
"What," he said slowly, "is that?"
"The icebox?" She glanced back, one hand still on the door, a bottle in the other.
"It has no ice."
"It doesn't need ice, it's electric. Keeps things cold on its own."
He rose, forgetting his ribs for exactly as long as it took three steps to carry him there, and looked into the cabinet himself before she could object.
Shelves. Bottles. A bowl of eggs, pale and ordinary, sitting beside butter, unmelted, in a room warm enough that any butter he'd ever known would have long since gone soft and glistening on a table.
He found himself wanting, absurdly, to touch it, to confirm with his own hand what his eyes were telling him couldn't be true.
"How?"
"I don't actually know," she admitted, and there was something almost sheepish in it. "Something with wires, a motor… I don't know the mechanics of it any more than I know how a telephone carries a voice across town. It just works. You plug it in, and it's cold, and that's as far as my understanding goes."
He stared at the shelves a moment longer, at the ordinary miracle of butter refusing to soften, and felt something very close to wonder. And beneath the wonder, quieter, something that felt uncomfortably like grief.
Traveling through centuries, he had arrived at a place where a woman kept the dead of winter locked in a box in her kitchen and thought nothing of it.
She poured water into a glass -clear, flawless glass- and set it in front of him as though it were nothing at all.
He was hardly positioned to complain, since she had taken a bleeding stranger into her home and fed him besides, but he found himself glancing toward the cabinets regardless, expecting a jug of small ale, a pitcher of cider, anything a household of any means offered a guest before water.
Water alone, had killed men he'd known. Good men, careful men, who'd survived worse than a bad well and gone down anyway with their guts turned to fire. Almost every house's table poured ale or wine for that reason as much as for taste.
That this place, with its marble hall and its brass boxes and its indifferent grandeur, should hand him water and nothing else struck him as strange enough to notice.
He lifted the glass and drank anyway, telling himself that whatever this century had done to its water, it had also apparently solved the preservation of food in a cool box, and a man who trusted one miracle might as well trust the other.
The taste caught him off guard. It wasn’t unpleasant, but strange. No hint of the barrel it had traveled in, no faint rot at the back of the throat that a man learned to drink around.
It tasted, as far as he could tell, of nothing at all. Clean. He'd never had water that tasted that clean, and some old, wary part of him kept waiting for the sickness to follow regardless.
"Is it safe?" he asked, careful to keep the question light, a thing he was merely curious about, rather than a thing he genuinely needed answered before his next swallow.
"Perfectly. It's tap water, comes straight out of the faucet, city runs it through filtration before it ever gets to a pipe. You could drink it all day and never think twice."
Faucet. He turned the word over, another one for the stack, and said nothing.
She caught the blankness on his face and rose, crossing to the basin set into the counter.
"Here. If the jug ever runs dry and you want more, don't wait around for me. Just do this." She turned a small metal handle.
Water came. No need to pour, carry, or draw it up on a rope from some hidden well; it simply arrived, a clear, steady stream falling into the basin, as though the house itself had a vein opened somewhere and this was where it bled.
He was on his feet before he'd decided to be, some part of him needing, absurdly, to see the mechanism of it, as if enough looking might finally make it make sense. "Where does it come from?"
"Pipes. Underground, runs under the whole city, connects to a reservoir north of here. Every building's hooked into it." She watched him with open curiosity now. "You want it hot instead of cold, there's a second handle."
"Hot?"
"Mm-hm."
He looked at the two handles. Looked at her. Looked back at the water, still running, and felt the day's tally of impossible things tip over into something he no longer had the will to keep counting.
"You are telling me," he said slowly, "that every house in this city commands its own well. Hot and cold both. Without a servant, a bucket, or a rope."
"That's the general idea, yeah."
He said nothing for a long moment, turning it over, what a man could build, what a man could stop needing, if he never again had to haul water himself.
He thought, unbidden, of every squire and servant he'd ever sent down to a well at dawn, or even gone himself when he squired, and wondered what those boys would have made of this.
She reached past him and shut the tap. The water stopped as abruptly as it had come, and the silence that followed felt, absurdly, louder than the sound itself had been.
----
She watched him sit back down, slower than he probably wanted her to notice, and felt her own worry sharpen in response.
He was pale under the bruising. Worse than in the stockroom, now that the adrenaline of the street and the stairs had burned off and left him with nothing to run on but stubbornness. She was starting to suspect stubbornness was mostly what he had left today.
He needed a bath. Badly. And rest, and quiet, all of which she could actually provide here, behind a locked door, away from patrolmen and gossiping bakery owners. That part, at least, she could manage.
What she couldn't provide was clothes, and that was the part actually nagging at her.
He couldn't wear what he had on; there was no version of a corner grocery where a six-foot-something man in a laced medieval tunic and thigh straps walked in without every head turning. She'd been running through options since the stockroom and kept landing on the same one.
"I can wash what I'm wearing," he offered, apparently following the direction of her thoughts more accurately than she'd expected. "It only wants soap and water. I've done worse with less on campaign."
"It's not really a laundry problem, Mr. Barnes." She said it as gently as she could manage, not wanting to make him feel worse than he already seemed to about needing help. "Even clean, that's not something a man wears walking down Camden Street in this year."
"I have nothing to offer you outright," he said, after a moment, "but I could part with something of value. The belt. The leg straps." He nodded down at the heavy leather still buckled across his hips and thighs, the only thing of worth currently on his person. "The leather alone is good work. It should fetch enough for whatever I need."
She wasn't sure whether to be touched or exasperated, and settled, after a second, on both at once. There was something almost unbearable about how hard he was working to make sure he didn't owe her anything. "I'm not taking your pants apart for scrap, Mr. Barnes."
"It is not scrap. It is craftsmanship."
"I believe you. I'm still not doing it. I know a place. Charity, secondhand, mostly donated. You don't have to pay, and you don't have to give me your belt to make yourself feel better about not paying. It's fine."
He didn't look like he agreed that it was fine, but he said nothing further, which she was coming to understand was as close to agreement as she was likely to get from him. She'd take it.
"Stay put and drink your water," she said, smoothing her skirt. Then she crossed to a basket near the icebox and drew out a cloth bundle with biscuits, plain and slightly dense.
"You're probably still hungry. One sandwich isn't much, considering whatever it is you've been through today. Eat those while I'm gone. I'll be as quick as I can."
He looked at the plate, then at her, something in his face she couldn't quite name, and she decided not to push for a name for it.
"Thank you," he said, quiet enough that she almost missed it over the sound of her own keys. "And… Bucky." He said it almost before he'd decided to. "Please. Call me Bucky."
She paused with her hand on the door, caught off guard. It was a small, private surprise hearing a man this formal hand her something informal on purpose, like he'd decided she'd earned it.
"Alright then," she said. "Bucky."
She was out the door before she could decide what to do with the rest of it.
----
She took the stairs two at a time, bags of flour-sack cloth knocking against her hip with every step, and allowed herself a small, private satisfaction over the haul.
Two pairs of trousers, both plain, both in decent shape. Two undershirts. Three button-up shirts, all in the largest size the donation bin carried; apparently the largest size was also the least popular, because she'd had her pick of three, tags barely worn off. Socks, a few pairs, unmatched but clean.
She'd even swung by the little men's shop on the corner for the one thing charity boxes never carried enough of, sliding two pairs of short underwear across the counter to a clerk who hadn't so much as blinked. Small mercies.
Not bad, she thought, climbing the last flight. Not bad at all for forty minutes and whatever cash she'd had folded in her coat pocket.
The apartment was quiet when she let herself in, quiet enough that her stomach gave one small, unpleasant lurch before she registered why. The living room was empty, and for one dumb second her mind went straight to worst-case: gone, hurt because he meddled with something unknown, collapsed somewhere she couldn't see.
She set the bags down just inside the kitchen doorway and leaned in.
There he was. Exactly where she'd left him, same chair, same table, the plate of biscuits reduced to crumbs and one lonely survivor. Relief hit before she'd even fully processed why she'd been braced for something worse.
His head had tipped back against the wall at some point, throat exposed, mouth slightly open, one hand still loosely curled around the water glass as though he'd meant to keep drinking.
He hadn't heard her come in. Whatever was going on with him, and whatever had actually happened to leave him bruised and half-convinced he was a knight out of a storybook, the exhaustion was real, and something about seeing it made her chest ache a little more than she felt entitled to on a few hours' acquaintance.
She crossed the room slowly, quiet out of some instinct she didn't examine too closely and stopped a few feet away. He frowned in his sleep, and she found herself wondering what a man like him dreamed about. Nothing good, probably.
It was, she noted with some irritation at herself, deeply unfair how good-looking he still managed to be while doing it. Even bruised, even filthy, even asleep in a kitchen chair with his neck at an angle that was going to cost him.
Great, she thought. That's exactly the thought you needed to be having right now.
She shook it off, mostly, and refocused on the more immediate problem: he was going to wake up with a crick in his neck to rival his ribs if she let him stay like that much longer.
"Hey," she said, gently, crouching down to something closer to his eye level before she reached out. She touched his shoulder. Lightly, carefully, and tried to say his name again.
It happened faster than she could track.
One second her hand was on his shoulder, his name half-formed on her lips for the second time, and the next, his eyes had snapped open, his hand had closed around her wrist like a manacle, and his other hand was at her throat.
Not gripping, not yet. Just a half-second suspended somewhere between reflex and intention, fingers pressed light but certainly against her skin, the pressure of a man who knew exactly where to close his hand and how much force it would take, poised on the edge of applying it.
Her whole body had gone very still, some animal part of her taking stock of the situation faster than the rest of her could catch up.
Then he saw her. Not whatever ghost his sleeping mind had conjured in her place, and his hand recoiled from her throat like he'd touched a stove.
He let go of her wrist a half-beat after, both hands snapping back, and shoved himself away from her so hard the chair legs shrieked against the tile.
"I'm sorry." Low, fast, wrecked. "I'm sorry- I didn't- are you hurt, milady? Did I hurt you?"
Milady? Well, at least it wasn’t wench.
"I'm fine." She kept her voice level, even though her pulse hadn't quite caught up with that fact yet, one hand coming up unconsciously to touch her own throat, still warm from where his'd been. "I'm… fine."
He didn't look like he believed her, and honestly, she wasn't sure she believed herself either. Not shaken by what he'd done, exactly, but by how close it had come, and how little time there'd been between his eyes opening and his hand finding her throat with that kind of certainty.
He was staring at his own hands now, jaw working, color gone from his face in a way that had nothing to do with the morning's injuries.
"May I see?" His voice had dropped, quiet and careful, stripped of all its usual formal armor. "Please. I need to see that I didn't-" He didn't finish it. "Please."
She lowered her hand and let him look, some instinct telling her this wasn't a moment to argue with him about it, that he needed the proof more than she needed the space.
He stepped close, close enough that she could feel him not quite touching her, his eyes moving over her throat, but there was nothing to find. The barest ghost of pressure, gone already, nothing that would leave a mark.
She was abruptly, uselessly aware of how near he was standing, and annoyed with herself for noticing it now of all moments.
He looked at her face once he was satisfied, and whatever was in his eyes in that moment, she didn't have a word ready for it.
"I shouldn't have grabbed you like that," she said finally, quiet. "Waking someone up out of a dead sleep, I should've known better. My fault too."
"No." His answer was fast, firm, and with no room in it for argument. "It is not. A man does not require permission to be startled to see reason before he raises a hand to a woman who has done nothing but show him kindness. No excuse covers what I nearly did. I won't let you make one for me."
She opened her mouth to push back -some instinct to smooth it over, to meet him halfway- then closed it again, because the look on his face told her plainly this wasn't a fight she'd win today, maybe not ever.
"I'm sorry," he said again, and this time it landed somewhere lower and more tired than the first two.
She let it sit a moment before she moved. Then she nodded toward the doorway, toward the bags still waiting where she'd left them, glad for once to have somewhere else to point his attention, and hers.
"C'mere. I want to show you what I got."
It wasn't subtle, the redirection of the topic, and she suspected he knew exactly what she was doing. But he let her do it anyway and followed her the few steps to the kitchen table, watching her upend the flour-sack bags across it with something that might, in a better hour, have been curiosity.
Trousers. Shirts, still stiff with the fold-lines of whoever had donated them and never worn out. Socks in mismatched pairs. A single undershirt he picked up and turned over in his hands, studying the cut like it was a garment he half-recognized, and half didn't.
"They're not much," she said, "but they'll get you through the next few days. We'll figure out the rest as we go."
He set the undershirt down and looked over the rest of the pile with careful attention.
"Thank you," he said. She was starting to lose count of how many ways he'd found to say it, and how much he seemed to mean it every time and how much, against all reason, she was starting to like hearing it.
"Don't thank me yet." She managed something close to a smile, enough to pull the air in the room back toward ordinary. "You still have to survive a bath. And getting dressed. I have a feeling that's going to be its own adventure."
He looked at her like he had no idea what she meant by that.
NATALIE TELLING CARMY THAT IT'S OKAY IF HE FELL OUT OF LOVE WITH COOKING, FOLLOWED BY SYDNEY POURING HER HEART AND SOUL DESCRIBING THE WAY HER FOOD IS PREPARED. CARMY TELLING TINA THAT THERE'S NO WAY HE COULD PLATE THE PASTA IN LESS THAN 3 MINUTES, DESPITE HIS EXPERIENCE, ONLY TO WATCH SYDNEY DO IT, ON THE SPOT, IN TWO AND A HALF MINUTES WITHOUT EVEN TRYING. CARMY EXPLAINING TO MICHAEL HOW THEIR RESTAURANT WOULD BE FOR PEOPLE TO BE TAKEN CARE OF AND CELEBRATED - A FEELING FORGOTTEN BUT EXACTLY THE WAY HE RECOGNIZES IN SYDNEY AFTER SHE MAKES NATALIE AN OMELETTE.
IF THEY'RE NOT MEANT TO BE TOGETHER WHY ARE THEY FOILS? WHY ARE THEY SOULMATES?
summary: shen says the one word that is forbidden in the E.R. You clean up his mess with Jack and he finds out why you changed to the night shift.
tags: fluff, jealousy, flirting, denial of feelings, possible medical inaccuracies
word count: 1.1k
a/n: hiii, i've been away for a little week (relaxing and also getting my period💀) i've been outlining another fic but i miss trouble and jack so here's a little blurb :D. it's set in the past before the main storyline begins but can also be read as a separate piece. i'm still working on the final chapter for d:m? but i don't know exactly when it'll be up. hope you like it! <33
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist
The Pitt | Masterlist
Main | Masterlist
"It looks like it's gonna be a quiet night."
You groan, spinning around in your chair to glare at Shen. "Why would you say that?"
"What?" He shrugs innocently. "Don't tell me you believe that superstitious nonsense, too?"
Your mouth parts to argue when the ambulance bay doors burst open.
Shen winces. "…Oops."
You glare at him. "I hate you."
Abbot reaches the trauma bed and glances over his shoulder. "Trouble. With me." His voice carries across the department.
"I'm sorry!" Shen calls after you. You raise your middle finger in response.
The trauma room fills within seconds. The paramedics wheel the patient in, and the team transfers him onto the trauma bed in one practised movement.
You catch the essentials as the paramedics move the patient over: thirty-five-year-old male, high-speed MVC, GCS fourteen. Open right femur fracture. Possible unstable pelvis. Decreased breath sounds on the left. Hypotensive and tachycardic, with two large-bore IVs already running.
You slip your arms into a gown, but before you can reach for the ties, Abbot steps in behind you.
"Hold still." His gloved fingers gather the collar, brushing the back of your neck as he fastens the gown before moving to the ties at your waist. The contact lasts barely a second, yet warmth spreads beneath your skin.
You shove the feeling aside before you reach the bedside.
"Primary survey," Abbot says.
Parker looks up from the head of the bed. "Airway patent."
You slip your stethoscope into your ears. The patient's respirations are fast and uneven. You listen to the right, then the left. "Markedly reduced breath sounds on the left."
"What's your next step?" Abbot asks.
"Treat the breathing first. Likely a pneumothorax."
"How?"
"Insert a chest tube."
He nods once. "Good. Do it."
Without hesitation, you pull open the sterile tray as Parker preps the left side. Abbot remains just behind your shoulder. Close enough that you're aware of him. Far enough that he never gets in your way.
"Find your landmarks."
You palpate along the ribs. "There."
"That's it, Trouble," he murmurs into your ear.
You make an incision.
"Steady," Abbot says.
You spread the tissues with the clamp. His shoulder brushes yours as he leans in to watch. With one final push, you enter the pleural space.
"Go on."
You withdraw the clamp and slide a gloved finger into the opening. A sharp hiss of escaping air fills the room.
"Good. You're in," Abbot says quietly.
You sweep once, confirming the tract before guiding the chest tube along your finger and into the pleural space.
"Breath sounds improved," Parker calls, listening with her stethoscope.
You secure the tube while Vivi connects it to the drainage system. Abbot reaches in briefly to inspect the dressing before stepping back.
"Good placement," he murmurs before shifting his focus to the pelvis. Your heart skips a beat, but it's probably just the adrenaline.
The rest of the trauma goes smoothly. Parker secures the pelvic binder while you help splint the femur. Massive transfusion is activated, and the patient's blood pressure begins to climb. Once the primary and secondary surveys are complete, the patient heads to CT.
As the bed disappears through the doors, the room finally exhales. You strip off your gloves and gown before making your way back to the hub.
Abbot trails behind you. "Good work in there," he says, resting a hand against the counter beside you.
You grin. "You're a good teacher."
"Careful," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. "You'll give me an ego."
Before you can answer, a plastic cup lands beside your elbow with a quiet thud, ice cubes clinking against each other.
You glance up, where Shen offers you an apologetic smile. "For jinxing your night. Hope you can forgive me."
You laugh. "I wasn't really mad."
"Still." He rubs the back of his neck. "You've got a rep—I'd rather stay on your good side." He nudges the coffee toward you before giving your shoulder an easy pat as he steps away.
When you turn back, Abbot is staring after him. His eyes are slightly narrowed.
"He said the Q-word," you explain.
One brow lifts. His eyes drop to the coffee.
You lift it slightly. "Want a sip?"
"No." Silence settles between you. He picks up a tablet, his thumb hovering over the screen. "...Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"You transferred to nights."
You nod, turning the lid to catch the straw. "Yeah?"
He glances toward the hallway where Shen disappeared, then back at you. "Shen works nights."
You pause halfway to taking a sip. "…He does."
"Was that part of the reason?"
You stare at him for a second, then you laugh. "Oh my God."
"What?"
"You think I switched shifts for Shen?"
He studies you for a moment before answering. "You didn't?"
You shake your head. "I switched because I wanted more trauma."
"And not because of Shen?"
You smile. "Is that what you've been thinking?"
He looks away. Something almost imperceptible loosens in his posture. "Maybe."
You look at him for a moment, tapping the plastic slowly with your fingers. "You've been thinking about why I changed shifts?"
Abbot hesitates. "…I was curious." He glances at the board before looking back at you. "I've been trying to get you onto nights for months."
You hum.
He gives a small shrug. "Then you suddenly transferred."
"And you thought it was because of Shen?"
Another shrug. "It crossed my mind."
"Well, it wasn't." A smile tugs at your lips. "But I'm flattered you noticed."
He meets your eyes, chin dipping. "I pay attention to everyone I work with."
You fight back a smile. "Mm."
His brows knit slightly as he turns more toward you. "You got plenty of trauma on days, though."
"Not like this."
"What's different?"
"The volume. The acuity."
He waits.
You shrug. "There's more trauma overnight."
"Is that all?"
You suck in your cheek. "…And the teaching."
He nods once. "The teaching?"
"Yeah."
"What about it?"
You look at him. "Well... You..." The word slips out before you can stop it. "I mean—you explain things well."
His eyebrows lift. "You switched because of me?"
Heat rushes into your face. "No—that's…"
"No?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Could've fooled me." Abbot's mouth twitches. His lips part to say something, but the slam of the ambulance bay doors cuts him off.
Across the department, Shen catches your eye and throws both hands into the air. "Sorry!"
You laugh.
Beside you, Abbot bumps your shoulder lightly. "Ready for another one, Trouble?"
You set the untouched coffee back on the counter and give him a sideways look. "With you? I suppose I could do worse."
"I know. I'm apparently a good teacher."
"Shut up." You swat his shoulder as you step past him. He chuckles lowly behind you.
historic moment for the emmys! regardless of your feelings about the nominees, sepideh moafi is the first persian woman in history to be nominated for the role of best supporting actress! that’s a long-overdue milestone that i’m thrilled to see achieved
House hunting in the suburbs with Dex and your son?🤞
Finding the Perfect House with Dex
TW: domestic fluff!!!!! A bit suggestive towards the end. Set after DDBA season 2. You and Dex have a son called Leo, Husband! Dex x Wife! Reader (lmk if you I missed anything)
WC: 1.7k
Could be read as a one-shot but this is technically part of What Makes a Good Man?
House hunting with Dex had been great, actually.
Which was weird, because eight years ago your husband was imprisoned for multiple counts of murder. Because not too long ago, your husband was breaking out of prison, and now he was standing beside you at house viewings, asking estate agents questions about roofing, school districts, and whether the windows were double-glazed.
Most of this happened because Dex had a stupid amount of CIA money now, which meant you had a stupid amount of CIA money, too.
Mr. Charles paid well, like, “thank you for doing morally grey things in countries we will never admit you visited” well.
And Dex was legitimate now. Technically.
Charles was his handler, as per his government contracts. He had the paperwork to prove it. He wasn’t sleeping in safehouses anymore, not showing up at the apartment bleeding because he “had it under control.” He was coming home after a week-long mission in Madripoor, kissing you hello, showering, putting Leo to bed, and then sitting at the kitchen table with a laptop open looking at mortgage calculators.
So suddenly your Saturdays had become house viewings.
So fucking many house viewings.
He had a spreadsheet and a calendar specifically for viewing times. He packed snacks for Leo and carried him when he got tired. He started asking realtors questions about roof age and damp surveys and driveway sizes. He held your hand through front doors, and you loved watching him check locks without even realising he was doing it. You loved the way Leo ran from room to room yelling, “This one! No, this one! No, this one!” like every empty bedroom could be his.
But there were so many not-perfect houses.
One had a backyard that was technically a yard in the same way a crisp packet in a puddle was technically a water feature. Another had carpet in the bathroom, which should have been illegal. Dex said one had “not good enough sightlines down the stairs.” The last one you saw had “loads of potential,” which meant “please imagine this house after spending ninety thousand dollars.”
Sometimes, a house would be perfectly fine, on the outside. But then Leo would tug on Dex’s sleeve, look up at him very seriously, and say, “Daddy, I have bad feeling about this.”
And that was it, viewing over.
You and Dex would just exchange one look like, knowing Leo must’ve sensed something very wrong with the house. You wouldn’t even go upstairs. You’d just tell the estate agent something like thank you for your time, goodbye forever.
Because you both knew better than to question your son’s supernatural premonitions.
Then, this week you got to the house.
And, oh, you loved it immediately.
It wasn’t super-fancy. It was a Goldilocks-level of just right.
The hallway had enough space for Leo’s shoes, because Dex, who could never say no to his son, had been buying him every possible pair of dino shoes to the point that you had to buy an extra cabinet just for your little boy. The kitchen had beautiful lights. The living room had a corner where Dex would pretend he wasn’t watching you read. Upstairs, Leo found a bedroom with a window facing the garden and his eyes went as wide as dinner plates.
Then he saw the backyard.
It was bigger than you expected. It had a tree and a cute little swing set near the fence.
Leo stepped outside holding Dex’s hand and looked up at him with his own hopeful little eyes staring back at him. “Is this all mine?”
Oh, fuck off. That. Was. So. Cute.
Dex crouched, brushed Leo’s hair back, and said, “Whatever you say, buddy.”
Whatever you say.
Of course he didn’t say “maybe” or “we’ll see” or “don’t get your hopes up, kid! Only if the offer goes through.”
And right then and there, you knew Dex was gone gone.
You should’ve scolded him for possibly giving his son false hope, but then you watched Leo run to the swings and your stupid heart began rearranging itself.
You could see it now: Dex would stand by that kitchen window with coffee and you would complain about the school run. Leo would bring in worms and call them friends.
This was it, wasn’t it? This was the house.
Then the little girl appeared at the fence.
You were the only one close enough to hear, and Dex was inside with the estate agent, asking something about the boiler.
Leo was on the swing, pushing himself badly and loving every second of it, when the girl leaned over from next door.
“Hi!”
Leo lit up. “Hi! I’m Leo Poindexter.”
He always said it now, because Dex had taught him how to say his full name, slowly, syllable by syllable, but he got there eventually. Le-o Poin-Dex-Ter, he would practice again and again in the mirror, finally being able to legally use his father’s name, even though he didn’t know why he couldn’t before.
He said it to nurses, shop assistants, delivery drivers, dogs, one pigeon, everyone. Apparently, to his future neighbor.
“Hi!” The girl smiled. “I’m Danielle Cage.”
And your heart dropped.
Cage.
CAGE.
As in Luke Cage? As in Jessica Jones? Hello????
You stood there with a polite smile stapled to your face while your brain started going through every fucking scenario possible.
Leo said, “Do you want to see my Iguanadon socks?”
“Sure!” Danielle Cage climbed over her side of the fence and landed in the garden without even breathing hard.
Right. If you had any doubts that that girl might not be the Cage, it was erased right there and then.
Your son, delighted, showed her the socks. And Danielle nodded, telling him her daddy was going to build her a swing too one day.
You said nothing, because what were you supposed to say?
Sorry, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re lovely, but can you go home because your parents are too competent and inconvenient for our family dynamic?
You let Leo play for a few more minutes because he was happy and you were weak. Then you left the house with Dex beside you, Leo half-asleep in the back seat of your car, and your stomach somewhere around your ankles.
That night in the apartment, after Leo finally passed out clutching one of his dinosaurs, you told Dex.
“The neighbour’s kid is Danielle Cage.”
Dex paused, but only for a split second. He took off his watch and set it on the dresser.
“Dex,” you sighed, “are you even listening to me?”
He looked at you and walked across your bedroom slowly.
You stepped back, pointing at him. “Don’t do that.”
He kept walking you back until you hit the edge of the bed with the back of your knees. Still, he said nothing. He was calculating.
“Luke Cage would live next door,” you said, because you were still trying to be reasonable. “Jessica Jones would live next door. That woman will take one look at us and know we’re hiding things.”
For example, your son’s mutation.
Dex’s hands eventually settled on your waist.
“Leo loves it,” he murmured.
“Leo loves cheese puffs. That doesn’t mean we buy him a factory.”
His head dipped and kissed the corner of your mouth.
You stopped mid-breath.
Oh. So this is what he had resorted to now.
“Cheap trick,” you whispered.
Dex hummed against your skin.
Oh, you hated him.
Except you didn’t. You were catastrophically in love with him, and Dex knew it. Worse than that, he knew you. He knew when you needed to spiral and when you needed to be held and when your brain was building a doomsday bunker out of perfectly valid concerns.
He had learned, very early into marriage, that kissing you could be a strategy.
You had a lot to say, but Dex had discovered that if he kissed you gently enough, touched you carefully enough, your arguments would start dissolving
And he was a competitive man.
“You can’t seduce me into agreeing to move next door to the fucking Cages,” you said.
Dex placed a well-timed kiss under your jaw.
You closed your eyes. “Dex.”
His fingers tightened slightly at your waist. He wasn’t trapping, and you could have pushed him away.
But you didn’t because you liked it.
“You’ve made up your mind,” you realised, weaker now.
He laid you on the bed gently, hovered over you, and kissed you properly then.
Eventually, your thoughts drop one by one until all that was left in your mind was Dex, Dex, Dex.
You clutched his shirt as he smiled against your mouth.
“Don’t be so smug,” you breathed.
He kissed you again.
Bastard.
You were still trying. Kind of.
“She’s the best private investigator in the city,” you mumbled when he resorted to giving you open-mouthed kisses to your throat.
“We’re gonna have a bulletproof neighbour,” you held back a moan, because Leo was asleep in the next room.
He went back up, kissing the sensitive spot under your ear.
“They probably have a super strong child.”
You felt him laugh silently against your neck. “At least Leo doesn’t have to be different alone.”
Oh.
Oh, right.
Dex lifted his head, and his face was close. His eyes were on you like you were the only future he had already decided to build.
“We’ll handle it,” he said.
You hated that you loved that certainty.
You loved that Dex could still be scared of so many things and yet not this. How could he be scared of Leo having a yard? How could he be scared of that perfect attic you would turn into your private library?
He kissed you again before you could speak, because, frankly, he had learned this trick too well.
Your hands slid into his hair.
By the time you could think again, you were tucked against his chest, his arm around your waist, your legs tangled under the blanket.
“You weaponised your kisses again,” you whispered.
His fingers moved through your hair and kissed the top of your head. “Mm.”
You playfully pinched his side, and he caught your hand and held it against his chest.
For a while, neither of you said anything. Then, because apparently you had no survival instincts left, you sighed.
“Fine,” you finally said, “We can put in an offer.”
Dex’s arms tightened around you.
And that was how your husband, newly legitimate CIA asset, former walking red flag, kissed you into agreeing to maybe move next door to Luke Cage and Jessica Jones.
(Later, Dex would bring up the fact that Luke couldn’t exactly judge him for the whole Charles thing when he used to work for Charles, too.)
wait why am i so ☹️☹️☹️ he seriously deserves everything he’s gotten and so so much more - i love this old guy so much
the article talks about how when fans come up to him he now doesn’t know whether it’s going to be from an older work of his or jack’s and it just shows that he has been so wildly under appreciated his entire career and i just hope that he knows that so many new fans are getting into more things because of him and his roles 🤍
(shawn please visit texas cause i need you to sign my faculty vhs)
summary. After Jack treats you at the emergency department, he learns that you're a camgirl — a very popular camgirl with a public SFW account. Curiosity has him subscribing and he finds himself falling into a very addicting trap of you.
word count. 16.5k (this got away from me)
content warnings. nsfw content, excessive use of 'bunny', medical inaccuracies (of literally almost everything, big shout out to healthline and mayoclinic for iud info), mentions of vaginal bleeding and pain, easter eggs/cameos of other readers from a previous robby fic (👀)
notes. so this was the most absolute fun to write !! i've got a few easter-eggs in here (including other readers from a previous robby fic (👀) and some of my lovely mutuals mentioned) so i hope you like it, my inbox is open for more blurb requests or ideas you have for the dolls-verse! photos above are from pinterest and @deathreverse made the amazing website mock up i included below! (thankyouthankyouiloveyourmassivebrain)
As someone who's made a living off of exposing every inch of your body to the world, you feel horribly exposed sitting on an exam table in just a hospital gown that you had changed into from the cliche trench coat and lacy negligee you had on earlier.
Despite the late hour, the waiting room had been packed and any glance your way felt like something intrusive and prodding. You had been fully ready to wait the whole night before you could be seen but after your vitals had been taken and triaged, the doctor had pushed you to the front of the line and into the next available room.
So here you sit, the paper beneath you crinkling every time you squirm and try to find a far more comfortable position before giving in entirely and leaning over to your side. You support yourself with your elbow and try to ignore the prodding pain in your backside.
"Good evening, I'm Dr. Abbot, what seems to be the problem?"
Your stomach drops; just your luck that the doctor assigned to help you fish out your newest toy is panty-dropping handsome. A silver fox through and through, he looks downright delectable with those large freckled arms that seem to be bursting through those black scrubs. If it had been any other day, you might've turned on the charm, flirt your way to a dinner date or more.
But it's 1:37 AM, you have a fuzzy, bunnytail plug stuck inside you and you're desperate to just get home without your asshole gaping.
"Um." You glance at the iPad in his hand, hoping that whoever saw you first recorded it in your chart so you wouldn't have to repeat yourself. But the handsome doctor is waiting patiently. "I have something… stuck inside me."
"Ah. I'll see what I can do. Roll over for me, sweetheart."
The night shift always brings on the weirdest cases that after all his years of working, nothing could phase him at this point. Seeing you, looking so uncomfortable and startled on the exam table, ranks so low on said weird cases that he misses the note Crus had left on your chart and went right in on the usual greeting.
"… what seems to be the problem—?"
Butt plug lodged in anus, patient reports mild pain and heavy discomfort.
Jack rereads the sentence a few times before he looks up at you. Pretty albeit shy, your cheeks flushed and your gaze seemingly land anywhere but him. When you listen and roll over onto your stomach, he swallows the instinctive 'good girl' that threatens to spill from his lips.
He tugs on a fresh pair of gloves, strengthening his spine and fortifying the usual mask of professionalism he wears. You're laid out on your stomach now, the blankets of the exam table tugged down to right below your ass. Before he could ask you to lift your hips, you do so on your own, knees spread apart.
Face down, ass up.
He swallows thickly as he gently nudges the seam of the hospital gown apart at your spine. What greets him has heat boiling in his gut: a fuzzy pink, bunny cottontail buttplug nestled right in between your asscheeks.
"Alright, I'm gonna touch you back here, see how deep it's in there before we try extraction," he murmurs. You whimper when he gives an experimental but gentle tug. "Is there any stinging sensation?"
"Nuh-uh," you mumble into the pillow.
Jack swallows again as the cottontail plug gives beneath his grip, his other hand pushing your left asscheek aside. "Let me know if I pull too hard, alright?"
You nod and he sees the way your moves against the pillow.
"Words, please."
Your thighs clench as you fight off the simmering heat that your frustratingly hot doctor starts with those two simple words. "Yes, I will." An honorific sits behind your teeth (daddy? sir? whichever, it seems to fit him regardless of what you use) but you swallow it down.
Meanwhile, Jack tries to ignore the tell-tale sheen between your thighs, keeps his gloved hands where they need to be. His mind races through horrific, bloody accidents of the week prior to keep his other head from wandering. "Good," he mutters.
Silence falls between you two as Jack gently adds medical-grade lubricant, apologizing at the cool temperature of it against your heated skin. After a few rotations of the plug, you clamp your teeth around the hospital gown to stifle any wayward moans.
"Mm—" You whimper anyways and Jack stills. "I'm okay—! Just, uh— is it almost out?"
Jack clears his throat; he's grateful you can't see him or the creeping blush up his neck. "Almost. I gotta take it slow to avoid any possible injuries."
The thought makes you lightheaded but you ground yourself back into reality before your mind can start jumping to worst case scenarios. "That makes sense."
He twists the plug and a flare of arousal blooms in your core, more pleasure than pain now. "So," he clears his throat again, an attempt at normalcy. "What do you do for work?" He mentally pats himself on the back at the inane question, hoping it'll be enough to distract you as he attempts at another tug.
You squeak anyways as your ring of muscles expand at the widest part of the plug. Jack adds more lubricant. "This," you manage to say.
Jack's dick gives a willfull throb but he forces it down with the degloving case from the night before. "O-Oh?"
"I… stream? I'm an adult streamer, oh fuck—!"
Your ass is gaping slightly as Jack inadvertently tugs the whole plug out with little warning, an involuntary reaction from your reveal. "Shit— sorry, sweetheart. Don't move—"
The silicone toy hits the metal tray beside you in a dull thud, the fluffy end of it peeking above the lip of the tray, while you feel his gloved digits gently probe around the ring. "Just making sure there aren't any abrasions, any cuts or irritation before we finish up here." He sees your head nod against the pillows so he continues on with his examination.
Your ass is firm beneath his touch. Pilates, maybe. Or strength training. His jaw clenches as he forces his mind to the present again, resumes the exam before carefully covering you up with the hospital gown again. "You're all good, sweetheart, you can turn onto your back now."
A part of him feels a sick sense of satisfaction at the way you squirm from the easy use of petnames. He's always been a natural flirt, that roguish charm that calms patients enough for him to diagnose, but it's a touch more fun when it works on someone as pretty as you.
"Thank you, Dr. Abbot."
But the gentle cadence of your voice cuts through him and shame trickles in like molasses. When did he turn out to be such a perv? Maybe the night shift is getting to him. He clears his throat, assuming his professional stance, but your smile turns wicked and there's something mischievous in your gaze that he can't quite place.
"Really, I can't thank you enough," you say as you carefully roll over to settle in an upright position. "But, um… is it possible if I can keep the toy?"
He lets out a little laugh and nods. With his hands still gloved, he retrieves a plastic bag from one of the cabinets and places the toy in before handing it to you. "'course you can. Just make sure you prep yourself better next time."
Jack nearly winces at the crass statement but you reward him with a bemused giggle. "Don't worry, I learned my lesson. It's a good thing I'm testing it out first before a stream. It'd be so embarrassing if I got it stuck inside me while I was live," you share and he tries not to look too eager as you share more about your unorthodox occupation.
"Do you… do that often?" The question falls flat and he makes up for it with an embarrassed chuckle, discarding his gloves in the nearby waste basket. "Jesus, tell me if I'm overstepping here."
You laugh again and Jack's positive he isn't as funny as you make him to be but he'd gladly make a fool of himself if he got to hear that sound again. "You're fine. Trust me, I've heard worse."
"What if I want to be the best you've heard?"
Your brow rises up in mild surprise. "Was that a line, Dr. Abbot?"
"Maybe."
"It's not very good."
"It's also 2 AM, sweetheart."
You cross your arms, tilt yout head to the side and it feels like he's being taken apart. "Do you make it a habit to flirt with your patients?"
"Just the pretty ones— oh, yikes. Yeah, that one was bad," he concedes with a light laugh. "I may be a flirt, but you're trouble. Now… think you can behave while I go grab your discharge papers?"
Your smile is saccharine sweet. "Of course."
He chuckles and shakes his head, nudging the door open with his hip before he exits. The rest of the evening goes by routinely: you sign off on a few papers before changing back into your clothes. Dr. Abbot is nowhere to be seen until you're walking towards the exit, your gait a tad bit crooked, and he's leaning against the counter by the nurses' station.
"Thanks again, doctor."
The wink you give him nearly stops his heart, your easy demeanor returning now that you aren't battling the embarrassment of having a butt plug stuck inside you. When the door shuts behind you and the chaos of the emergency department resumes around him, Crus Henderson cackles behind his chart.
"What?" Jack frowns.
The smile Henderson gives him is downright sinister. "You're not slick, old man."
"It's fine." Shen materializes beside him with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his perpetually full iced coffee. "Technically, she isn't your patient anymore. And Crus and I won't tell."
"There's nothing to tell—!"
The two share knowing grins before walking off. "Sure, Abbot. Sure. Wait 'til you're off to look her up though."
Jack splutters. "I'm not going to look her up—"
In the quiet of his bedroom, Jack looks you up.
The sun's already filtering through his window blinds and it feels like some social transgression to be searching up porn during the day. But he's showered and clean with his prosthetic off, tucked under his covers and leaned against his headboard. The cursor's blinking up at him, taunting him. He doesn't even know where to begin but he's got your full name, wonders if it's enough to even catch a trace of you on social media.
He types your name in anyway on instagram and his breath leaves him in a rush when your profile sits at the top of the search results. Your profile pic is innocent enough, smiling brightly, but upon further inspection, your shoulders and collarbone is exposed right where the photo is cut off; an implication that you've got nothing on below the edge of your profile. Once he manages to tear his gaze away, his eyes snag onto the amount of followers you have. Four million. An impressed whistle escapes him as he starts to scroll.
Your photos are still pretty tame, nothing more risque than a bikini shot of you at the beach. To anyone that isn't regularly watching adult streamers, you look like any other influencer of the modern age. Wholesome photos of you are attached as well, displaying your interests and hobbies that has Jack falling deeper and deeper into your orbit.
It's nearly noon when he realized he may have spent the previous hours just looking up your social media sites. One thing that did stick out like a sore thumb (aside from your jaw-dropping photos) had been the lack of use of your real name. He understands the reasoning, knows its for safety especially with the kind of career you're in, but the affectionate nickname you use for yourself and what your subscribers use has a lick of jealousy flaring in his chest.
Dollface. Doll. Dolly.
He scrolls back up before the little monster in his chest grows and a nondescript url catches his eye, the hyperlink sitting pretty beneath your bio. Before he could secondguess himself, he taps it and his phone brings him out of instagram and into his browser app where your website loads on his screen.
While Jack isn't some tech-savvy genius, he's confident enough to say that your page must've been done by a professional. Summer pastels greet him, a variation of your profile pic on instagram (more skin, more sultry—) sitting on the top left of the screen with 'DOLL'S CORNER' splashed on the top of the page and a drop down menu that he decides to explore later.
It's arranged like some sort of blog, your most recent status marked as eight hours ago where you're complaining about some ache. He bites back a smirk before he scrolls down your older posts. There's many videos, ranging from 'get ready with me!'s and 'shopping hauls' with pretty thumbnails, but the one that steals his attention are the ones that are grayed out — almost pixelated with a pink heart-lock graphic in the center.
[ UPGRADE YOUR TIER LEVEL TO ACCESS THIS VIDEO! ♡ ]
His thumb hovers over the lock-graphic before he gives in.
The screen loads and he's taken to a new page, marked by different tiers and different price points.
BESTIES — free! access includes:
- get ready with me
- weekly vlogs
- shopping hauls
SWEETHEARTS — weekly subscription. ($)
- everything besties has to offer!
- short-form lewd content
- locked photos from the vault
- audios
LOVERS — monthly subscription. ($$$)
- everything sweethearts and besties has to offer!
- midnight live-streams
- personalized short-form videos
- personalized audios
Jack blinks twice. He continues to scroll before he catches a three-day free trial for all the paid tiers. He bypasses it and taps a single month purchase for access to the LOVERS' vault (after creating a profile and naming it simply with his initials). His dick stirs in his pajamas as the screen loads before it confirms his payment.
All the grayed-out videos are unlocked but rather than an aesthetic thumbnail with pretty collages like your free content, they're blurred out images of you within the video — enough to imply exactly what's going on in each one.
He scrolls on to see another video of you trying on outfits, specifically lingerie. Figuring this is as close as it'll get to dipping his toes in the metaphorical pond of your NSFW content for now, he hits play.
The video starts off with your pretty face adjusting the camera before you settle back on a white rug, surrounded by opened boxes. You greet the camera and it feels like a blow to the gut to see you in your element. If he thought you were pretty in the emergency room, under the garish lighting of the bright fluorescents, you're a goddamn bombshell with perfect makeup and flattering lighting.
As you address the camera, he begins to wonder how exactly you could be an adult streamer when you have content like this until you bring out the haul for the video. White ivory boxes detailed with cream ribbons, baby pink boxes wrapped nicely with ebony lace and tulle. He catches a name on one of the boxes: La Perla.
Jack shifts in his seat, bats away the creeping guilt of watching a young woman try on lingerie, but the charge was confirmed on his card already; it's too late for regret.
(He fears there isn't any regret in the first place.)
Fortunately for his heart (or unfortunately for his twitching cock), you had edited the videos to cut through the actual process of changing into them and rather just show off the full sets.
You didn't seem to have a preference for color, each piece ranging from a monochromatic black to butter yellow lace. Either way, you look gorgeous in all of them and Jack isn't ashamed to admit he's about to blow in his boxers, untouched, at just the sight of you in lingerie.
When the video ends, he replays it but makes it a point to keep his hands out of his pants for now. Instead, he drops a like and a simple comment:
@.swatdoc. — You're magnificent.
Confident in the anonymity of his profile, he puts his phone away to finally catch up on sleep.
Across the city, your phone buzzes with a new notification as you have breakfast on your island counter. Despite the waves of engagement you get on your content, you still keep the notifications on and the newest one brings forth a flutter in your stomach. Compliments are a nickel apiece when it comes to your career but the simplicity of this one and the lack of crudeness that follows steals your attention.
You take a bite of your food as you tap the notif, bringing on the new account profile. While most are kept blank, this man has a profile pic of his back facing a gorgeous sunset. Despite the fact his face is unseen, you recognize those salt and pepper curls.
In the following days, Jack begins to make it a habit to check on your daily statuses. You don't post daily on instagram but you post stories and he enjoys your little activities, likes how everyone seems to be so kind to you. It makes him wonder if your followers are aware of your evening activities, of your content tucked safely away behind a paywall.
Even in the comments section in both the SFW and NSFW side of your content, he realizes you've amassed a loyal following comprised of women that it nearly hides the lewd and desperate remarks from your male subscribers.
@deathreverse : that top is gorggggg!!! ♡
@pearlessance : your makeup is stunning, drop a routine next babes!!
@enam3l: absolutely obsessed w you!! ♡
@mariasont: that shade of pink suits you BEAUTIFULLY
In your last NSFW video, it's you in bed, a thin blanket draped loosely along your frame. There isn't an intro like your lingerie haul, just getting right into it as if the viewer catches you in the middle of the act: your hand sliding beneath the fabric, the camera shaking slightly as you rearrange your position to lay back against the mountain of pillows.
Jack's mimicking the position on his day off, his own back cushioned against his headboard as he watches in rapt attention. His readers are sliding off his nose but he adjusts them as he hits the volume increase button twice. He wants to hear you, addicted to the way you sound so sweet whimpering around your fingers.
Obsessed with the way your moans can sound so goddamn endearing.
He doesn't let the video play on, his hand still sitting obediently above the waist band of his sweatpants as he tries to catch his breath. He scrolls onward instead, stops at a tamer video of you shopping at a boutique.
@.swatdoc. — Gorgeous as always, bunny.
The cursor blinks as he secondguesses the petname. No one's called you anything other than 'doll' or 'dolly' or some iteration of baby or babe. Bunny's innocuous enough, Jack decides, and taps 'comment'. It'll be an inside joke for himself, for the evening you may as well tipped his world upside down when you'd come into the pitt for a stuck bunny buttplug. You get thousands of comments a day, the likelihood of you recognizing him is abysmally low.
The little pep talk he gives himself soothe the minor anxiety spike as he continues to scroll on, amusing himself with the way your bright personality seems to shine through even with the nasty videos that has his cock twitching to life.
He distracts himself with the comments section instead of exiting the video.
@.deathreverse — jesuuus christ, ur so fucking hot
@.deathreverse — let me rip that gorgeous top off you plsplspls
@.pearlessance — let me make your moans my ringtone and i'll never miss a call
The women commenting are far more entertaining to read through, the creativity of it all always taking him aback, despite the usual stab of jealousy. At this point, his parasocial streak of possessiveness is something he's learned to ignore, to let sit beneath a layer of faux indifference.
He's just a fan now among millions, he'll bask in the anonymity your popularity affords him.
You might be obsessed with your most latest subscriber. A Mr. Swatdoc with the silver curls.
Realistically, it may be the hot doctor that had seen you through the most mortifying ordeal of taking out a buttplug at two in the morning but the profile pic doesn't give you much and his profile is blank aside from his chosen screen name (swatdoc) and his age (48).
Regardless, your heart does a funny little twist whenever he appears in your notifications (only on your SFW posts, interestingly enough) whether it's a like or an extra tip but your stomach drops when his newest comment adds a new petname.
Bunny.
You sit up in bed when the notification comes through. Gorgeous as always, bunny. The fucking bunny, cotton-tail buttplug. The same one that Dr. Abbot had all but talked you through it as he gently removed it from your asshole. You glance up to see the damned toy sitting on your dresser right across from your bed, mocking you.
The bed dips beneath as you shift your weight, rolling around in bed as you reread that goddamn nickname over and over again. Bunny.
As your eyes bore into your screen, your phone buzzes.
[@.swatdoc liked your vlog!]
[@.swatdoc commented: Can't get enough of you, bunny.]
A sudden wave of confidence (or perhaps impulsiveness) washes through you and you tap his comment. And in quick succession, you like his comment and tap on his profile. Then his inbox. And finally:
doll : doctor abbot???
Jack drops his phone like it burned him. He sits up, nearly kicks off his blankets in his chaos as his heart falls right out of his ass. He didn't even know there was a messaging system on your website but there it is, that red notification bubble on the top right. He taps it and there's the chatbox.
He contemplates on lying, on playing dumb but he respects you far too much to lie to you. A heavy sigh escapes him as he resettles back into his bed and his cock sheepishly sits limp against his inner thigh.
swatdoc : How did you know it was me?
doll : i'd recognize those silver curls anywhere ♡
Huh. The little heart emoticon blinks up at him, maybe even glows. His cock gives a hopeful twitch.
swatdoc : Let me get this right. You aren't weirded out by me finding your website?
doll : you pulled my buttplug out of my ass, doctor. i think we're even.
swatdoc : Sounds fair.
doll : i do want to ask, strictly as a survey yknow, just to make sure i'm reaching subscriber satisfaction expectations. but is my nsfw stuff not hot enough?
swatdoc : I don't know how to answer that.
doll : you aren't liking any of my nsfw videos…….. am i not your type?
He can imagine it, that wry little grin when you tease the camera, makes him want to fuck it out of you—
swatdoc : Just trying to be respectful. Or as respectful as I can be given the circumstances, sweetheart.
doll : i think you're super respectful, i see the tips you've been leaving….. thank you btw ♡
swatdoc : You're welcome, bunny.
doll liked your message!
The activity light near your name goes off and he figures you might've logged off. His thumb drags up the screen to exit the page, sets his phone down and attempt at sleeping. But in the midst of his dark bedroom, there's a stirring in his gut that he can't seem to shake. An itch he needs scratching.
Time fluctuates, slips through his fingers as he finds himself on a popular porn website, the light of his phone illuminating his hazel eyes. He scrolls and scrolls past countless videos, the thumbnails made to entice anyone in his position, and yet frustration starts to grow larger than the lust that's been simmering beneath his heated skin.
None of the actresses look like you.
The thought floors him and he pauses when he finds a woman with a similar body type as you, wears her hair the same way you do. Her moans are a bit too pitchy but he punches the volume down and when his hand slides beneath his sweatpants, he doesn't feel guilt. And when he cums, it's your name spilling from his lips.
"You seeing anyone?"
Jack doesn't look up from the iPad as Robby settles in beside him, ready to take over for day shift as night shift starts to filter out. "What are you talking about?"
"Y'know. Dating? Getting out there? 'cuz Peaches has someone—"
"Not interested, brother, but I thank you for your service." Jack smiles but it's forced, halfway towards a grimace, and places the iPad down with a little too much force. He stomps off to the locker room. Robby and Dana watch his retreating back before they share a look.
"What's his problem?" Dana mutters, her glasses sitting low on the slope of her nose.
Robby chuckles and shakes his head. "No idea."
The truth is— Jack does have a problem. That problem is you.
He thought he'd been good, kept his hands to himself when he gets to his usual routine of stalking your website, and lets his fantasies run wild when he switches over to another porn site to find an actress that looks like you.
But then you had kept texting him, messaging him on your website that the line he's drawn between staying respectful and admiring you from afar against his baseless desire of wanting to fuck you 'til you cry is starting to blur. Of course you have no idea of this line, no clue of the existence of the boundaries Jack's made for himself.
You have no idea that Jack wants more than a physical interaction with you and he has no idea how to ask you out without coming off like a complete pervert.
doll: dr abbot??
swatdoc: You know you can call me Jack, sweetheart.
doll: take me out first then i'll feel comfortable enough to call you whatever you want.
Jack nearly shortcircuits at your reply and he fights the urge to hide his phone, shove it in his pocket to deal with later. It'd just look too suspicious and with Shen's eyes on him, he knows he'd blab straight to Lena who'd definitely gossip with Dana. While Dana's known to keep a secret, anything involving him and a potential partner is a surefire way for her to tell Robby.
swatdoc: You mean it, bunny?
doll: spending time with you? of course ♡
Jack chuckles and swipes his palm across his stubbly mouth, absolutely incredulous at your gumption.
swatdoc: I meant a date. Not just one night. This old man isn't built for casual.
doll: okay old man. take me out to dinner then ♡ it'd give me a chance to redo the first impression you have of me
swatdoc: I think it was a perfect first impression, bunny.
doll: you saw my ass, of course you thought so!!!
swatdoc: I was actually enamored by your charming personality. Your ass was a bonus.
doll: … flirt. you're smooth dr abbot.
doll: so when's our date?
swatdoc: My next day off is in a couple days. How's saturday night looking for you?
doll: i'm free !!! gonna come pick me up?
swatdoc: If you're comfortable with it, I'd love to. So, saturday at 7?
doll: i trust you ♡ and yes, i'll see you then.
He gets a text from you the following day (you'd admitted filching his number from the profile he's made on your website) and after a brief facetime call to prove your identity, he receives your address with a playful tag of: don't be late, dr. abbot.
Saturday's only a couple days away and yet he's fidgeting. He's got a night shift to get his mind off things but even Lena can see he's distracted. While he managed to wave away his colleagues' concerns, he wonders if he's the only one this anxious or nervous for the date.
A wave of notifications flood your phone despite the simple status update but you couldn't care less— not when you've got every possible combination of a date outfit laid out on your bed and nothing looks good. You have time, of course, there's nothing stopping you from going out shopping but the extra options might just exacerbate your indecision.
A pitiful whine escapes you as the paralysis of all your options land you flat on your back atop your mattress, clothing wrinkles be damned.
Whether or not the both of you are ready, Saturday evening arrives quickly.
The only information Jack had given you about the date aside from taking you out for a nice, classic dinner was to 'look nice'. As charming and handsome as he is, you resent the fact that he's like every other man his age: allergic to details. Somehow you manage to put on something simple but flattering, a black cocktail dress with a hemline that skims above your knee and a sweetheart neckline that teases your cleavage along with a bold, red pair of stilettos. Pairing it with a matching clutch, you deem yourself ready after a final swipe of lip gloss across your pouty lips.
"Here we go…" you murmur to yourself. Just as you dab at your lower lip with the pad of your ring finger, your doorbell rings. Seven on the dot.
Your heels click against the floor as you open your door to be greeted with Jack in slacks and a navy blue button down… as well as a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You gasp first, greetings momentarily forgotten in favor of taking the offered bouquet for a sweet sniff. Jack's compliments die on his tongue when he truly sees you, nose buried in the petals.
"How'd you know these were my favorite?" You ask as you step back, head tipping to wordlessly invite him in as you seek out a vase.
"I watched your vlogs," he shrugs with a shameless little smile. "I picked up a few details."
Maybe he shouldn't be as stunned as he is now — he's seen you in various states of dressed and undressed at this point — but you've truly left him speechless when you had opened the door, wearing that little black dress that hugs your body perfectly.
He's grateful that you notice the flowers first, cooing and gasping at the curated arrangement rather than noticing his thunderstruck stupor. It gives him a moment to clear his throat, admire the way you smile at the bouquet.
"You look divine," he murmurs as he follows you inside, watches you putter around your open space kitchen to place the flowers in water. And maybe it's his ego that's got him this taken by you; knowing that perhaps only he alone gets to see this side of you, bashful and charming. When you blush at his compliment, he feels like the king of the world.
"You don't look so bad yourself," you tease with a playful wink, taking his offered hand as he leads you out the door.
Jack's a gentleman when he helps you into his car, glancing aside momentarily when your dress rides up upon seating. He's a gentleman when you make it to the fine-dining restaurant ("Heard the new executive chef just received two Michelin stars!" you share excitedly), opening doors for you and keeping a respecful hand at the small of your back. He pulls your chair out for you, too. Perhaps the bar is in hell but you're undoubtedly impressed and giddy, basking in his undivided attention as you wear your heart on your sleeve for the rest of the evening.
"… and they all looked at it like it was something alien. It was a fax machine—!" Jack laughs, regaling you with the infamous July 4 analog nightmare from hell at the pitt. Dessert is lain between you two, half-eaten and momentarily forgotten as the two of you had been lost in conversation. He'd been worried that he might gross you out or bore you with his job as an ER physician but you had asked and prodded for more gory details, nose scrunching adorably when he explained what a degloving was.
"Okay, fax machines are basically obsolete," you counter with a giggle, lips parting as he feeds you a bite of cake. He waits patiently for you to chew before you continue on. "No one uses them anymore!"
Jack shakes his head in mock disappointment before you return the favor and feed him a bite from your own fork. "Sweetheart, these are vital skills!" Something warm flutters in his chest when you reach up to absentmindedly wipe away a bit of frosting from the corner of his lips, your painted nail skimming across his skin with the movement.
"How about this, I'll call you on the off chance I'll ever need to use a fax machine," you say dryly. A chuckle escapes Jack, low and grumbly that it has your thighs clenching together beneath the table.
"Sure. Or call me whenever, I'll always answer."
The ease of his flirting never fails to make you flustered and Jack capitalizes on it whenever he gets the chance. Like clockwork, you giggle and glance aside, a pretty blush on your cheeks as you look anywhere but his eyes. It's a wonderful side of you that he's steadily growing obsessed with. Yes, your online persona in your SFW space is charming and enchanting while you're essentially a succubus — sex incarnate — when the sun drops low.
But this is you, unabashedly you, and Jack can't get enough of it. He wants more than what you probably expect from him, a warm body to occupy his bed (judging from the stories you've shared about past experiences), and he's ready to go above and beyond to prove to you that he's willing to do whatever it takes so that he could call all of you his.
"Hey, how are we doing? Dessert's good?" The head-of-house manager of the restaurant cuts in seamlessly; he seems to have a good sense of when to enter a conversation.
You smile brightly and Jack nods. "It's delicious, thank you. Every dish has been fantastic," you gush.
"Wonderful, that's what I like to hear," the manager crows before he straightens out his tie. "You two are a beautiful couple. Are we celebrating an anniversary?"
Now it's Jack's turn to get bashful. "Uh, no, a first date, actually."
The manager looks taken aback but he bounces back with a low chuckle, two hands on his chest in subtle apology. "If it helps, the chemistry you two have is undeniable. Truly. But anyways, I came by to ask if you two would like to join us in the garden party out back or maybe a nice little kitchen tour?"
Your eyes shimmer with excitement and Jack gives a yes, offering his hand for you to take. The manager smiles and claps once. "Perfect, let me take you to where the magic happens."
After meeting the famed head chefs and even sampling a few of the desserts at the pastry station, you're positively glowing as the two of you step out to where a small get together of other guests mingle by picnic tables. A few guys that may be the line cooks are handing out beer and soda, giving off a more relaxed vibe than the one inside. It's pleasant and when you feel a chill, Jack's draping his jacket along your shoulders without a word.
"Thanks," you hum, eyes fluttering as you take in his warm and musky cologne that seeps in from the collar. He chuckles and places a hand on the bottom of your spine.
"Of course," he murmurs then tips his head to wear the drinks are being passed around. "Did you want any—?"
"No, I think I'm stuffed. Did you…?"
Jack shakes his head and the nerves from before the date nearly come back in full force. You aren't naive, you know what kind of expectations your job gives people whenever you go on dates. While Jack's been a gentleman the entire evening, you can't deny the fact that him being a subscriber to your NSFW content does skew the way he must see you.
The drive back to your place is quiet and calm, your hand folded delicately in his as he drives. He walks you to your door but much to your surprise, he doesn't step past the threshold.
"I had an amazing time," he says first, his lined eyes crinkling as he gives you a warm smile. "I'd really like to see you again."
You nod, leaning against your doorway as you realize his hand has found yours again. Your joined fingers sway slightly. "Me too. I… I really liked tonight."
He smiles wider as if you've erased any doubts he's had. "Good. I'll, um. I'll let you get some rest. I'll call you when I get my next day off, alright?"
"Yeah, sounds good."
"Great." And with a smooth and unhurried motion, he leans in for a kiss to your cheek, chaste and sweet. "By the way, I want you to know I'm all in. I'm not trying to waste your time or make you think I'm here for the physical aspect. I like you, sweetheart. Truly."
And with a final pinch of your chin, he steps away and bids you good night before walking off. Later that night, you realize you haven't stopped smiling until you climb into bed, alone but completely content.
When morning comes, Jack sends you a good morning text before he cleans up around the house, settle in before his shift later that evening. He doesn't check his phone 'til noon and when he does, he sees a text back from you and a notification from your website.
[Doll just posted a video!] — 3 hours ago.
His stomach drops. While he truly has no issue with you continuing your camgirl career, something twists inside him at the thought of you getting off the night before without him. Is it that feeling of missing out or is it the fact that he hadn't been there to fulfill that need of yours?
Regardless, his heart is pounding when he taps the notification. The video loads and a breath of relief leaves him in a rush.
[New video!] Get un-ready with me! — Skincare Routine.
He chuckles and leans against the kitchen counter, turns his phone sideways to see you fill his screen in the same dress from the night before. You must be in your bathroom, he notes, as you relay your steps carefully to your audience.
"I know everyone will be asking but I just came back from a wonderful dinner. Food was absolutely divine, I'm already considering going back soon. But…" A bashful smile curls onto your lips and Jack's beaming. "The company was even better. Anyways— moving onto the foam cleanser…"
Your routine ends after you apply your serums and creams, signing off on the camera. The comments section pop up immediately.
@.mariasont — your skin looks so good but you look GLOWINGGG
@.pearlessance — were you on a date?? that dress is fantastic!!
Jack chuckles when he sees that you've dropped a like on that commenter about a date but nothing more. Fan the rumors without confirming anything, looks like you're a tease in more ways than one.
Unable to help himself, he scrolls down his contacts and taps yours. The phone rings once, twice, then—
"Jack?"
"Hey, sweetheart. Is this a bad time?"
You sound a tad bit out of breath but you reassure him nonetheless. "No, no, you're fine. What's up?"
"Well, I—" He interrupts himself with a shy laugh. "I don't know if it's too soon but I'd like to take you out again. My next day off is next week on Friday."
"Oh!" You sound positively pleased and Jack can picture you biting your lower lip to hide that smile he's obsessed with. "Yeah, I can make that happen. Are we doing dinner?"
"No, I was thinking of visiting the aquarium this time around."
"The aquarium…"
He bites back a grin, can picture the excitement simmering beneath the slight trepidation of your words. "That's right. Unless there's something else—"
"No, it's perfect!" You cut in with a little giggle. "Jack, did you watch all my vlogs?"
"Of course I did. And it truly can't be that much of a hardship to learn how much you love the place when you've got vlogs of you there nearly every month," he teases. "But if it's something you like to do on your own—"
"No, no, it's fine, Jack, I'd love to." He can hear the way your voice softens. "I can't wait."
"Alright, it's a date. I'll see you next Friday, sweetheart."
Friday doesn't come fast enough this time around. You've got an outfit bought and ready to go, a simple skirt with a blouse that you might've picked to match his eyes. Jack's on time yet again, two PM on the dot, and while he still keeps his hands to himself, he basks in the way your hand constantly seeks out the crook of his elbow.
You regale him with fish facts throughout each wing of the aquarium and he watches with besotted eyes when you basically glow at the sight of the jellyfish. Conversation ebbs and flows and he's pressing soft kisses into your hair like he can't quite help himself.
By the time you've both made it back to his car, he helps you in while placing the massive jellyfish plushy he bought you at the gift shop onto your lap. It's silly and absolutely wholesome.
It's made you undeniably horny for him.
You appreciate it though, you see how he's gone above and beyond to show you that he wants a relationship out of this. He doesn't expect you to be 'easier' because of your job as a camgirl nor does he think he's entitled to anything more than a kiss on the cheek because of what you show online.
And it's making you want him so bad that you feel like the pervert in this situation.
At your doorway, he's got a hand on your waist this time and your arms are draped loosely around his neck while still holding onto the jellyfish plush that's dangling behind his back.
"Today was lots of fun," you say first, nearly chest to chest with him. He nods, feeling the way you shiver when his thumb rubs circles against your hip bones. Above the fabric of your shirt.
"It was," he agrees as he basks in the sweet scent of your perfume. This close, you're practically intoxicating. "I enjoyed the little fish facts too, didn't know my date was a lovely encyclopedia—"
Your eyes roll playfully at the teasing jab, exaggerating your movements as you unwind your arms to step out of his embrace. "If you hate me, just say so—"
"Now hold on, I never said it was a bad thing," he chuckles and you let out a quiet squeal when his grip tightens, pulling you back into his arms. "Thought it was cute."
"Sure you do," you tease back and you realize he's pulled you even closer now. His voice is a rumble, low and gravelly as the distance between your lips is beginning to diminish.
"I do." He murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "This okay?"
You nod, throat bobbing. "More than okay," you whisper.
His gaze drops from your eyes, back to your lips, before they close the distance. Your heart thunders in your chest as your arms tighten around his neck to pull him lower. He goes easily, smiling against your lips. He doesn't deepen it, though, just steals a handful of more feather-light kisses that elicits a string of giggles from you, your foot popping up and your back bending slightly backwards as he dips you and showers you in affection.
Eventually, he reluctantly pulls away but not without giving you one more kiss. "Have a good rest of your evening, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Make sure you lock the door behind you, yeah?"
You nod, sighing dramatically as you lean against the back of your door as he steps out to the hallway. "I will. Can I see you again soon, Jack?"
His poor little heart thunders wildly at your adorable expression, half-pleading and half-fond. "Of course, princess. Maybe we can do something like this again, maybe a museum or that fair?"
You perk up with a nod. "That sounds like fun."
"Good. I'll see you soon, darling."
You sigh dreamily and blow him a kiss before shutting the door. You lean against the paneling and groan into your hands.
In the silence of your apartment, you wail— "Why won't he fuck me?!"
The time between your last date to the aquarium to your next one at the museum, you and Jack continue to text. Whether it's you giving him advice for a dish he's making or asking his opinion on which top would look well for a brunch you're attending with your girlfriends, the conversations never slow nor do they ever bore.
And in between those texts, Jack is happily gorging himself on your content while only getting off on actresses that hold resemblance to you. It's twisted and he knows it's wrong but he pictures your face in the shower sometimes, thinks of the way your teeth sink in your plush lower lip as his hand tugs at his cock.
You, however, hold no qualms as you drive the dildo deep in your cunt on late evenings, whimpering for the camera you've got set up. You always make it a habit to just plead, whine and beg more than you might naturally would with a partner, but when Jack's on your mind, you have nothing to exaggerate; you just get way more vocal as you think of his strong hands on your waist. The way he had commanded that kiss without being overbearing.
That kiss alone had wrung out three orgasms from you without the camera on.
Maybe it should've been enough to tide you over but as you start your usual midnight livestream the evening before your next date with Jack, a new title spills past your lips in the throes of your first climax. It shouldn't be a surprise at how easily the name comes to you, especially with how natural it seemed for Jack to take care of you—
"'m cumming, daddy—!"
The pings on your laptop nearby that you use for monitoring the chats go wild, the bell ringing that signified the amount of tips that just flooded your inbox from the title alone. You slump over as you catch your breath from where you've been riding your suction dildo, whining softly to yourself as the toy slides out of you. Your inner thighs are quivering as you lift your gaze to the laptop screen.
"Thanks for stopping by," you croon to the camera before shutting off the stream.
Across the city, Jack palms at his bulge, mouth slightly agape as he tries not to cum in his sweatpants like a teenager. "Fuck."
"I didn't really take you to be a museum kind of guy."
"I'm not. Not really… My friend's fiancée recommended it to us, thought we might like the new exhibit," Jack shrugs as he keeps you near with a hand around your waist. The new exhibit had garnered a sizable crowd and the last thing he wants is to lose you. Especially since you seem preoccupied with the information pamplet, both hands holding it open to read while relying heavily on Jack's firm hand. He likes it, the thought of you trusting him so readily.
You hum in acknowledgment before peering above the page. "The map says the new Caravaggio exhibit is that way… I think." Jack chuckles and peers over your shoulder, both of his hands firmly on your waist. You hold the pamphlet up higher for him.
"You aren't wrong," he muses as he reads over the map. You swallow nervously, you can feel the heat of his body seep against your backless top, the way his voice gets all low and gravelly when he's talking just to you. "It's past the abstract wing. Can you fold that up for me, sweetheart? I wouldn't want you to trip over your feet if you can't see where you're going."
You nod instinctively. "Yes—" You swallow back that title that sits at the back of your throat whenever Jack gets so… passively dominant. "Yeah, of course."
He chuckles and lets his arm fall along your lower back, a hand at the dip of your waist as he leads you towards the exhibit. The entire time as you two parade around the wing, Jack keeps you close. It sparks a light in your core, your inner thighs clenching with need when he unwittingly turns on your desire to be taken care of. But he seems so unbothered by it, humming to himself as his thumb slips beneath your blouse to rub your skin while he reads the information beside the painting.
The two of you are admiring Caravaggio's Narcissus when something comes to mind. "Why'd you call me 'bunny'? In my comments?"
He glances down at you, taken aback by the sudden question. "I… thought it'd be nice to have a nickname of my own for you. It reminded me of our first meeting."
A fond smile curls upon your lips. "Why haven't you called me that since we started dating?"
Something fond crosses over Jack's face, leaves as quickly as it came. His hand squeezes your side. "I didn't think it was appropriate. Thought it might make you uncomfortable if I called you that in public."
"I liked it. Like it. I still do," you trip over your words with a flustered smile. "It's like our own little inside thing. Um—no pun intended."
Jack chuckles and that wide smile he gives you has you pushing against your toes to press your lips to his. He hums fondly, nips at your lower lip. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind, bunny."
You kiss him again.
For the next couple of months, you start to see Jack regularly. Dinner dates (whether it's at the first restaurant he's taken you to or he cooks for you at his place) or movie nights, or even him just coming over to unwind after a long shift. Your posting schedule doesn't shift, only rearranges itself to make room for Jack.
A month in, you'd sat him down and tentatively but firmly told him that you wouldn't be stopping just because of your dates. Jack had accepted it without question, took it as if it was what he expected in the first place.
So you continue your usual schedule. Vlogs and short-form content for your SFW socials and full streams for your NSFW audience. Suggestive photos to tide your subscribers over 'til the next full video.
Jack, on the other hand, looks positively giddy with himself. Sure, he's cumming in his fist nearly every night but he's determined to make sure you know that he wants more with you. Fuck. He sounds like a broken record but he's obsessed; the last thing he wants is his dick to ruin this for his heart.
But his good mood is translated into his night shifts, cracking jokes even with angry patients. It has Shen watching over in confused concern, always taking a double-take when he has the chance. Parker and Crus decide that it's just Jack going through a new wave, a new fixation that's probably tiding him over.
Or a girl— but that's Robby's problem to mull over, not theirs.
They get their chance when Jack's scheduled for a double (something he makes up to you with another extravagant VIP dinner the day before), dropping a hint to their chief that their night-shift attending's been weird all week.
The ambulance bay doors slide open in a 'whoosh' for Dr. Robinavitch, passing by Javadi who's talking to Trinity about making mutuals with some big-shot on her Tiktok and Dennis catching up with Perlah about his weekend, to get to Jack in the locker room.
"So. Shen's said you've been weird."
Jack chuckles lightly, throws his stethescope around his neck, and shuts his locker. "I'm seeing someone."
"What, didn't think I'd admit it so quickly?" Jack grins and pats his shoulder as he steps around his friend.
"No, not really." Robby follows him out, tugging on both ends of his stethoscope. "I'm happy for you. What's her name?"
"Nah, that's all you're getting out of me, Robinavitch."
The sun's setting as Jack turns the page on the novel he's been reading to you. You're sitting between his legs and your back against his warm chest, stretching out on the gingham blanket you've brought as the two of you find cover beneath the large tree.
Today's date had been completely spontaneous. When his schedule had been unwittingly cleared up, he had driven straight to you to take you out for a late lunch picnic at the small fair that's set up for the weekend. With the sandwiches finished off and you'd run off to buy cotton candy for the both of you to share, Jack had fished out a novel in his back seat to pass the time and enjoy the nice weather.
His hand is absentmindedly rubbing your exposed thigh, the skirt of your sundress riding up just enough for him to explore the smooth skin. His cheek is pressed against the top of your hair while you absentmindedly trace shapes atop his jean-clad thighs.
"Feelin' restless, bunny?"
"Hm?" Jack's question draws you out of your stupor, so content in his arms that it takes him a few attempts to get your attention. "No, just… really cozy."
"Yeah?" He presses a line of kisses down your jaw and neck, eliciting a soft squeal from you. Jack would've continued showering you in kisses but he grunts, reluctantly pulling away to rub at his aching prosthesis.
You frown. He's mentioned losing a limb before, knows that he wears a prosthetic leg, but you've never seen him this uncomfortable. "Jack, we could head home if it's hurting—"
"I'm fine—"
"Jack." He pauses and turns his attention to you, your brows furrowed and your lips in a line. "Come on, we can just take it easy at your place. You said you're more comfortable in your crutches, right?"
"Yeah." You can see when he finally gives in, his shoulders rounding out as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah, alright. Let's go."
Once the both of you get to your feet, you hold out your hand. "Gimme the keys, I'll drive to give your leg a break."
"I don't think so."
"Jack."
"Bunny."
It takes a second but he concedes there too, pulling you in by the shoulders for a swift kiss to your lips. "You're lucky you're cute, sweetheart."
Jack's place is almost as familiar as yours now. He watches you saunter around his place, dropping his keys into the dish bowl on the table by the door, place your things on the loveseat before rummaging through his fridge for a beer.
When you reach him where he's seated on his couch, prosthesis set aside to hand him a beer, he gently tugs you onto his lap before popping the tab open for your can first. "Thanks," you hum, taking a sip while he opens his. His arm is strong around your waist and the easy strength he holds for you, the possessive touch he's got whenever you're near... it sparks a flicker of heat inside you and as you turn, straddling his lap to kiss along his jaw. His scruff is rough against your glossy lips but it only has you mewling.
"Bunny…" he groans as his large hand splays along the expanse of your back, supporting your weight while you tip back just enough for him to place his beer behind you on the coffee table. His eyes flutter shut, basking in your sweet kisses, as temptation guides his hand lower to cup your perky ass. It's your moan, drawn out and desperate, that pulls him out of the heat that's settling thick in his head. Reluctantly, his hands rise back up and an indignant whine spills from your throat—
"Jack, why won't you fuck me?"
He nearly chokes on his spit at your question and when he looks up, you look adorably put out, lower lip jutting out. Your gaze is glassy, lips kiss-swollen. His thumb comes up, presses against your mouth to drag down your lip slowly. "Bunny, why do you think I won't fuck you?"
"You— you've only ever kissed me. You've only liked my non-sexual content. You—"
"Baby," he shushes you gently, releases your lip to cradle your jaw. "It's not that I'm uninterested in you. Trust me— I am. I just didn't want you to think this was all some ploy to just get you in bed with me."
Another whine rises up within you. "But it's been months, Jack."
"Sweetheart, I wanted to make sure you know I was serious. It wasn't just for you, but for me, too. Had to make it known to you that I'm here for the long haul," he murmurs and when you nod in understanding, his lips find yours for a kiss that's got you clenching your thighs. Your back arches back when he leans further in, lips parting to let his tongue probe against yours.
"Gonna… mm— fuck me now?" You pant against his mouth, lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks when his lips drag down your neck to mark your collarbone with marks.
His chuckle is raspy against your skin. "I'm gonna make love to you, bunny. Come on—"
"Why not here?" You whimper, giving your hips a slow roll against his. You can feel his bulge, stiff through his jeans, against your panties.
"I'm not having you on my couch, darling. Not for our first time. We can defile the rest of my house later."
You giggle as you reluctantly get to your feet, knees nearly knocking together while Jack goes for his crutches. "Do you promise?"
"I promise," he chuckles, following you into his bedroom. His mouth goes dry, easy dominance deflating momentarily when he watches you crawl onto the center of his bed, your sundress hemline rucked up to reveal the pretty white lace panties you've got on beneath. His eyes follow the fabric, disappearing in between your ass cheeks, before they flit back up when you turn and lean against his headboard.
You're in your doll mindset now, your hands dancing across your body to give him a show. But while your videos are choreographed, almost clinical to a certain degree to entertain an audience, Jack sees the way your hand trembles just before you drag the neckline of your dress down, tempting him to just rip the fabric off you.
But he's a patient man, understands that this is just as much for you as it is for him. He can see the way your arousal heightens with each teasing touch. "Take it off for me, bunny, just for me."
He must've said the right thing because a broken moan spills from your lips, nodding as you cross your arms and drag the hem of your dress up to reveal a matching bralette to your panties. The bed dips beneath his weight when he joins you, settling down onto the mattress just as you toss a leg over to straddle his waist again.
"Ah, shit," he hisses when he glances down, sees the way the fabric of your panties are nearly translucent with your slick. His hand creeps down to rub your swollen clit through the damp fabric, tilting his head back up to watch your reaction. He doesn't shut his eyes when your open mouth drags along his cheek, a poor approximation of a kiss as you shut your eyes to savor the way his fingers deftly tug the panties aside to dip within your folds. A pathetic moan escapes you. "This all for me, bunny?"
"Mhm, yes—"
"She's drippin' just for me, fuck," he chuckles as his middle finger teases your entrance, enamored by the way your hips rock clumsily against your palm. "Mm, look at that."
It's filthy, the way Jack leans back against the headboard with his head ducked down to watch your cunt practically suck in his fingers, his other hand keeping your panties tugged aside for his viewing. "Please, I wanna feel you," you beg, voice hitching high in a way he's never heard before.
"You sound so sweet for me, bunny," he murmurs as he redraws his fingers from you, tasting you with a voracity that makes you even wetter. "You've been so good for me, pretty girl, don't worry… I'll give you what you want."
And while Jack sounds so benevolent, your lips finding his in a grateful kiss before you're scrambling off to lay on your back under his guidance while he undresses next, it's all a facade to conceal the way he's barely able to hold it together now that he's got you: heart, soul, and now body.
He settles on top of you, lips finding your shoulder for a brief moment of sweet affection despite the filth that's fallen from his lips from earlier, and makes a home between your thighs. You might've teased him for picking missionary as your first time, giggle at how insistent he is on keeping things old fashioned despite your unorthodox relationship, but then the tip of his cock prods against your entrance, mouth dropping slightly as your head falls back against the pillows— he's huge.
"Ngh— Jack…" you whimper as the stretch leans more towards pain than pleasure at first, eyes shut as you feel Jack's lips skim across the side of your neck. "S'too big…"
His chest rumbling, he chuckles in your ear, nips at your jugular. "Don't worry, bunny. I can make it fit."
Lust and adoration intertwine in your core as he pushes deeper, your walls adjusting for his girth while your nails dig into his freckled shoulders. After what feels like an eternity, Jack's fully sheathed in you, pressing kisses along your brow and temple.
"So fuckin' tight—" he grunts, attempting a shallow thrust that has you two moaning in unison. "You ready for me, bunny? Gonna start movin'."
You feel absolutely full, can feel Jack in your gut, but you nod, legs hooking around his waist. "Ready," you manage to say, releasing one shoulder to cradle his jaw for a searing kiss. He pulls out and thrusts in without hesitation, his lips parting for his tongue to taste yours. The two of you make out like teenagers, sloppy and uncoordinated, while his cock drives into you slowly, your body shifting higher up the bed until his hand comes up to cradle the top of your head before it hits the headboard.
He swallows your moans with a grunt of his own, tasting your desperation with each rock of his hips. But when his lungs start to burn for oxygen, he reluctantly pulls back only to be rewarded with your vocal cries for more. He's heard your noises before, almost four million people have, but he's never witnessed you like this, so gorgeously needy on his cock, your moans more like broken whimpers and hiccups interlaced with his name. So unbelievably vulnerable, laid out just for him.
It has him driving his cock even deeper into you, eager to hear the way your mouth sounds around his name whenever he hits that specific spot.
"No, no, no— don't get shy on me now, bunny," he coos, dropping a hand to cup your cheek to guide your eyes on him. "You sound so sweet for me, let me hear you…"
His words elicit another gasp of his name as one particular thrust has you seeing stars, the coil in your core tightening as his hand comes down to rub your clit in time with each rock of his hips. He can feel his own climax but he keeps it at bay, laser focused on your own pleasure.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck… Jack—!" You wail as the coil snaps, his cock buried to the hilt before he fucks you slow and deep to carry you through your climax. With you taken care of, he chases after his pleasure next, hips snapping against yours in a brutal pace that has your toes curling in sweet ecstasy.
His forehead drops to rest on yours, breaths mingling while his own moans pitch into a needier grunt, veering into whimpers while he talks you through it. "Feels so fuckin' good, bunny… s'like your pretty cunt was made just for me… oh fuck— she's just sucking me in," he pants.
The string of dirty talk kickstarts something inside you and you feel that familiar tightness in your core, hiccuping moans bubbling past your kiss-swollen lips as he drives his cock deeper. "Jack— 'm… hah— gonna cum—!"
"Yeah?" He huffs, a cocky half-grin in his lips as he drags his scruffy jaw along your cheek. "Gonna give me another, bunny? Come on… gimme one more," he coos while his pace starts to falter, losing its steady rhythm as he gets closer and closer to his own edge.
When you cum for the second time, he's quick to follow right after, your convulsing walls eliciting his own release right into your waiting cunt. A part of him panics — he didn't wear a condom nor did you say anything about being on any kind of contraceptive — but he feels your heels dig into his lower spine to keep him from moving. The concern still sits at the back of his mind but he lets himself get lost in the sensation of finishing inside you, his thrusts slowing to a halt before carefully laying on you.
"Holy shit," you breathe out, a blissful smile on your lips with your eyes fluttering shut. When Jack pulls out, you offer a slight wince but curl onto his chest as he rolls over onto his back. Your head nestles onto his pec, his arm winding around your bare shoulders. When you turn your head to kiss his freckled collarbone, he chuckles and squeezes you gently.
Jack hums wordlessly. Basking in the moment, he lets himself sink into the warmth of you beside him. There really isn't any need to talk for now and the both of you would've been content to let the moment settle in…
Had it not been for your growling stomach.
His laughter cuts through your embarrased whine, rolling over to hide your face into his chest completely. "Don't laugh—" you pout but he just jostles you gently, gets you to look up at him where he can kiss your nose.
"Stay here, I'll clean you up first," he promises and rolls out of bed. Grabbing his crutches, he heads over to his attached bathroom for a warm, dampened towelette. He cleans you between the thighs, gentle and careful as he drops a kiss to your knee. "About earlier—"
"I'm clean," you interject. "I don't have any partners and I'm on the pill."
He nods, relieved as he tosses the towelette into his laundry basket. "I'm clean, too. I haven't… not since my late wife."
Your smile is heartachingly tender. He's spoken about his late wife before, wears the ring on a chain close to his heart, and how he and his therapist have decided that he's in the right place to move on.
"We can both get tested if you want," you offer. "I don't want anyone else but you."
It's an invitation to a conversation he's been waiting on for a month now and he dives right in. The bed dips as he sits at the edge, a warm and calloused hand on your thigh. "I only want you, bunny. That's not ever gonna change." He cups your jaw, warm and possessive in a way that'll never fail to light a fire in your heart. "Can I be yours, sweetheart?"
You nod with a giggle bursting past your lips. "Yes—! Of course, yes," you swoon with your arms around his neck, his hand releasing your jaw in favor to hug you 'round the waist.
"Yeah?" His pretty crows' feet deepen when he smiles at you, chuckling when you nod again with an eager bob of your head as you gently scratch at his scruffy jaw. "Gonna go steady with me, bunny?"
A laugh escapes you, nose scrunching up at his dated language. "Always and forever, old man."
Although the months you've spent with Jack before the both of you made it official had you feeling like cloud nine, the next following weeks could only be properly labeled as the honeymoon phase now that you're officially his girlfriend. With Jack's night shift schedule and your unorthodox posting timelines, the two of you manage to make it work.
Speaking of work, you had been adamant that because he's your boyfriend, you had no plans on stopping the camgirl site and told him so the morning after. Jack had blinked and nodded as if it'd been something he had already expected. His only caveat was that you'd at least make your new relationship status public knowledge to your subscribers whether it's as simple as a status post on your website. You went above and beyond by posting a selfie with Jack's arm around your neck, his bicep smushing your cheeks while you grinned dopily at the camera.
While your followers had fawned over your new man, occasionally posting faceless boyfriend pics of Jack, you made sure to keep his identity secret as your highest priority whenever he'd make some sort of cameo in your SFW videos.
"Babe, you gotta stop jumping in the frame, I'll have to edit you out—!" You laugh in your most current video, holding out the camera high and up just enough to capture your hand crooked around Jack's arm as the two of you walk the aisles of the farmer's market.
He chuckles and dutifully stops ducking his head. "Just move the camera when I kiss your cheek, bunny. And even if my face shows, I thought you could just slap on an emoji or something on my face when your assistant edits them."
The camera captures the way you look up, a playfully deadpan expression on your features. "You wanna put more work on Francine?"
"You're right, I'll behave."
The clip ends there and the views skyrocket, nearly matching your most infamous videos on your NSFW side. It's gotten so popular that Victoria's talking about it during work hours, in awe of the fact that she's mutuals with you despite the fact that she's gone viral on Tiktok herself.
For once the pitt has a handle on chairs and triage, allowing Victoria to show Dennis her newest editing style, inspired by Doll's Corner. He perks up, recognizes the voice through the walls of the apartment he shares with Trinity.
"Oh, I think Santos is also subscribed to her," he grins.
Victoria frowns. "Subscribed…? Her website's free, Dennis."
Trinity walks past before circling back. "What's free?"
"Oh, um— Doll's corner." Victoria holds out her phone, displaying your instagram profile. "She has her own website but Dennis mentioned that you're subscribed to her…?"
"She avoids her SFW content, probably because it'd feed the parasocialism since Doll seems to be exactly her type," he grins, always eager to have something over his lovable but prickly roommate.
"She's not my type, she's just hot—"
"Hold on, what do you mean SFW content? Isn't all her stuff SFW…?" Victoria cuts in, eyes wide as she scrolls up and down the webpage. Trinity snatches the phone and taps the top right menu button of the page, scrolls towards the 'PRICING' tab before offering the phone back.
Dennis interrupts. "She doesn't really advertise her adult content, it's more of a… if-you-know-you-know situation. You're cool with that, right?"
Victoria swallows, goes through the 'free' content of your camgirl side while her mind races with the blurred and suggestive content, before nodding with a wide-eyed grin. "'Course I'm cool with it. Just— I didn't expect it. Yeah, I'm cool. Dennis, are you subscribed—?"
"No, no—" Dennis startles with a flustered laugh. "It's not really my thing, but I know Dr. Ellis had found her account too. She's popular."
The youngest MS4 merely nods and wanders off, looking very scandalized. Dennis and Trinity watch her go before shrugging, unaware that the true reason why Victoria's so shocked is that she had suspected Doll's newest boyfriend might be Dr. Jack Abbot.
Your SFW content views continue to skyrocket (especially the shortform video where you had Jack flex his bicep for the camera before placing a piece of dessert on top, eating right off his freckled arm before he's pulling you out of frame for a kiss).
There's already been a few questions asking if your boyfriend (lovingly dubbed as Mr. Doll by your subscribers) would ever participate in your content. You haven't gotten around to answering them, leaving them untouched as you post your usual photos and videos for your loyal subscribers.
The truth is, you aren't even sure how to bring up the topic to Jack nor would you know how to figure out the logistics of including your boyfriend without jeopardizing his identity. But the problem is solved a week later where you're in your bedroom, filming a toy haul with a new PR package from a sex toy company.
You're in the throes of your orgasm, nothing on but a bunny tail plug nestled in your ass while you ride a massive silicone pink dildo with some device that literally creampies you. You've got your back to the camera, the cute plug front and center, when your knees drop and you bottom out on the toy with a final moan.
You'd been so lost in your 'review' that you didn't realize Jack had come by early, leaning against the doorway with a dark little grin that you've come to associate with 'playtime'.
"Havin' fun, bunny?" he asks, the camera picking up on his voice sounding like velvet over gravel.
Your giggle is breathy and sweet. The camera captures the way your neck arches, looking over your shoulder to meet Jack's eyes who stays firmly out of the shot. "Mhm, I am."
"Did that thing… finish in you?" When you give him another resounding giggle and nod, he shakes his head with a fond chuckle. "I'll give you five minutes to catch your breath before it's my turn, sweetheart."
When you'd given the video to Francine, your assistant, to edit, she had sent over the last clip where Jack had come in and asked if you wanted it out. Deciding that it seems safe enough to keep since he's not even within the frame and that people have heard his voice before, you told Francine to keep it in.
Later that night, you receive an tsunami of positive comments, most of them fawning over the way Mr. Doll seems to adore you even while making content for the rest of your depraved audience.
@.pearlessance: holy shit HIS VOICE???
@.deathreverse: i bet he talks you through it omfg
@.mariasont: i just KNOW your man is fine
@.enam3l: give us one audio file of him cumming PLEASE
You're wrapped up in Jack's arms later that evening, your back settled against his chest as you read over the comments with him. He's got his strong arms around your middle, lazy kisses pressed to your bare shoulder as the cold edge of his readers bump along your jaw.
"You're stealing my fans, Jack."
"No, they like the way I make you flustered, bunny. There's a difference."
"Maybe," you hum as you swap apps to your instagram, scrolling mindlessly before you pause. "Jack?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Would you… want to be in my cam videos? Just as your voice," you clarify with a shy smile. The curve of his smile is pressed against your neck.
"I'd be honored," he croons. "Maybe you could play with yourself for the camera, let me talk you through your orgasms."
Your cheeks burn, thighs clenching as you rub them together. "Mhm."
"Use your words, bunny."
"I'd like that a lot, sir."
That had been a new revelation. You've called Jack 'daddy' jokingly outside of the bedroom before, just something to steal his attention whenever you're particularly needy (whether it's for something sexual or not). And while he liked it, judging by the fond and flustered grin on his lips, he had sat you down and told you what title actually does it for him.
Sir.
It never did anything for you, thought it might've been too simple or even too formal to ever be used in bed, but it fits Jack perfectly. An older man with his experience and status along with a natural inclination to dominance doesn't need something as desperate as 'daddy' to insert control in the bedroom.
"Good girl," he rasps and takes your chin to turn your head, planting a heated kiss onto your lips. "How about we pick a day for it, hm? Put it on your calendar."
When you nod again, he chuckles and nips at your lower lip. "Can we do it now?"
Despite your eagerness, you and Jack had decided on a Sunday evening the following week, opting for a pre-recorded video rather than a live show.
Like always, you've got your tripod set up at the foot of your bed with you front and center. You have mood lighting set up, nothing too garish and bright and classically 'porno' but rather something warm to get you comfortable. The only difference is Jack seated behind the camera, manspreading like it's his fucking job in those grey sweats you've moaned about a week ago.
"You ready, baby?" Jack's voice is caramel sweet but you know it'll dip lower when he hits the record button. When you give a nod, he reaches up to press the button.
The red light blinks at you but Jack clears his throat. "Eyes on me, bunny."
Your gaze is magnetized to your boyfriend's, feeling deliciously exposed with the way his eyes drink you in. Tonight, you've got on a lingerie set he had bought just for you: a babydoll pink bralette with a matching thong and garters. In the hollow of your neck is a delicate, cursive 'j' on a chain.
"You look gorgeous, sit up for me, sweetheart. Let the camera see your new outfit," he drawls lazily and your eyes drop down to his large hand, gripping his bulge through the sweats.
The camera captures the way you look behind it, your gaze unfocused and your cheeks flustered, but you never disobey sir's words as you sit up on your knees. Your hands dance along the lacy straps, brushing across the sheer panels that hold up your tits. Jack's attention is fixed on you, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he strokes himself through his sweatpants.
"That's it, bunny. Play with those pretty titties for the camera," Jack murmurs.
He continues to take the lead and it's almost alarming at how good he is, how easy it is for you to completely forget you're still filming. He eventually has you propped up against your mountain of pillows, knees bent and thighs spread out.
"Add another finger for me, bunny."
You've already got two in, your middle and your ring finger, while your other hand is groping at your exposed tit. "Sir, I can't—"
"Sure you can, pretty girl. You've taken my cock, haven't you?" Jack chuckles meanly, his hand tugging at his cock now. Your eyes are locked on his length and he capitalizes on it, rubbing his thumb across his tip.
"Yes, but—"
"Come on, bunny, one more. You can do it."
The camera captures the way you whimper, gasping around nothing when you add your index finger into your sopping cunt. Even the lighting catches the shine of your slick against your inner thighs; Jack's got you edging yourself and you're ready to beg.
The stretch burns in the best way, not in the same breadth as Jack's cock, but enough that it has you plunging your fingers so fast that it sounds lewd against the camera.
"Can I cum, sir, please—" You choke out, hand beginning to cramp from the speed and angle you have that Jack notices it immediately. If you've been a bit less preoccupied with your own impending orgasm, you would've noticed that your boyfriend had been staving off his own climax, gripping the base of his length until he's finally given you permission.
Behind the camera, he continues to talk you through it but his voice isn't as measured, it's strained and a tad bit pitchy — his tell-tale sign that he's about to cum soon.
"Cum for me, bunny, let me see you make a mess on yourself," he coaxes and once you take the final fall, he's quick to follow, white ropes of his release painting his thighs and the floor beneath. "So fuckin' hot, Jesus Christ—"
Your cramping hand drops from between your legs as you slump against the pillows completely, legs splayed out for the camera to watch the way your clit throbs from the overstimulation. Jack tucks himself back in and takes the camera, detaches it from the tripod mount to approach your bedside.
"Let's see the mess you made, gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice wrecked as he props a knee up to hover above your overstimulated frame. You giggle up at the camera, taking his free hand (the same one that had been wrapped around his cock moments ago) and gently lick the traces of his release clean off his fingers. He curses under his breath before he affectionately pinches your chin. It elicits a soft laugh from you and the look you give him beyond the camera does something to his chest, a word that tastes something sticky sweet (and maybe starts with the letter 'L'), that he suddenly wishes this part is just for him.
But he moves lower, the camera panning down to where your panties are tugged loosely aside where your puffy, slick cunt is on display. It's lewd and nasty, the way his free hand strokes through your folds before he's bringing up his fingers for a taste. The satisfactory moan he lets out sends a thrill up your spine.
His hand travels to the swell of your thigh, to your hip where he tugs your panties off. The camera jostles as he shoves the soiled, lacy fabric into the back pocket of his pants, before he pulls away.
"I think your fans earned enough of you. Say goodbye, bunny, it's my turn for a taste."
The last thing the camera sees is a wave of your hand before it's set aside roughly, filming your ceiling and capturing the way your giggle melts into a breathy moan before the video and audio cuts.
—
"So when are we meeting the lucky lady?"
The sun sits high as Jack lounges on the roof on a chair that he's brought up a few months back. Robby had brought his own chair a week later, pleased to see his best friend behind the railing this time. The two are relaxing, stealing a few moments of solitude before handoffs are completed.
"Not yet," Jack grunts as he takes a sip of the pressed juice you've packed for him. You've been given a massive PR package of some health brand and he'd been willing to take half of the crate off your hands. "Soon."
Robby gives him a sidelong glance. "Are you ashamed of her or somethin'?"
"No. No, definitely not. I just want to keep her to myself a bit longer before you and Peaches poach her off me." Jack chuckles. "Relax, brother. I'll bring her around soon."
"Alright, I'm holding you to that," Robby chortles before he gets to his feet, back cracking while he stretches. "Go home, Abbot."
Before, Jack would've kneedled, maybe dragged his feet a bit longer to keep from returning to an empty house. He's always craved company, even moreso at the passing of his late wife. But this time, he grabs his backpack and rucks it over his shoulder, offering a casual wave of his hand.
"Ain't gotta tell me twice. I got a pretty girl waiting for me at home."
—
Later that evening, Victoria Javadi's sitting outside on the benches with the rest of day shift, drinking a beer she hopes would taste better after every sip. After turning twenty one, she still didn't see the appeal of drinking beer but after her sneaking suspicion that her night shift attending might be dating the influencer she's admired for so long, she realizes she might need it.
Her thumb punches the 'low' volume button on the side of her phone as she pulls up your tiktok account. Your account has only grown since you've started including your mystery man; the tiktok trends that center around playful pranks or cute videos snipped from longer vlogs with your partner are the ones that hit a million views first.
She takes a deep breath and taps your most recent one, a clip that looks like it had been cut from your last get-ready-with-me vlog, judging by the outfit you have on. You greet the camera as usual, holding out two different purses before leaning this way and that to get all angles of your outfit. Your attention is stolen, however, when the voice of 'Mr. Doll' cuts in from behind the camera.
"You ready, sweetheart?"
You pout, your gaze looking beyond the camera. "I don't know which bag to bring."
"What do you need a bag for?"
"My lip gloss…" you reply sheepishly and a throaty chuckle from Mr. Doll follows, soft and fond.
"The second one, bunny. Come on, let's go."
The video loops and Victoria lets it play before her thumb rewinds the video back herself, listening to that voice before her gasp gets caught in her throat.
Mr. Doll is Jack Abbot.
—
In another apartment across the city, Trinity takes advantage of the empty home and hunkers down in bed. It's a guilty pleasure, she knows, but with the stress of residency along with Garcia's emotional unavailability, she figures a bit of her wage going to one of the most hottest camgirls couldn't be the worst vice in the world.
She scrolls through the paid content of yours with a soft sigh, sinking deeper into her mattress before opting for one of the newer POV content. It's a new series you've started, something that kicked up in popularity from a couple weeks ago when your partner had taken the camera to film you himself after he talked you through your orgasm.
Trinity hasn't had the chance to check it out herself, a bit hesitant considering the POV shots may ick her out if she actually sees a penis when she's been thinking of inserting herself as the viewer on top of you. But curiosity kicks in as she plays the most recent one, heat simmering low in her core as it starts out with you undressing as always, straddling your partner this time as he films you from below.
"I can feel you—" you gasp, your hands braced on the stomach beneath you as it pushes your tits together. Your hips roll, sinfully smooth while the strap of your sheer tanktop drops off one shoulder. It keeps falling, revealing a single breast, but you pay it no mind, too busy dry-humping the body beneath you.
"You're soaked for me, bunny… am I gonna feel you through my boxers?" The man grunts and something tugs at the back of Trinity's mind, a sick sense of deja vu or familiarity. She ignores it, eyes straining to try and focus only on you.
You giggle. "Maybe… can't help it, daddy gets me so wet—" You pause, eyes wide at your little slip.
"'Daddy'?" The familiar male voice repeats and the camera catches the man's hands travel up, sliding between the valley of your breasts to curl around your throat possessively. A ditzy grin spreads across your lips, eyes nearly rolling back as you lean your neck forwards into his palm.. "Is that my name now, bunny? Want me to be your daddy?"
The video plays on but Trinity couldn't focus, not when horror sets in alongside disgust and mortification when her brain finally places where she's heard that voice before. Once it clicks, she gags and pauses the video, tosses her phone across the room as full-body shudders wrack her whole frame.
When Dennis comes home late, it's to find Trinity on the couch, spacing out with a security blanket swaddling her prone frame. Panic sets in and he rushes forward, his fist rubbing her chest out of habit tp see if there's any response to pain—
"Ow, fuckin' quit it—!" Trinity snaps, smacking his hand away as she glares up at him.
He lets out a sigh of relief before crossing his arms. "What the hell happened to you? Was it Garcia—"
"No." A haunted look passes over his roommate's eyes. "Worse. I think I found Dr. Abbot's girlfriend."
—
With your six-month-iversary fast approaching, you and Jack are running out of excuses to keep putting off the inevitable 'meeting of the friends' ceremony. Your own friends are eager to meet the older man that's been starring in most of your content and Robby's starting to threaten break-ins and impromptu dinners if he doesn't get to meet the woman that's made his best friend so happy.
It isn't that you're scared Jack's friends and colleagues won't like you or that he's ashamed of you— it's just the fact that the two of you are becoming grossly codependent, refusing to let the other one out of each other's sight for too long. Inviting friends into your circle would only lessen the amount of time you two have for each other and the two of you would much rather prefer extending your honeymoon period first.
Unfortunately, the decision is taken out of yours and Jack's hands when you wake in the morning to an abnormal amount of bleeding. Your period's supposed to start soon but with the sudden heavy flow and the sharp pain in your abdominal, fear licks up your spine.
Something isn't right.
You carefully bring yourself out of Jack's bed, whimpering at the massive stain you've left, before hobbling over to your phone. What awful timing— your actual doctor boyfriend isn't in to check you out himself but rather he's stuck at the ER working a double.
With the amount of time you've spent with Jack, he's ingrained it into you to always listen to your body, to get help rather than attempting to self-diagnose or to undermine your pain level, so you call 9-1-1 with a shaky voice.
When the operator confirms that an ambulance is on the way, you remember to add one final thing: "Can you take me to PTMC, please?"
—
"Female, mid to late 20s, heavy vaginal bleeding and sharp abdominal pain. Reports of nausea and vomiting with a fever of 102 degrees," the EMT barks out, pushing your gurney through the ambulance bay as the cacophany of the emergency department greets you. When the ambulance had arrived at Jack's place, you'd been barely able to stand upright, chills racking your frame.
Your mind is fuzzy, the fluorescent lights above you spinning like soup while you're pushed into an available room. A couple of nurses trail after a doctor, a penlight flashing in your eyes as said doctor introduces herself.
"Hi, I'm Dr. King, are you taking any kind of birth control or—"
"My IUD," you whimper, eyes squeezing shut as you try to fight through the pain that seems to steadily increase with each passing moment. "Is it—I heard it can be displaced?"
Fast paced conversation erupts around you, swapping differentials and possible diagnoses before scissors are cutting through your pajamas to reveal your bloody panties. A hand presses against your upper abdomen, a gentle palpating movement that tears out a cry of pain from you.
"Order a CT," a doctor barks. "Can't do much until we see what's going on in there."
Dr. King nods and promises to take care of you after you've been pushed some painkillers to tide you over until it's your turn. As you get wheeled off, she notices a delicate cursive 'j' tattooed right above your hip bone.
—
After some time, you're dressed in a hospital gown, waiting for your CT results as the painkillers they've given you keep the pain at bay for the meantime. Your phone sits in your lap, screen on to your text thread with Jack. You know he's somewhere in the department, most likely saving lives, but your texts are unread and it's gnawing at the pit of your stomach.
"Hi," a voice calls out and it's a sweet looking young man, around your age as he rubs in the hand sanitizer. "I'm Dr. Whitaker. We have your CT results and it looks like a displaced IUD. Did anything happen recently or…?"
Your cheeks burn bright red. "Um. Rough sex, I guess?"
Dr. Whitaker's face colors red as well. "Oh—! Um, well, yeah. That'll do it. The CT scans revealed some slight perforation in your uterine lining so we'll go ahead and get that out for you, it'd be a minor procedure so you'll be up and walking in just a few hours."
"Great, thank you," you sigh in quiet relief but as you ponder something, Whitaker sticks around, like he knows you've got a request. "Um, is there a Dr. Abbot in?"
He nods. "Yeah, he's one of my attendings. Has he treated you before?"
"No, actually—"
"Bunny—?!" The curtains slide open and Jack rushes in, concern choking up his syllables when he sees you looking slightly gaunt and exhausted in a hospital gown. Dennis' eyes widen as he steps aside; he's never seen his attending look so disheveled and unkempt. "What happened?"
"Jack, I'm fine, it was my IUD," you explain, looking up while he checks over your vitals. "It… got displaced. I wonder whose fault is that." Your dry tone has Jack looking sheepish and Whitaker looking everywhere but the both of you. It's already taken all of his professionalism to keep from reacting when he recognized you as Trinity's past obsession. She still wouldn't say why she unsubscribed until he realizes the secret boyfriend is Dr. Abbot.
"Sorry, sweetheart," Jack murmurs into your hair as he kisses your forehead. "I'll make sure they'll bump you forward so you can get out of here faster."
You nod and your lower lip juts out, slipping into that sweet mindset that Jack can't get enough of; cotton candy delicate and adorably delectable. "Promise?"
"Yeah, I promise, bunny." His voice takes on that gravelly tone that you've become obsessed with and when you tip your head up, he closes the distance and kisses you briefly.
At that moment, the curtain slides open again. "Whoa— sorry for interrupting, folks." You pull away, fiery cheeks on display, to see another taller doctor enter. "Dr. Whitaker, can you go help Dr. Santos in Central 13? I'm Dr. Robinavitch, you can call me Dr. Robby. You must be the infamous 'Bunny'."
Jack groans and playfully hides his face into the top of your hair as the name registers as your boyfriend's best friend. You smile prettily and offer your hand to shake when Dr. Robby approaches, giving your name instead. The man seems nice but only Jack has the privilege of calling you 'bunny'. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Robby."
"Just Robby," he insists before he flips through your chart. "Looks like you're up next for the laparascopy. Do I wanna know what happened?"
Your blush deepens. "No, not really. This is an awful first impression."
Robby chuckles, scratches the back of his head. "It's not so bad, all things considered. But now that I finally have both of you here, what do you say to dinner with my partner and I? She's been eager to meet you."
You give Jack a sidelong glance. "Who else did you tell about me?"
"Nearly everyone," Robby cuts in while Jack gives a shrug.
"I didn't give details. I just liked talking about you, sweetheart. That so bad?"
A pleased smile curves upon your lips. "Not at all. I love how obsessed you are with me," you tease. Your boyfriend's eyes roll before patting his friend's chest.
"Alright, come on. Let's get her rolled into the OR so I can take my girl home."
—
As promised, recovery goes by swiftly and a new IUD is put in place. Discharge is expedited when you're dating one of the attendings and soon, Jack's coming into your room with a fresh set of clothes from his locker.
"I liked those panties," you huff as you step into Jack's black sweatpants, leaning against the bed as he kneels down to roll the legs up for you.
When he stands to full height, he helps you into the faded 'ARMY' sweater. "I'll buy you more, bunny." He tugs you in by the waist to steal a few more kisses. "Just glad you're okay. You almost gave me a heart attack when I saw your name on the board."
"Sorry," you pout as Jack sweeps a thumb across your cheekbone. "I tried texting but I—"
"No, baby, you're fine." He hushes you with another soft kiss. "It's good you came in when you did. Come on, I'll take you home."
His arm is thrown around your shoulder as he guides you out through the ambulance bay. The both of you are lost in your own little world, exchanging soft laughter and playful kisses, that you don't see the haunted look in Santos' eyes as she scurries out of the way or Javadi watching in the way someone can't look away from a car crash.
When the ambulance doors shut, Dana leans over the counter to address Robby.
"That the girlfriend?"
"Sure is."
An amused grin curls onto the nurse's lips. "I think I remember her. I see where the nickname 'bunny' comes from."
"What's it mean?"
"I'm not saying a damn thing, Robinavitch."
thank you so much for reading! likes / reblogs / comments are highly appreciated! if you guys want to see more of bunny!reader in this dolly-verse, my inbox is open for blurb requests and ideas! ♡
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