Pervy!robby and pervy!jack and reader going camping in the middle of the forest and and getting a little tipsy and dancing/grinding with reader in between with their hands in her panties and them just peeing and being nasty
this is disgusting give me 20 of it 🤤🤤
cw: piss kink!!
letting jack and robby piss in your mouth
ughh imagine being pressed between them both, jack’s groping ur ass from behind, robby’s in front kissing down your neck with his hand down the front of your panties.
piss kink jack and robby u are so real to me!!!
riding robby and jack’s stood in front of you, he taps your cheek twice and goes “open up, princess.” and you don’t know why but you immediately open your mouth. he’s holding his cock in his hand and aiming it at your open mouth and before you know it your mouth is filling up with his warm piss.
robby can’t believe what he’s seeing, or hearing more likely he’s too focussed on watching the way your ass bounces as your bodies meet. “brother, what the fuck? are you peeing in her mouth? what’s wrong with you, man!?”
jack laughs, “she doesn’t mind, do you sweetheart?” you shake your head, letting the warm stream of piss dribble out of your mouth and down your chest, just getting real dirty with it.
later on when it’s jack’s turn to fuck you, robby needs to piss bad. he tries to excuse himself but jack doesn’t let him. “no need to vandalise a tree, man. perfectly good urinal here.” he laughs, motioning to you with both hands as you mindlessly bounce away on his cock.
robby’s not convinced. “hey, don’t call her that. i-i can’t piss in her mouth, jack, i just can’t.”
“sure you can! she doesn’t mind. she loves it, don’t you, princess?” jack asks, delivering a sharp smack to your ass to grab your attention, you’re so blissed out and buzzy you were barely listening.
“mhm!! pleaseee piss in my mouth, robby. want it so bad.” you pout, giving him your best puppy eyes. he deliberates for a moment or two before finally giving in. i mean, how could he say no when you asked soooo nicely?
“shit. okay. fine. uh, open up then i guess.”
and that’s how michael robinavitch found out he has a piss kink 🙂↕️
so it’s been a while since i’ve written a piss fic so idk what taglist to use. i’ll just use the reg robby one seeing as it isn’t fauxcest. if this isn’t ur cup of tea feel free to ignore <333
want to be added to my regular robby taglist? reply to this post <3
I’m always starving for more andrew cody p!links if you have anything in mind already 🤤
andrew "pope" cody x f!reader ~ p! links 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚
heres your tw, this is LITERALLL 🌽 sooo dni if you dont want to?
must be logged into x/twt to click the links :p
incl ⤿ rough sex, p in v, fingering (f! receiving), overstim, jerking off, titty fuck ayy 😛, just the tip (not clickbait!! :O), breeding kink, anal play
— after all those years locked up, pope's definitely got some pent up frustration, who else better to take it out on?
— pope loves when you get all dolled up for him, what better way to show you his appreciation?
— he'll end up just corrupting you and ruining the very innocence he loves, but it doesn't count if he doesn't actually put it in.. right..?
— sub!pope ~ you love making him beg for it
— pope can't help it, he just loves those pretty tits so much..
— he's too big, so just the tip will do, wont it?
— pope can't help but think how pretty you'd look, swollen with the next baby cody, he just wants to fill you up and make sure you stay that way
— pope makes sure he keeps all of you so pretty for him, and that means all of you
-Tldr: You can't seem to stop having sex dreams that make you needy in your sleep, your best friend's dad, Dr. Abbot, takes care of it for you.
-Summary: You have a problem with your dreams seeping into real life, like sleep walking and talking - Except, you can't seem to stop having sex dreams. While spending the summer at your best friend's house, these dreams slowly turn into nightmares as her father/your summer host, Dr. Jack Abbot, becomes the main star in every one. He starts to take notice when it gets a little out of hand and decides to do something about it.
-Warnings: 21+, Porn w a little plot, Age gap, best friend's dad!Jack, pervy/panty sniffer!Jack, sugar daddy!Jack (if you squint), hypersexual!reader, tension, mutual pining, slowburn-ish, very dubious consent, implied consent, forced dry humping/fingering/oral/piv (unprotected), somnophilia, dumbification, drugging/drink spiking, dirty talk, pet names, size diff (if you squint), a little fluff.
You lounge poolside with a damp towel over your face to keep cool as the hot summer sun beats down on your skin. You strategically picked out your bikini selection so you'd have the least amount of tan lines. When your best friend and college roommate invited you to spend the summer at her dad's beach house of course you said yes. Especially when the memory of her hot dad popped into your head while shopping.
You remember meeting him when he helped you and his daughter move into your apartment last year; he couldn't keep his eyes off you. The second time you met him he was more subtle, respectful and it honestly made your little crush on him so much worse.
You've been here with your best friend for two week so far and it's been the so much fun. Dr. Abbot is a great host. He's been grilling our for dinner a lot and you can't help staring as he works, especially when he takes dips in the pool between checking the meat. Now, you're the one who needs to worry about being subtle. It doesn't help that he has an enormous wet bar and is a master cocktail maker. You seem to be perpetually warm, buzzed and full this summer.
The environment is perfect for relaxing, which is exactly what you need after such a busy and stressful semester. Your best friend lounges next to you, a little table in between your chaises that hold your phones, drink cups, tanning lotion and a speaker that plays a mix of your and your best friend's playlists.
Your friend is napping next to you as she tans her back, resting her head on her overlapped hands. You sip the last of your melted cocktail before putting the towel back over your head and resting your eyes. The little bit of alcohol in your system mixing with the heat from the sun, you start to get drowsy. It doesn't take long for you to find yourself napping as well.
Maybe it's the heat, or the fact that he was swimming laps earlier but Dr. Abbot appears in your dream world, a world that often times blends into the real one for you. It's embarrassing being a sleep talk/walker but it's your life. It's why you're sleeping in the guest room alone this summer, and why your best friend keeps a bell on your door handle in your apartment. But you're not in your apartment, you're in his home.
In your dream, Dr. Abbot finds you on your lounge chair like you are now, he's in his swim trunks - soaking wet. He smiles down at you with those perfect, crooked teeth as he runs his hands through his salt and pepper hair. You look him up and down, sneaking a peak at the bulge in his trunks. You can't help how it makes you gulp and blush.
When your eyes trail back up to his he's smirking, his big hands rest on his hips. "You okay, sweetheart?" He asks, facetiously, titling his head and raising his brows. You nod your head, forcing a gentle smile to hopefully distract him from how your thighs squirm and rub together. He looks down anyway, watching your shiny legs rub together as you try to fight off your arousal.
Dr. Abbot steps closer to your chair, looking down at you with hunger in his eyes. "You look like you need something." He notes, looking down to your core where the fabric of your bikini hides the mess there. You can't help yourself when you spread your legs apart a little, just enough so your thighs aren't touching. His eyes instantly drop, his cheeks turning red as he sets one knee on the chair. "Yeah, sweetheart?" He asks, his brows tilting as he looks between you and your core. You spread your legs more, nodding your head at him with conviction, a small whine escaping you as he sits down.
His large hand grabs your ankle, pulling your leg to stretch over his. He starts massaging your thigh, watching how your bathing suit bottoms shift as you squirm. He can see the shadow of your puffy lips behind the fabric, your untrimmed hairs making him blush.
"Just need a little help, don't you?" He says gently but you can hear the strain in his voice. He teases the fabric of your bikini bottoms, shifting them to the side to expose you to the cooler air. "You're so worked up, huh? You want me to fix it for you?" He continues to taunt you, smiling at the way you squirm.
"Yes, please, Dr. Abbot." You whine, pushing yourself up towards his fingers while batting your eyelashes. He unties your bottoms on either side to fully expose you now. His eyes widen as he pushes your thighs apart, his finger playing in your arousal as it drips out of you.
"Jesus christ, sweetheart, look at you. I haven't even touched you and you're already dripping on my chair." He coos, teasing you just to work you up more. He enjoys watching you squirm, watching as you get more desperate for him.
When he finally sinks a finger inside your needy pussy you collapse back onto the chair, arching up for him. You whine and moan, expressing how relieved you are.
"I think you're ready for another." He says with delight, pushing a second finger inside you. He pumps you full of his fat fingers, his other hand pushing your top out of the way to pinch your nipple.
"Oh, god! Jack, yes!" You cry out, already so close to your orgasm. As soon as you feel you may break past that crest the sensation stops all the sudden.
Dr. Abbot's voice is louder now, not nearly as sweet as your body jolts awake.
"You girls ready for dinner?" His voice shocks you at first, you're disoriented. Your eyes blink open, struggling to adjust as you pull the towel from your face in a hurry. You're blushing as you meet his gaze. It's different now than in your dream but you can't help the aching between your legs.
He smirks at you, his cheeks a tad pink as he looks away from you, to his daughter who's still on her stomach beside you. "Yeah, sure, dad. Wake me up when it's done." She grumbles, waving him off as she dozes. He looks back to you with question in his eyes.
"Yes, please, Dr. Abbot." You nod, holding your, now dry, cooling towel to your chest as you try to hid the thoughts in your head.
"Another cocktail too?" He offers, still smiling at you. You nod, matching his smile as you wipe the sweat from your forehead. "Here." He reaches his hand out to you for the towel, so you let him take it. He walks it over to the pool, dipping it in the water before ringing it out real good and handing it back to you. You watch his muscles flex and the water drip down his forearms, it's making you wet.
The left over effects from your dream making it hard to stop your body from reacting to him. As you take the towel back from him his eyes drop between your legs, his breath gets hitched and his cheeks flush as deep as yours.
Your gaze drops down to see where he's looking and you see the creamy, white mess leaking from your pussy has soaked all the way through your bottoms. You cough a little like a distraction, quickly draping the towel over yourself to hide.
Internally you're cursing yourself out over it, feeling disgusting about how your body can't seem to help itself. You look back up to Jack with embarrassed eyes as you try to play it off, you resist the urge to apologize. He looks away and pretends he didn't see it but you know better.
"Daddy! I want a cocktail too, please." Your friend cheers from beside you, rolling over so the sun can warm her front. He breaks his attention away from you to smile at his daughter, his face instantly changing to something more paternal.
She always talks about how good of a dad he's been her whole life. You hate yourself for only being able to think about other things he's really good at.
"Of course! Coming right up." He's upbeat as he claps his hands and spins to go back inside. You watch him walk away with heat burning you up from the inside out. You can't believe he'd just caught you having one of your stupid sex dreams.
Your friend looks over to you, her brows creased as she starts to reapply the tanning lotion. "Are you okay, babe?" She asks, leaning towards you a little to catch your gaze.
"Yeah." You huff, crossing your legs to hopefully conceal the mess better.
"What's wrong?" She pushes. You look at her with the same embarrassed face you gave her dad just a moment ago. Her eyes widen and then she looks at you sympathetically. "Did it happen again?" She asks, referring to your dreaming.
You consider her your best friend for many reasons, one of them being her lack of judgment when it comes to your - issues. She's actually been open minded and helpful, like the bell on your door and the crazy huge dildo she got me for your birthday. Nevertheless you feel so ashamed. Mostly because you were dreaming about her father.
You nod your head slowly, hiding your face in the towel as you tuck yourself into a little ball on your chair. "God, it's so embarrassing." You mumble, shaking your head like it'll dispel it from your mind.
"I told you to bring one of your toys with you. You know I don't care what you do in the guest room." She encourages you. You glare over at her, trying not to let it work you up too much. "What?" She shrugs, squeezing more tanning lotion on her hands before switching legs. "I still think that if you try to come once a day maybe dream you won't need it so bad." She explains as she has many times before.
You look at her with knowing eyes, resting your head on your hand on your bent knees. "I - I've been trying that." You admit, feeling like she's the only one who you trust about this. "It's not working."
"You know if I was in your shoes -" She sits up straight, turning to you on her chair to face you as she applies lotion to her arms now. "I'd have one of those vibrating panty things and just wear it to bed." She says like its her best idea yet, and you both laugh out loud.
"You know, I wish - I just wish I had a boyfriend like you, Then I would have someone who could do something about it for me." You babble, looking up to the side as a daydream takes over.
"You mean… like touch you in your sleep?" She asks as if that's such a crazy thing.
"Well, kinda. Like if they can tell I'm having that sort of dream, they would - nevermind." You shrug, shaking your head and trying to laugh it off. "I need to go clean up." You sigh, reaching for a large towel to wrap yourself up in.
Your friend winks at you as you start to walk past her lounger. "The shower head in your bathroom has some fun settings. It's the same as mine. Release some of that stress, babe." She points like she's telling you a secret.
You wink at her, "I know." You whisper, making her giggle before you slip through the open back door into house. You scurry through, passing Dr. Abbot as you enter the bar/living room.
"Your drink, hon." He calls, nodding his head for you to come back as he slides a glass across the bar top towards you. You hesitate on back tracking, the idea of that shower all the sudden seeming necessary to resolve your issue. But when he nods again, giving you a more stern look you know you have to retrieve it.
"Thank you, Dr. Abbot." You smile at him, standing between two bar stools as you pull the glass towards you. He tilts his head down at you, smirking in a way that makes you start dripping again.
"Please, hon, call me Jack." He asks, turning around to fix a second drink.
"Thank you, Jack." You correct yourself. "I was going to shower before dinner." You say as a way to excuse yourself as you start to back away from the bar. Taking your cocktail with you.
"Hurry back, dinner won't be long." He tells you like a gentle warning.
You sip your drink down enough to fast walk up the stairs to your room, throwing your suit and towel in your laundry basket on your way to the en suite bathroom. You're under the stream of hot water as quickly as you can manage, washing up like normal. When your hair and body are properly scrubbed you detach the showerhead and switch it to the heavy steam. Leaning back on the tile wall you spread your legs and aim the stream directly to your clit.
At first you jump, getting used to the pressure and warmth but within seconds your writhing and chasing the orgasm you nearly had in your dream. It feels so mind numbingly good after being so pent up that when your mind wanders back to Dr. Abbot, you don't bother stopping it.
This time he's in the shower with you, sitting down on the little bench, that's in every shower in the house, licking your pussy. In your daydream he's skilled and passionate, looking up at you through his lashes while gripping your ass and devouring your clit.
You come quickly, the build up making your legs shake some and you breathe a sigh of relief when it's over. But as you get out of the tub and start drying off you realize maybe you came too quick. Your cursed body unsatisfied and greedy as the aching return between your legs as you get dressed.
In your frustration you pull out your diary and scribble the date in the corner, deciding that paper is a better place to confide in because it can't judge you.
I wish that I could stop the dreams. But if I can't, if I can't change myself like that then I want someone who can help me. I don't know why it sounds so crazy. If my 'boyfriend' or something saw me sleeping and realized I was having one of those dreams I'd just want them to touch me somehow, maybe the way they usually do when they make me come - if I had a boyfriend. I just can't stop thinking about perfect it would be to wake up from one of those dreams and already be full… maybe I am just too disgusting. I need to get a shrink - and another vibrator.
You toss your journal on your nightstand and decide to head back downstairs for dinner. You're in a fresh bikini and a little mesh cover up as you're sure you'll be back in the pool at some point this evening. You and your friend might as well be mermaids this summer.
When you make it down stairs you find the kitchen and bar empty, so you head back outside to the pool deck. You see Jack and his daughter eating at the umbrella covered table, you join them casually despite the leftover tension in your chest.
"How was your shower?" Your friend asks, giving you a dirty look and you flush immediately. You scowl at her, kicking her heal under the table as you sit down.
"Fine." You huff out, reaching across her for the bottle of wine to pour yourself a glass. "Thank you for dinner, Dr. Abbot." You say softly, glancing over to him where he's sliding a few barbecue ribs onto your plate. He raises a brow at you, you try not to shudder. "Jack, sorry." You correct yourself.
"You're welcome, hon." He nods, returning to the food on his plate now. "We were just discussing new furniture for the apartment. Any input?" He asks, his eyes watching you so deeply you're scared he can read your mind.
"New furniture?" You ask, thinking to yourself how your furniture there is still pretty nice.
"Your roomy here," He says, smiling and nudging his daughters arm. "Said you could stand to update a few things. I thought if you two knew what you wanted we could go pick it out before summer ends. - That way we can have it al moved in on time." He explains and it make you a little wet, which make you hate yourself.
"That's unnecessary but thank you, Jack." You nod at him, looking earnestly at his eyes. You know Jack has money, he pays for your apartment and most of the times your groceries and anything else your roommate puts on her credit card. He spoils his daughter so in turn you get spoiled a little bit too.
"It is." Your friend corrects you, sitting up to join the conversation. "I mean the whole living room needs redone, everything is so out of date…" She goes on explaining all the things she wants to change and her ideas for our makeover. You listen with a smile, admiring her excitement and commitment to the whole thing. Every so often you'd glance over at Jack while she babbles, and he'd look back at you, smiling softly or winking in a friendly way.
He's just so fucking beautiful you wish you could pounce on him.
After dinner you and and your friend hop in the pool while Jack cleans up. You swim laps back and forth, singing along to the music on the speak, discussing bucket list things for next semester. You feel relaxed for a few minutes.
Then Jack comes back out onto the back patio, he's shirtless now, using his crutches to meet us by the pool. He sets them aside and then slides himself into the water, dunking his head to wet his hair. You don't notice you're staring until he smiles at you and you don't look away until he winks. Your attention immediately snaps back to his daughter, she floats around on an inflatable, looking up at the clouds as she talks about the clubs we have to visit before going back to campus.
"Are you girls going out tonight?" He asks, floating close to us. You cling to your friend's floaty, ignoring her when she tries to shoo you off.
"I think so, Daddy. Some of our friends are in town, we're gonna meet up." She tells him, kicking her feet in the water to spin around and face him. "Is that okay?" She asks, not so much for permission as to make sure she's not ruining his plans, if any.
"Of course." He cheers, waving a nonchalant hand at her. "I thought we could do a movie night soon."
"Oh, yes! That would be so much fun, can you make your homemade popcorn, pleeease." She sweet talks him, smiling wide and you can see her charm work on him instantly.
"It wouldn't be movie night without it." He scoffs, pretending to be high and mighty. We all giggle a little bit, your friend kicking water up at Jack. He grumbles before splashing her back, the spray of water hitting you too.
"Hey!" She squeals, kicking harder, earning her another splash from him. She wobbles a little on her floaty, Jack swims close enough to nudge it, sending her flipping upside down. She screams and flails and giggles. You giggle too, watching her struggle to get back up.
He comes after you next and you're not sure what to do, he splashes you in the face to disorient you before grabbing your waist and tickling you.
"Don't run, sweetheart." He whispers, smirking with heat in his gaze.
You're the one screaming now, trying to push his hands away and making a splashing mess in the process. His touch is playful but it makes you blush so hot you dip your head under water to hide.
When you come back up he's thankfully refocused on his daughter, fighting her for her floaty, tickling her until she's teary eyed from laughing so hard. You watch, floating a few feet away, wishing you could join the fun without getting a lady boner for your best friend's dad.
.✦ ݁˖
Jack knew there was something special about you the first time he met you. Helping his daughter and her college best friend move into their apartment should've been an easy task - but he couldn't stop staring at your round ass and plump lips as you worked.
Now, as you relax during your summer break in tiny bikinis next to his pool, drinking his liquor and eating his food, he feels even more depraved. He enjoys being a good host but deep down he's happy to be close to you. And he's been behaving himself for the last couple weeks while you've stayed with him.
Except today something inside him nearly snapped and he knows he's got to get a hold on it. He knows he's too old for you anyways and for gods sake you're his daughter's best friend. - But when he came to check on the two of you during your poolside nap and found you writhing in your sleep - he almost had to walk away. He watched for just a few seconds as your hips shifted and soft moans escaped your mouth from under your towel before speaking loud enough to wake you.
He held it together while talking and refreshing the damp towel you like to keep over your head. His resolve nearly slipped though, when he looked down between your legs on accident and saw a sexy, creamy mess in your bikini bottoms. He had to get away from you before he did something he would regret.
But god if you didn't look absolutely scrumptious in your little bikini, all sweaty from the heat. If it were up to him he would've had you by yourself, licking up the mess between your legs until it was all over his face instead.
He almost lost it again after dinner while swimming in the pool, touching your wet skin, even if it was just to tickle you, had him blushing. He keeps himself composed the entire evening. He distracts himself in his office while you and his daughter get ready for your night out. He drives you to the bar where you're meeting up with your friends, memorizing it well for when he comes to pick you two up in a few hours.
Once he's back in his home alone he's not sure what to do with himself, especially with the fact that he can't get you out of his head. You're haunting him, your smooth skin, the way your little moans sounded, the way you look at him and he's not sure what it means.
Jack decides to round up the laundry, maybe get it done before the nights over so he can have something else occupying his mind. And it works for the most part, all the way up until he's gathering the items from the basket in the guest room. - Your room.
While transferring the dirty laundry he spots the same bikini in his fist that you wore earlier today, the one you made a mess in. He freezes, dropping everything else in his hand as he stares at it intently. Something overtakes him in that moment, he drops the basket holding the rest of the laundry he'd collected, falling onto the bed you've been sleeping in as he fumbles to slide his slacks off.
His cock is already hard and swollen, begging for relief. He brings your dirty bikini bottoms to his nose, taking a deep breath in at the same time he starts pumping a fist around his shaft. A loud groans echo through your room, threatening to haunt you when you return. Your heady, womanly scent infiltrating his airways intoxicates him in a way no alcohol or drug ever could.
Part of him feels disgusted with himself for invading your personal space like this, especially after entrusting him enough to live here and let him provide for you, for the whole summer. But most of him doesn't care because his cock is pulsating in his hand at just the mere scent of your majestic cunt.
He comes all over his stomach moments later, groaning and bucking his hips in the middle of your bed. He imagines filling your pussy up as he finishes, taking another deep inhale of your bottoms to drag it all out.
As he catches his breath he glances to your nightstand, hoping to see a box of tissues or something to clean himself up with. Instead, he sees an open notebook sitting in front of the little bedside lamp. He reaches for it, his brain still loopy and his filter gone. It's open to your journal entry from earlier today and he reads it, his cock managing a half chub as he does.
When he's finished, he cleans himself off in your en suite bathroom and continues on with the laundry. Although, somehow your bikini bottoms don't make it into the washer, they stay tucked safely in Jack's back pocket and then his nightstand.
He put your journal back exactly the way he found it but the contents don't leave his head. He can't seem to stop daydreaming about you all night long. He thinks about the things you could mean, the things you would want.
Every thought that enters his head is more perverted than the last.
.✦ ݁˖
It's movie night and Jack is still fighting with his cock to keep his hands off you. He's only barely holding out though, the high from coming to your scent starting to wear off as he continues to watch you strut around the house.
You, your best friend and Jack all sit on your own couch in the main living area downstairs, the large television playing an older movie you've never seen. It's something Jack picked out and honestly you're not that interested.
You pass the time by stealing glances at him, his gray curls a little tousled from the day, his skin crinkling when he laughs, his neck…his biceps…
After finishing your homemade popcorn that Jack popped over the stove, and the fancy new drink he made, you doze off while scrunched up on the couch you've been on all night.
The movie is nearly over when Jack notices both of you passed out, his daughter snores gently as she faces the back cushion of the couch, while you lay facing the tv with your knees bent.
He makes sure his daughter is covered up well, kissing her forehead goodnight before slowly approaching the couch you're on. You lay in cotton shorts and a matching tank top with embroidered flowers all over it, he think it looks so pretty on you.
You've kicked your blanket down to your feet, your cheeks red and your skin warm to the touch. Jack leans down over the back of the couch to kiss your forehead, promising himself this is the only moment he'll indulge this…fantasy of his.
The heat of your skin surprises him, he pulls back with furrowed brows, looking over your body, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead and then your neck as if checking for a fever.
He's only been taking the occasional shift at the hospital this summer, so he can spend time with his daughter before she goes back to school, but he can't help when his instincts kick in. You don't show any obvious signs of sickness but you're burning up.
It starts to make sense when you fidget under his touch, a small whine escaping your lips. His gaze snaps to your face to see that your eyes are still closed but there's a small crease between your brows. He takes his hand away, worried he's making you stir. He's determined nothing is wrong with you but when he sees your hips shift and wiggle, he thinks maybe there's still something he could do to fix you.
He gently brushes your hair away from your face, petting the side of your head like little touches will help him resist what he truly wants. You whine again, breathing out heavily before sucking in a sharp breath, your hips bucking into nothing.
Jack can't just sit and watch you struggle like this. The memory of your journal entry pops into his head, your dainty handwriting admitting something so filthy and delicious. Jack would never touch someone in their sleep unless it was for medical reasons - or unless they wanted it. And he's pretty certain you do.
But he couldn't quite bring himself to go that far, he'd feel too dirty about it. He watches you a moment more and you seem to settle but it doesn't last. As soon as he thinks it's safe to leave you and go to bed, you buck your hips again, your toes curling in your bunched up socks. He decides he has to do something to help you and if he can't talk himself into touching you himself…
He grabs a stiff throw pillow from the floor where you had kicked it off to get comfy, placing a soft hand on your knee to lift it in the air. When there's enough space he tucks the pillow between your legs, nudging it up to the apex before letting your knee fall back down to lock it in place. While keeping a firm grip on the pillow he also places his hand on your hip, keeping the pressure light as he encourages your hips to move.
You continue breathing heavy, a little moan or squeak leaving your lips every few breaths as Jack forces you to grind on the pillow. Your hips buck on their own too but you're sleeping and you can't keep them coordinated enough to come. So, he does what he can to keep you aligned and steady.
He watches your clothed pussy rub against the pillow, the fabric shifting around enough to tease him with a hint of the skin of your cunt. He resists the urge to strip you naked. You're quiet enough not to disturb his daughter but he has to make sure it stays that way. His cock is so hard he can barely handle it, he feels nearly dizzy as he watches.
"Jack - please," You whisper, raspy and barely coherent but Jack's ears perk up like a dog. His eyes snap to your face in fear that you've woken up. But your eyes are still closed, your body still moving in a way that requires his assistance. So, he assumes you're still asleep.
Then the thought occurs that you're dreaming about him, while humping his decorative pillow as he guides your hips. His tip leaks a little in his pants, his hard length straining against his blue jeans. He ignores it all, focusing on you and your body.
"I got you, sweetheart." He whispers as quiet as he can, leaning closer to your ear as he start nudging the pillow a little harder up into your clit. His aim isn't perfect but there's enough surface area to keep you stimulated. He's not sure you can hear him in your dream state but regardless he feels the need to talk back after you called for him. "Come for me, I know you need it." He adds, somehow quieter than the first time.
He guides your movements, petting the side of your head as he resists the urge to touch you more. You moan a little louder, your hips getting more wild as your body chases that high. Jack moves the pillow back and forth, determined to get you there. You let out a heavy sigh, whimpering and bucking your hips really hard a few more times before collapsing back into a limp, sleepy state.
He removes the pillow from between your legs, gently setting your knee back down. He can't seem to resist the urge; sliding two fingers up the pant leg of your shorts to feel your soaking wet panties. He has to bite his lip to hold in a moan at the feeling of your warm arousal. He wishes more than anything that he could whisk you away to his room and give you an orgasm you'd never stop dreaming about.
But he controls himself, somehow. Jack covers you up with the blanket, lingering a few seconds too long just to watch you sleep. He watches your chest rise and fall, the way your lips part and twitch as you dream. When he finally recedes to his bedroom he touches himself to the thought of the way he touched you. It's the fastest he's come - ever.
.✦ ݁˖
You wake up at the crack of dawn, the early sun shining in through the large windows around the house. The air you breathe in feels cooler than normal and you notice a lack of aching between your legs. You rub your thighs together a little, noticing how out of place your bottoms are and how you're a little sticky.
Did you come in your sleep?
You don't wait around long thinking about it, throwing the blanket off and making your way upstairs for another shower. Your best friend still snoozes on the same couch she was on last night, the blanket wrapped around her head like a babushka. You figure you can be clean and dry by the time Jack has breakfast ready.
Although, on the way to your room you bump into Jack. You stumble but he catches you, his rough hands on your sides as he sets you back into place. The bad habit you have of watching your feet while walking is finally catching up to you.
"I'm so sorry, Dr. Abbot." You say remorsefully, holding his biceps for balance. And lord help you if you don't notice how toned they are.
"It's Jack, sweetheart, how many times do I have to tell you?" He teases, smiling softly as he nudges you back. You let go, realizing all the sudden how long you'd been clinging to him. "And it's okay. - What are you doing up so early?" He asks, looking down at his watch.
You cross your arms over your chest, your feet shuffling beneath you and giving away how nervous you are. Your dream from last night starts seeping into your brain, the memories of Dream Jack bombarding you now that he's here, so close and right after touching you.
"Sorry, Jack. - I'm just going to shower." You shrug, pointing down the hall and looking past him because his eyes are just too intense.
"I was going to get started on breakfast, do want anything specific?" He asks, being the prefect host as always. You almost feel guilty for the nasty things you made him do in your dreams last night. You wish more than anything that you could stop yourself from squirming.
He's just so close in this hallway, you can smell him from here and it makes you want to leap forward and lick a strip up his neck. You wonder to yourself how you're going to get through the next two months here, especially when you're slowly losing your composure around him.
"Umm, no. I'll eat whatever you make. Thank you." You're curt and polite, smiling at him while trying not to blush. He watches you for a moment, his gaze intense as he looks at you from head to toe.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" Jack asks, squinting at you with a trained eye. He surveys you for any obvious signs of something being wrong and finds only your fidgety, flushed body. You tug at the ends of your shorts, afraid he'll somehow be able to tell what's going on between your legs. He watches your hands closely, his pupils dilating as his gaze wanders your thighs.
"Yeah, I uh, I have to pee." You blurt out, which isn't a total lie but now you're even more embarrassed. He bows his head, stepping to the side and motioning you to pass him.
You both smile and glance awkwardly as you pass him. You walk a few steps before looking back to find him watching you, something curious in his gaze. You shuffle a few more steps forward and he doesn't look away, it gives you chills.
You giggle a little bit, diffusing the tension your mind has made up between the two of you. "What?" You ask, hoping the dim hallway hides your blush.
He scratches his head, his beefy bicep flexing and it makes you gulp. "Did you have any weird dreams last night?" He asks, seeming so casual about it that it doesn't catch you off guard right away. But then it hits you-
"No, sir." You shake your head, gulping again to try and reverse the dryness in your throat. "Why?" You ask, trying to mimic his casualness and failing as fear sinks in. Fear of him catching you, not once but twice, while having a sex dream - about him.
"I uh, I thought I heard you say something last night before I went to bed." He shakes his head as if shaking off the memory, sighing heavily before chuckling.
"I do that sometimes." You're frozen in your spot, waiting for him to call you out, to say something about how disgusting you are. But he doesn't. "W-What did I say?" You dare ask, breaking the silence if nothing else.
"I couldn't tell." He shrugs, giving me a tight lipped, faux frown. You nod. It's awkward again. "Go." He waves you away. "Go, pee. - and shower. I'll see you at breakfast."
"See you." You smile sheepishly before rushing to lock yourself away.
.✦ ݁˖
You sit at the bar while music bumps low from behind, sipping on a watered down drink and feeling a little miserable.
Your friend decided to throw a party tonight and you're realizing she's much more popular than you thought. Yeah, sometimes you have to share her on the weekends but tonight was a lot. There's so many people, most of them you don't know and the ones you do don't stimulate your senses the right way.
You've made your rounds, danced with a few people, took shots, told stories, swam laps - but now you're bored and down about yourself. Maybe it's because you've barely been sleeping, so scared to have another uncontrollable dream. You've been napping here and there when you can, but you've been out almost every night this week. It seems your friend has reached the part of summer where she parties and drinks instead of tans and sips.
Which you're fine with, but you've been falling asleep in each other's rooms or in common areas, because of how late you're getting home. And you're so terrified of having something happen in front of her. So, you lay with your eyes shut and daydream or scroll on your phone until breakfast.
Tonight you're supposed to be a good co-host, and you were for the first two hours, now you're inside sulking alone. You're sleepy and horny, a combination that is literally your worst nightmare. The ache between your legs never goes away completely, it's a constant reminder of how perverted you are. How you're never satisfied, no matter how many times you come or how hard.
"Need a refill?" Jack's voice startles you, you jump a little, sitting up straight as your eyes land on him.
"Yes, please." You nod, catching your breath and sliding your glass to him over the bar. He's in jeans and a t-shirt, basic but he makes it look so sexy. You're starting to worry maybe drinking in front of him isn't a good idea. You're already drunk and shifting your thighs together.
"You been doing okay?" Jack asks, glancing over his shoulder a he pulls liquor bottles off the shelves.
"Yeah." You nod, kicking your feet and pulling your towel tighter as you start to feel chilly. Jack quickly concocts a drink that's mostly vodka, sliding it back to you with uncertain eyes. He looks at you with something reminiscent of worry.
"Are you sure?" He pushes gently, leaning down on his elbows in front of you. You can see him well when he's this close, the silver stubble on his chin and the way his eyes glow. You're not sure what you feel other than warm as you take a big gulp from your cup, wincing a little from the bitterness. "Have you been sleeping?" He continues when you don't answer him.
"Why are you asking me that?" You huff, rolling your eyes and leaning back in your chair, away from him. If only because you need the distance from him to feel sane.
"You have bags under your eyes." He says bluntly.
You scoff, looking at him like you're offended and maybe you are a little bit. Mostly because you want him to think you're pretty, even when you're tired.
"Wow, thank you, Dr. Abbot." You give him a sarcastic smile before sliding out of your chair. You stumble a little bit, swiping your drink from the bar.
"Sweetheart, that's not what I meant." He sighs, sounding a tad exasperated. You hear his heavy footsteps before you feel his large hand around your arm. He pulls you to face him and you hope he can't see the goosebumps on your skin as your towel starts to slide down. "I just meant - If you're not sleeping well I can help." He offers, glancing down to your bikini clad body briefly before forcing his eyes back up.
"How?" You ask, gulping from the proximity of your bodies and how warm his hand feels on your arm. He watches you for a moment, gauging your body language before scooping you up bridal style. You yelp a little, focusing on keeping your drink cup steady as he lifts you to his chest. "Jack…?"
"Don't worry, she'll be out there all night if you let her. She'll understand you need to rest." He assures you, turning to walk further into the house. You start to get nervous as the music gets quieter but he's so warm and firm against your buzzing body - you have no fight in you.
"Where are you taking me?" You ask, laying your head on his shoulder just because you can. He walks past the living room, aiming for the staircase next.
"Your room." He mumbles, looking straight forward as you look up at the side of his face. His cheeks are pink like yours but he's not drunk, it makes you wonder what he's thinking. He carries you all the way up the stairs and down the hall to your room. When he sets you down in front of your bed he takes the drink from your hands and you reach for it.
"Hey, I'm not done." You whine, reaching across his chest for the cup. He extends his arm out away from you, making you reach further and you nearly slip. He wraps an arm around your waist, catching your bare skin as your towel gives out and falls to the floor. His arm is burning hot on your skin, you shudder from the impact but keep clawing down his other arm for the glass.
"Calm down, you'll get it back." He assures you, giggling some at your resistance, thinking you're adorable like this. You ignore him, wanting your drink back now. You keep stretching yourself over his body, somehow focusing on the liquor filled glass even with his hard pecks and pudgy belly rubbing against you. Jack calls your name like he's scolding you, "You're getting yourself worked up." He warns.
His arm around your waist shifts up and down as he counters your attacks, eventually he manages to get the glass down on your nightstand so he can hold you with both hands. In the midst of it all Jack somehow loosened the tie of your bikini bottoms on one side. With a hand on either hip he holds you still in front of him.
"I'm trying to help you." He scolds, tilting his head with furrowed brows but he doesn't let go of your hips. You giggle a little bit, the alcohol preventing you from being able to take him seriously.
All the sudden your bottoms start slipping down your thighs. You gasp, drawing his attention to it immediately as you reach down to try and grab it. But you're drunk and you're not fast enough. So, you end up with the half tied bottoms around your ankles.
"Don't look!" You screech, your face red hot as you turn away, trying to cover yourself.
"Fuck." Jack hisses, spinning around on his heel and looking towards the ceiling as you scramble to pull them back up. The sound of his cursing gives you chills, you're worried you've upset him by acting like a drunken idiot.
"It's your fault." You huff in response.
"Just get decent, please." He grumbles, sounding perturbed all the sudden. You decide to leave your bottoms off, untying your top and tossing it down too before climbing into the bed. You slide under the covers and shiver for a second as you succumb to the warmth.
Jack peaks over his shoulder, turning all the way around when he sees you tucked under the comforter. He has a crease between his brows as he comes closer, lifting the comforter from the bottom of the bed. He bunches it up enough to expose your feet, sitting down on the end as he pulls them into his lap.
"A foot rub is going to fix all my sleeping problems?" You ask sarcastically as he starts digging his fingers into the soles of your foot. "Where did you go to medical school?" You add, giggling a little before a yawn escapes you.
Jack raises a brow at you, smirking all smug like while his talented fingers massage your tender skin. "That's a lot of attitude directed at someone who is just trying to help." He says quietly but his voice is still full and manly. "What's been keeping you up?"
"I- I don't know.' You shrug, tucking the comforter tight under your chin and wiggling your toes a little to keep your legs from going tingly. "Why did you say 'fuck' like that?" You ask, your filter slipping as the alcohol takes over and you get sleepier.
"Like what?" He looks down to his working hands as he inquires. You don't say anything, nibbling on your bottom lip as you stretch your foot deeper into his lap, your painted toes brushing against the bulge in his jeans. He shuffles a little, nudging your foot away like it was an accident. So, you do it again, more intentional this time. Jack grips your foot tight, holding you in place as he turns his head to glare at you. He says your name like you're in trouble. "What are you doing?" His voice his deep, gravelly, threatening.
You giggle again, blushing behind the comforter as you wiggle your toes in his hand. He doesn't look amused but you can see his pink cheeks and the way his jeans look painfully tight now. When you see the growing bulge you twist some to reach with your other foot to touch it. He manages to fight you off, restraining your ankle with a bruising grip.
"Watch it." He hisses, looking at you with a pointed gaze as he slides off the mattress. "You have no idea what you're asking for." He adds in a more hushed tone, still grumbly and closed off.
"Jack. You can look, if you want." You whisper, the liquor finally taking over all your inhibitions. You slowly start to spread your legs, pulling the blanket up your length of the bare skin.
He turns around in an instant, his back to you as you watch him breathe heavier and heavier. "We can't, you need to sleep. That's why I'm here." He says aloud, sounding like he's trying to remind himself.
"Jack…" You whine quietly, feeling loopy and desperate, you've lost control and you just want relief. You don't really care where it comes from but you'd love it to be him.
He spins around towards you with determination, picking up your drink from the nightstand at the same time he grabs your face. "Shh, quit talking." He squeezes your cheeks to force your mouth open, before tilting the glass and trickling the liquid between your pouty lips. "That's it, sweetheart, swallow and relax."
You gulp it all down, like you had a choice, hiccuping and sputtering when he finally pulls the glass away. He taps the side of your face, wiping the excess liquid from your lips with his thumb. You shiver and squirm, only getting more worked up the more fuzzy your mind gets.
"Close your eyes and don't move." He demands, returning to his spot at your feet. He continues to rub pressure points on your feet that make you feel exhausted. You pout as you lay in the pillows, wanting to act out and fight to stay awake. But you don't, you lay in your spot, still and silent as Jack massages you to sleep.
.✦ ݁˖
Jack's resolve has never been tested more than with you. He was trying to be a good host and doctor by putting you to sleep with a simple remedy. But at every turn you made him question his sanity.
He barely held out, feeling distraught and empty as he returned downstairs to check on the party. He mixes and passes out drinks to the partygoers still left, participating in tossing a beach ball around and checking in on his daughter (letting her know that you've gone to bed) before calling it a night. He says his last goodbyes, entrusting his daughter to wrap everything up before sunrise.
You're on his mind the whole time, thoughts of how to help you sleep and how to resist you if you keep pushing. He's not sure how much longer he can be a strong, decent man when it comes to you.
He decides to check up on you once more on his way back to his bedroom, creeping in through your door as silent as he can. He takes soft steps all the way to your bed where he finds your eyes closed and your lips parted. It's been over an hour since he left you up here to rest but it still feels suffocating in your room.
Jack can barely breathe as he watches you, keeping a decent distance for his own good. You stir a little bit, making small noises as you adjust your body and pull the covers around. Maybe you can smell him standing a few feet away and that makes you squirm, or maybe your needy body can just tell when what it wants is close by.
He decides it's probably smart to leave now, to escape while he still can but as he starts back tracking towards the door you start shuffling again. The top of the comforter slips down your chest, exposing you perky breasts.
Jack whimpers aloud, unable to stop it. Your nipples are already hard, begging for attention. He comes closer to get a better look at you as you roll onto your back. Both of you are quiet and still for many minutes; Jack resists the physical urge to lean down and grope you and he's not doing a good job.
He ends up sitting on the mattress next to you, palming his throbbing cock over his jean just to keep it from hurting. You moan in your sleep, your back arching up just a tad before you relax into the bed. Your legs move up and down as your back continues to twitch from the intensity of whatever dream you're having.
It's when you start whimpering, the sound coming out almost like a cry, that Jack loses control. He rips the blanket down the rest of your body, gently guiding your legs apart to see the arousal pooling at your entrance. He groans a little too loud when he spots the shaped bush adorning your cunt. Jack notices it's trimmed almost perfect with your tan lines and he admires the dedication.
Jack runs his fingers through the sparse hairs, teasing the lips of your pussy on his way down. He feels like the drunk one when he maneuvers around the mattress to lay on his stomach between your open legs, licking from your asshole all the way up to your clit in one full motion.
Your body shudders and you whine above him, still dreaming when he does it again - and again, and again. Your taste coats his tongue, its sweeter than licking an ice cream cone. He knows he's being selfish but he also knows you need it. He knows that you'll wake up frustrated and un-rested if he doesn't make you come.
So, he kisses your clit, alternating between licks and suctioned kisses. Every touch he gives you makes him harder, you make soft noises and buck your hips around, making it hard for him to stay focused. Your arousal coats his mouth and chin, he shoves his face deeper just make more of a mess.
Jack is completely drunk on you, your moans spur him on as he relishes in your pussy and loses his mind. He's been dreaming about your taste for weeks now, he finally gets what he wants and you're better than he could've imagined. He dips his head lower, nudging his nose against your clit and plunging his tongue into your weeping hole. He breathes in your scent, the same one he gets off to when he does your laundry and finds your panties, and it has him rutting his hips into the bed.
He reaches up for one of your breasts, taking a handful and groping to his liking. Your taut bud rubs against his palm and he moans into your pussy, rolling it between his thumb and pointer finger next. Your breath hitches and Jack nearly soils his pants.
One of Jack's hands wraps under your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other finding its way to your pussy where he sinks his middle finger in. He knows you're wet enough to take him easily, your walls clenching tight around him as he continues to lick your clit. Your body jolts, a gasp leaving your mouth as you start to stir more seriously.
He doesn't care, he can't stop himself now. He fucks his finger in and out a few times before curling against your most sensitive spot, sending your spine arching and your hips bucking wildly. His tongue swirls around your swollen clit in tune with his fingers, the sensation finally having your brain switch back on.
You blink a few few times, trying to catch your breath and figure out what's happening. But you feel so good, there's someone between your legs and it's like nothing you've ever felt before. Still incredibly drunk though, you struggle to make sense of anything. Your hands feel heavy as they reach down to your legs to make sure it's not real - To your surprise there is indeed a real person there.
At first you almost freak out, but as your fingers dance in smooth curls, grazing down a face with sparse stubble and a pointed nose - "Jack?" You ask, your voice small and weak as you writhe against your will.
Jack manages to pull his mouth away from you, leaning up your body so you can see his face. It's dark so you can't make each other's features out all the way, just enough to know. He looks down at you with hooded eyes and a glistening chin.
"Am I dreaming?" You ask, still disoriented as you take the sleepy waves of pleasure.
"Shh, sweetheart. Relax, go back to sleep if you can." Jack whispers, curling his fingers inside you as he kisses your cheek and ventures down your neck with sloppiness. His free hand gropes and massages all over your body as he kisses down your torso. He stops at your breasts for a few moments, licking and sucking on your nipples. You squeal, arching off the bed and digging your nails into his shoulders. "You have to be quiet." Jack scolds, keeping his voice down.
"I don't understand, - Fuck! that's s-so good." You stutter out, blinking hard and fast because you can't seem to keep your eyes open.
"Sweetheart, just take it, m'gonna take good care of you, promise." He assures you with urgency and impatience. When he finally makes it back to your clit, you're dripping down his hand. It makes him groan into your pussy as he starts lapping you up again.
You feel loopy the whole time, not sure if you're awake or dreaming at this point. All you know is you need to come and you're getting so so close. You seem to have some control over your hips so you writhe and chase your high as Jack builds it up.
"That's it, gooood girl." He coos, his words vibrating your core. Your orgasm crashes through you, your body convulsing and breaking into a light sweat as you ride it out. Jack licks you through it, removing his fingers when you start to get a little hysterical. You make a mess of him, feeling wet all over your thighs as your breathing deepens.
While you writhed on Jack's face he writhed into the bed, rubbing his rock hard cock into the mattress while he devoured you until he was coming. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he moaned every last bit of his pleasure into your pretty pussy.
You're gasping for air and clawing at him violently to drag him closer. He crawls up your body, hovering over you as you hold his ribs and rub your feet up and down his calves. "Jack, what the fuck." You breathe out, trying to sober yourself up but it doesn't work. You're too inebriated to think right after such an insane orgasm.
"You were dreaming - you needed it." Jack tells you like it's common sense.
"I am dreaming." You whisper, laughing a little as exhaustion fills you again. "Kiss me." You request, hoping dream Jack will taste like you when your lips meet.
You hear him chuckle a little as you close your eyes, waiting. He leans down and presses his lips to yours and it feels so real. He's warm and reminiscent of you. His stubble brushes your chin and lips, tickling you in the best way.
You tease your tongue against him and he returns the gesture, you two lazily lap each other up for longer than you can keep track of. Jack gently touches your body, caressing you with weight meant to help you get back to sleep. And it starts to work. He whispers sweet things to you that you won't remember in the morning, kissing you into the pillows with his body weight trapping the heat between you.
When Jack feels you start to go limp, finally falling back to sleep, he slowly slides off the bed. He covers you back up, kissing your forehead because he just can't help it. He waits for the guilt to sink in as he sneaks out of your room and back to his. But it never comes.
He just keeps replaying the memory of you coming as he cleans himself up and gets ready for bed. The thought acts like a lullaby and stays with him as he falls asleep too.
.✦ ݁˖
You wake up the next morning hungover and terrified. The memories from last still jumbled in your head. Even as you wake up to the birds chirping and the bright sun, you can't tell if last night was real or not.
When you go downstairs for breakfast you see your best friend at the island, sitting in a bar stool with her legs tucked up and her head in her arms. You know she's hung over too when you approach and hear her groan as Jack makes noise in the kitchen.
"Sorry, honey! You'll feel better after you eat." He assures her, nudging the large glass of water in front of her closer. She just groans again which makes you smile to yourself. You rub your hand up and down her back as you slide into the stool next to her.
"Fuck you!" She whines, shrugging away from you.
"What?" You ask in confusion, dipping your head down to look at her.
"You went to bed so early." She grumbles and you laugh.
"I needed some sleep, you've had me up every night this week. - Besides, midnight is not that early." You argue a little, reaching for her water since she's not drinking it.
"Whatever. Play with my hair please." She continues her whining and you concede, finding her endearing. You pull her head closer to you as she rests her arms on the counter, picking out a few strands to start twirling and braiding.
"How'd you sleep?" Jack asks you, his eyes so heavy on you, you shiver a little. You gulp, a sinking feeling in your stomach.
"Fine." You nod, not even bothering with a smile before putting your attention back on his daughter. You can't handle the way he's looking at you, what you think it means. You hope that if you just ignore him that you can pretend it didn't happen, dream or not.
Jack whips up breakfast, setting our plates down with a glass of green juice each. You thank him without meeting his eyes, eating the food and helping your friend get as much down as she can. You're so grateful for the full belly of food first thing in the morning, you're already starting to feel a little better.
Your friend excuses herself in a huff, declaring she's returning to bed, indefinitely. You put both sets of your dishes in the sink, rinsing them off and stacking them to the side. When you turn around away from the sink you're met with Jack's broad figure blocking your path.
He looks down at you thoughtfully, his fingers coming up to brush some hair from your face. "You're really going to give me the silent treatment after what I did for you last night?" He asks facetiously, his hands grazing down your arms. You swat him away, your cheeks running hot in a second.
"Stop that." You scold but it seems to amuse him. He grabs your waist, pushing you back into the counter as he cages you in.
"Don't be like this, sweetheart. I know you've been dreaming about me-" He coos at you, hugging you to his belly as he tries to find your lips. You shove him away harder, nerves and embarrassment eating you up.
"Jack, please." You whine, desperate to get away and hide from him, so he can't judge you or make fun of you. So he can't say something you've already said to yourself. "I don't want to talk about it."
Jack grabs your face, forcing you to hold still and you do, you stop pushing him away and rest in his hands. "Then shut up." He murmurs, bringing his lips to yours and this time you listen. You close your lips in anticipation, his demand taking all protest from your tongue. He hypnotizes you with his kiss, his hands roaming over your body like he can't get enough of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, grinding your hips forward as your hormones take over in no time.
He lifts you up onto the counter, stepping between your legs to grind himself against your clothed core. You groan into the kiss, writhing back while you push away all the thoughts trying to get in the way. You've been wanting this since you arrived for the summer, and even if you know it's wrong and shouldn't happen, you don't care.
Or you're trying not to care.
You lift your knees higher to give him more access, your knees locking onto his love handles as you run your fingers through his silver hair. He's every bit of man you'd been imagining all this time and then some, he's so much bigger this close up.
The kiss heats up until both of you are panting and your lips are slick with spit. Jack grabs your jaw and leans you back on the cupboards as his other hand grab the elastic of your sweatpants. "I want you fucking wide awake when you take my cock for the first time." He grunts, yanking your pants down and you lift your hips to let him. He sees the hesitation in your eyes as he undresses your bottom half, his hands guiding your legs back up so your knees are close to your chin. "What? You're not a virgin are you? Is that why you have wet dreams?" He asks, curiosity mixing with a tone of taunting.
You slap his bicep, your faces scrunches up and you feel kind of offended. "I am not a virgin! I'm just - messed up I guess." You end with a shrug.
Jack scoots you closer so you're hanging on the edge of the counter, his body balancing you out as he holds you. "No, you're not. - You just need to get fucked real good. Promise I'll take care of you, sweetheart. I won't let you suffer like you have been." He assures you, leaning back in for you lips as his hands wander under your tank top. You hum happily, pressing yourself into Jack to soak up his warmth.
He kisses you and grinds between your legs until you're sweaty and your panties have nearly been rubbed through. He pulls himself out of his gym shorts, his fat cock flopping over the elastic band.
Your eyes widen and you swallow hard as you take in the size of him, you're unsure if you can stretch that far. He sees your gaze and chuckles to himself, certain he's going to stuff you full of him no matter how long it takes. He starts pumping a lazy fist up and down his cock, lifting your shirt up to look at your tits and twist one of your nipples.
Jack pulls your panties aside and presses his blunt head to your sopping wet core, you hope it's enough lubrication to suck him in with ease. But you're wrong, as soon as he starts inching forward you feel ungodly full.
"Jack, fuck!" You huff, pinching your eyes shut and grabbing him for dear life. He holds your knees up to your ears as you lean back against the wooden cupboard door. "I can't-" You gasp when he goes further.
"You can and you will, I'm not stopping now." He grunts, losing his breath actively because of how tight you're wrapping around him. His lips find yours, kissing you with passion and chaos as if he's trying to distract you. He plays with your nipples and gropes your thighs to keep you stimulated.
You both can feel your pussy get wetter by the second, arousal oozing out of your cunt and dripping down his shaft. He's so slick he slides in easy, resting his forehead to yours as he pants and tries to control himself.
"You are so fucking tight sweetheart, god, you're suffocating my cock." His voice is strained as he speaks, sounding feral as he starts to pull out. "I've been thinking about this tight little cunt all summer. You're even better than I imagined." He continues to ramble, beginning a slow pace where he doesn't bottom out all the way.
You're delirious as he takes you, right here on the counter top, the breakfast mess still scattered about. Your skin burns and tingles, your pussy burning in a way that starts to feel cold. It's all a bit too much, your limbs go limp and Jack has to hold you up.
"Atta girl." He coos, kissing your sweaty face as he starts to speed up. "You look so pretty when you're cock drunk." You want to protest his words but you can't. Because he's right. You're stretched so wide your body can't handle the overstimulation, you're putty in his hands. He holds you close and fucks you deep, you're nearly numb by the time he gets any rhythm going.
He holds you to his chest when you can't seem to hold yourself up well, his thrusts becoming harsher and deeper. You whimper, moaning incoherently as your mind blurs over. The feeling of his fuzzy belly pressing against your thighs making you somehow more dizzy. His biceps hold you, his too-big cock splits you open and his beautiful face watches you like a hawk.
Jack feels so protective over you like this, seeing you limp and drowsy and still managing to take so much of him. He wants to provide this blissfulness for you anytime you need it, awake or not.
He slips a hand between your bodies, the pads of his fingers finding your clit and he starts rubbing slow circles there. Your nerves are so sensitive from what his tongue had done to you the night before but you don't have the wherewithal to push him away. His tight circles paired with his hearty thrust send you flying over the edge. He clamps a hand down over your mouth to keep you from getting too loud, watching your eyes roll back into your head. Your orgasm feels like an echo, pounding through your body in waves that linger and fade, in and out.
"Ohhh, baby, yes!" Jack grunts, surprised by how quickly you got there. "Come all over me, fuck." He loses his breath as you continue to clench and tighten around him. His thrusts are less coordinated now as he starts chasing his own orgasm. Which doesn't take him too much of anything really, considering how tight you are. "M'gonna fill you up, sweetheart, gonna come so deep inside this little cunt, I'll be dripping out of you all week." He tells you, speaking so stern you'd think he's trying to threaten you.
But really it just makes you moan louder into his hand and cling to him tighter with all of your limbs. Jack grunts and groans through his orgasm, your name falling from his lips along with other dirty things that slip your mind. You feel his warmth fill you up in spurts, matching his messy thrusts.
When he starts pulling out of your cunt you let out a sob, the air needing to be expelled from your lungs so you could suck in fresh air. Jack kisses your mouth to swallow your sounds, pulling out slowly, massaging your thighs apart to make it easier on you.
"Deep breaths, sweetheart." He whispers, pulling you off the counter and into his arms. He holds you bridal style again and this time you cling to him entirely. You wrap your arms around his neck and tuck your face in the space above his collar bone, just wanting to feel safe in this moment.
You worry about how messed up this is, you worry about how you're betraying your best friend. But when Jack kisses you so tenderly, promising to make me come whenever you want and to take care of you - well, that's all you can think about really.
.✦ ݁˖
Days go by after your first time with Jack and you avoid him as much as you can. After he stuffed you full of his cock and claimed you in the most animalistic way, you were put off. You were embarrassed and scared to lose your best friend.
Although, you thought about him nearly every second and it doesn't help that he still waits on you and his daughter, hand and foot. He's in your space all the time, teasing you, making sure you know he isn't going to give up on having you again this summer.
You drink and swim and go out like nothing is wrong but… your dreams are coming back. You haven't had one since you came on his cock. Until last night, nearly a week later. You're starting to think maybe you do need him to fix your problem.
Jack has only held back because he knew your first time together was intense, he put you through a lot and he can't blame you for needing some space. But he's starting to get impatient. He doesn't want to keep waiting for you to work up the courage because what if you never do? This whole week has been unbearable for him, sharing glances and watching you walk around soaking wet - he's starting to get desperate.
He needs mores.
He spends the day with you, his daughter and a few friends from the hospital by the pool, grilling for lunch and make cocktails like he does. When everyone has left for the evening, his daughter napping on a chaise lounge outside, you and him clean up the dishes. It's a little tense in the air between you, you're not sure what to do or say and neither is Jack.
He crowds behind you as you stand at the sink, reaching around you to shut off the water. His fingers trail up your arms, around your shoulders and down your back until he's got ahold of you by the dimples at the base of your spine.
He says your name first, sweet and gentle, "I can't wait anymore, I need you to talk to me." He whispers, nudging your cheek with his nose as he grinds himself into your behind. You bite your lip, melting into his touch like you'd missed it your whole life.
"We can't do this." You mutter, regretfully, shaking your head and trying to pull away. He's too strong for you, keeping you against the counter with little effort. He brushes the hair from your neck so he has full access, leaning down to kiss the sensitive skin. He reaches your earlobe, teasing the silver hoop dangling.
You shudder under his touch, feeling weaker with each of his exhales that hit your skin. His lips lead up to the side of your face where he turns you enough to find your lips, encapsulating you instantly. The kiss is fiery and hot as soon as it starts, your body takes over and you can't resist him.
"Say that again, sweetheart." Jack growls, shoving a hand down your pants to feel how wet you are, and just as he suspected - "I'm serious. Say it again while we can hear how wet your cunt is." He demands, taunting you to the point that you start to feel bashful. His fingers swirl quickly in your arousal, teasing your entrance as he makes a show of the mess.
"W-We can't, Jack." You sigh, eyes pinching shut as his teasing starts to work you up. You don't get a full breath in before Jack sinks a finger inside you, pumping fast and with good aim.
"You don't mean it, look at this fucking mess." He's so mean and convincing, his touch overwhelming you as you try to stay rational. You reside to moaning instead of arguing, it's no use anyway. He finds your mouth to swallow up your noises, fucking his finger in and out of you at a deadly pace. "Have you dreamt about me, sweetheart?"
"Yes." You whisper, keeping your eyes closed and your lips on his as you answer him.
"Good girl, you know that's what I like to hear." He pulls away, leaving your mouth and your pussy in the same moment. He leaves you gasping, your body buzzing as you try to return your focus to the dishes. You glance over your shoulder at him to see he's wiping down the island counter with a wet rag. He comes back to you with an extra glass to set in the sink. "I want to make you a new drink recipe."
"You're teasing me." You huff, all the walls you've built up to keep him away failing the second he touches you.
"You tease me everyday, sweetheart." He counters, pecking your cheek and slapping your ass. "Go sit at the bar." You jolt away, blushing deeply as you scurry out of the kitchen and to the bar room. Anticipation build in your chest as you find a seat and wait for him.
Jack finds you moments later with a chilled glass, getting to work on his new concoction. Except while you're not looking he slips a mild sedative into the mixture. It's nothing crazy, just something he takes when he has trouble sleeping. He knows you need a good fuck again and he needs it just as bad, selfishly Jack wants you to be able to take all of him. Your first time last week he hadn't been able to bottom out without you getting too overstimulated.
So, when he slides you the drink and watches you sip his cock starts to twitch.
"MMM, Jack, that's yummy." You hum, sipping more enthusiastically as he smiles at you. He leans across the bar to touch your arm, caressing your skin and encouraging you to keep sipping. "Thank you." You murmur, blushing from the heat of the liquor.
"I'm glad you like it." He grins, letting go to walk around the bar so he can sit next to you. He turns the stool so you're facing him. His large, warm hand running up your calf until it meets your thigh, nudging your legs to uncross so he can get his fingers under your skirt.
"You're so pretty." Jack coos, groping your thighs and pulling your stool closer so he can drape them over his thighs. He can't get over how smooth your skin feels on his palms, that on top of the heavy look in your eyes has him aching in his pants.
"I'm done." You hiccup, setting the cup on the island and humming happily as you enjoy his little massage. You press your foot to his belly, pushing his shirt up so you can see his happy trail. You bite your lip as you lift further, your joints feeling tingly. "Jaaaack." You whine as his teasing starts to make you needy. He grabs your ankle and sets it back down in his lap.
"What sweetheart? What do you need?" His question echoes in your ear, your head feels heavy, harder to hold up all the sudden. Jack reaches forward, cupping your neck and jaw in his hand to hold you up, leaning closer for more leverage.
"Please." You whisper, slow blinking at him as your weight starts to hanging in his hold entirely. You see him grinning at you, his hands touching your skin and holding you up as your vision gets a little blurry.
"Relax, sweetheart. Close your eyes, I got you." He continues sweet talking. You blink again and then your eyes don't open, Jack holds your unconscious body at an angle as your weight settles in his hold.
Jack wraps you up in his hold, throwing you over his shoulder before walking outside to grab his daughter. He carries each of you on a shoulder on his way up the stairs. He lays his daughter down in her bed, holding you to his chest as he kisses her head goodnight. He carries just you through the hall now, passing by your room and taking you straight to his.
He lays you down on his bed, looking over your sleeping face and body while contemplating. He wanders what has gotten into him, this isn't the type of person he is - but you do something to him. You make him behave like a starved animal, like someone feral.
As he undresses you, kneeling over your body, he makes sure to keep touching you with passion. He kisses your collarbones and sternum, playing with your nipples and massaging your thighs. He knows that even in your sleep you'll react to him, he knows you need the stimulation.
When he gets you completely naked he spreads your legs apart, his eyes immediately drawn to the arousal dripping from your entrance already. He swipes a finger through it, licking it off just to get a taste before sinking it in to the last knuckle. Your body jolts and jerks, a dream forming in your mind as Jack fucks your dripping pussy.
He's absolutely ravenous, sinking a second finger in with ease as you stretch for him. He latches his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking and licking for your pleasure and his. This time he doesn't have to be gentle or soft in worry of waking you. He planned the dosage very well to make sure you'd be out for a t least a few hours. Enough for you to feel rested and enough for him to get what he wants from your perfect cunt.
You moan and writhe like you do when you're dreaming, your sporadic reactions spurring Jack on as he shoves a third finger into you. He wants to make sure you're as stretched as possible. He kisses down your belly, rubbing his nose in your pube hair as he starts lapping at your clit. By this point he's sure he's learned what you like, or at least he's started to.
So, he licks and sucks your clit, curling his fingers against your spongy, sensitive spot until he feels your breathing quicken and your cunt clench around him. He continues to lap you up as you come all over him, somehow making a worse mess when you're unconscious.
Jack coos into your pussy, the feeling of your orgasm making him feel like his sanity is slipping. As soon as you stop pulsating around his fingers he slips his cock out of his pants and teases it against the mess he made. He slips himself into your cunt with ease until he's about half away, you start clenching around him again and he struggles to go deeper.
Jack lays down atop you, his elbows on either side of your head as he uses his hips to change the angle. Your breathing hitches, little gasps and whiny hiccups leaving your mouth as he fucks in and out of you. He takes his time, feeling your body and kissing you however he likes, rocking into your cunt as it slowly stretches further and further for him.
Both of your bodies are hot to the touch but he can't stop, you're finally swallowing every last inch of him and it's his own personal heaven. He holds your lump body close to his chest with one arm as the other holds him up, his hips rocking faster and faster as he chases his own high now.
He decides to hold off, slowing down before it's too late. He's got you in this state for plenty of time, he doesn't want to cut it short. Instead, he decides to see how many times he can make you come like this before he can't hold off any longer.
He dances his fingers over your clit, slow at first but speeding up as he pays attention to the way your pussy flutters around him. He touches your sensitive bud until you're clenching around him in that familiar way. You whimper more, your body starting to get slick with sweat as he pounds into you.
By the fourth time you're coming around him your hair is stuck to your forehead and Jack can barely catch his breath. His shaft is practically raw from the friction of how tight your cunt gets when you come. His joints burn and his broad chest heaves as his thrusts speed up.
He's relentless, careless, and violent as he comes inside of you - finally. His hips slam against your thighs, filling the room with his grunting and the sounds of your slapping skin. It's an orgasm that makes him dizzy, he's gasping for air, dripping sweat from his brow as he convulses.
He pulls out of you quick, falling to the side to catch his breath before he passes out. His hand finds yours in the mess of bed sheets, holding your small fingers between his to feel grounded. He pulls you to his chest, your body dragging on the bed while Jack does his best to control your movements.
"Oh my god," He pants, kissing your head and hugging you tight to him despite you being unable to hold him back yet. "You're perfect." He whispers, also knowing you won't hear it.
.✦ ݁˖
You wake up to the sunrise like you do almost every morning, although the sun is shining from a different angle and you feel a heavy arm around your waist. Your eyes blink open and you slowly realize that you're in Jack's bed with him tucked close to your back.
Your limbs feel sore and weak as you stretch in his hold, you groan with relief at first from the stretch. But then an even worse, deeper soreness flutters awake between your legs and you whimper. It burns and aches all the way in your belly.
You bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together at the thought. The last thing you remember was Jack rubbing your feet and encouraging you to finish his new cocktail. Then it gets blurry and here you are.
Jack stirs behind you, his hand brushing up your belly to grab a handful of your breasts. He sighs happily, nuzzling in to your neck to get a good sniff of your hair. You're stiff at first, nervous about last night's events and the prospect of being caught in his bed.
"How are you feeling?" Jack whispers, his warm body engulfing yours from behind as he tries to pull you impossibly closer.
"Sore." You murmur. "W-what did you do to me?" You ask, butterflies in your belly as you wait for his answer.
Jack chuckles, sounding proud with himself. "Whatever I wanted." His voice his low and threatening and it makes you shiver. You feel sick when a grin overtakes your face, a dirty, disgusting feeling of satisfaction in your bones.
Summary: There's an active sh**ter at the hospital and you and Jack end up on different floors. Jack worries for you the whole time, and Robby stops him from doing something stupid (1.3k)
Warnings: based on a request, active sh**ter, mentions of blood, injuries, lil angsty, happy ending, use of pet names, pda, first time writing something like this so I hope I didn't completely mess it up :(
The emergency alarms along with code silver start just as you are about to wheel in your patient into the x-ray room.
Your first instinct is to panic and give in to the frantic running around of everybody in the halls. But when you hear the shots, Jack's voice is louder than the panic in your head.
You do what he has drilled into you. You rush as many people into the x-ray room as you can before you start shouting orders in the hall. For people to hide, to barricade the doors and to stay hidden until they are sure it's the police.
And in doing so you get knocked on your ass, falling face first onto the hard floor. Blood sprays from your nose as you hear the crack of the bone. It takes you a few seconds to shake off the dizziness and disorientation. You stay on the ground, groaning from pain.
Until there are hands hauling you up, familiar hands of your friends. You barely hear them ask about your wellbeing before you are shoving them back inside.
You join your colleagues and other patients in the x-ray room. You lock it tight and with the help of other you put everything you can in front of the door.
Then, you all just sit down, leaning against the wall and praying for the long minutes of shots to pass by quicker. And you just pray that your Jack is safe. That all of your friends are okay, too.
-
Jack is frantic with worry. He keeps calling you and calling you, just hoping you'll fucking finally pick up, but the call always ends up in voicemail.
The only thing keeping him from running after you is Robby and about a dozen of patience that he's hauled up with in a room.
"Quit fidgeting, Abbot." Robby whispers sternly, it's so quiet that he barely hear it. "Y/N is fine. She's a smart woman, smart doctor. She knows all the right steps. You made sure, she knows, right?"
Jack itches to scold Robby for speaking, but he's right and his words calm Jack down a bit.
"Yes, she knows." Jack says quietly and flinches at the sounds of the shots.
Jack checks his phone for any new messages from you, but finds only messages from his SWAT buddy that keeps updating him on the police's move.
They are still couple of minutes out and Jack just hopes they hurry. Especially, as the firing stops, replaced by the quiet before a storm.
-
You know the shooter is on your floor and with the minutes ticking by and still no sign of police, you take the last steps of your survival.
You position yourself on one side of the door, scalpel in one hand and injection with heavy dose of morphine in the other. Your colleague, shaking, stands on the other side, prepared to try to take out the shooter if he somehow breaks in.
-
The text of the shooter being down comes 15 minutes later. Fifteen painful minutes later. There's still code gray beeping because the police still have to do a fully throughout sweep of the whole hospital to be really sure there are no more threats.
And the wait for that is somehow even worse. Jack contemplates saying fuck it to waiting, but Robby gives him the 'no stupid ideas' look so Jack stays.
"She's okay, brother." Robby reassures him again. Jack is so pent up by now that it doesn't help.
Jack just shakes his head, letting out a shaky breath. He hasn't felt this kind of fear in a long, long time.
"But if she got shot or-or...."
"She didn't. And if she had, we'll deal with it. We'll patch her up." Robby's voice is wobbly as he tries to reassure Jack. Robby knows how much you mean to Jack, how much he loves you and you're Robby's friend too, so his worry for you isn't easy on him either.
Finally, code gray stops and 'all clear' comes through the speakers. And Jack is hauling the stuff away from the door and running out of there immediately.
He doesn't even register the pain shooting through his leg. You come first before everything and everyone else. He already lost one love in his life before and he's not losing you.
Jack is frantic by the time he gets upstairs. There's so much rubbish and blood everywhere. And yet he can't find you. Can't see your characteristic hair color or your pretty smile or that purple stethoscope you love so much.
"Jack?" Your name on his lips is like a gift straight from heaven.
He follows your voice with a sob trying to break free. And there you are, crouching in front of a patient as you bandage a wound in their arm.
You quickly make sure the bandages are tight and secure before you stand up and walk up to frozen Jack.
As you near him, he finally starts moving again. His hands end up on your cheeks, checking you all over.
You wince as he moves your head around gently. "Jesus, angel, did you get shot? There's so much blood. Oh god, are you okay?"
He rambles quickly, asking you question after question. And the sheer panic in his eyes tells you what you need to know.
Your hands come up to hold his on your cheeks. "Jack, baby, breathe. I'm not shot. I'm okay, we're both okay."
You nod, prompting him to do the same. Shaky breaths leave both of you, and Jack has to squeeze his eyes shut tight to get the hazy vision away.
"I was so fucking worried, sweetheart." Jack finally says with a steady voice. He brings your face closer to his, leaning against your forehead.
"I was too. The shots were so close and so loud. We hid in the x-ray room, but before that I got knocked down on my face by people running. That's why I look so bad." You tell Jack, and he smiles softly at you before he leans back to examine said nose. It doesn't look broken but he'll definitely make you get a scan taken just to be sure.
"Good job, sweetheart. Those doors are thick and protected. You made a great decision. I'm proud of you." Jack leans down, giving you a kiss full of relief. Screw pda policies, there's only you on his mind.
"I love you, Jack." You whisper against his lips, suddenly feeling like you don't say those three words often enough. You could have been one of the people laying dead. But by sone miracle, both of you are okay and you'll cherish it forever.
"I love you, angel. Don't scare me like this again please." His thumb is rubbing your cheek gently as he chuckles. The sound eases the last tightness in your chest. "I'm gonna keep you close to me from now on."
And finally that earns him a small laugh from you because this overbearing man already trails you like a lovesick puppy most of the time. But you love it, you wouldn't change it for anything.
"Okay, handsome. Whatever brings you the peace of mind, I'm up for it." Jack drops one more kiss onto your lips.
Right before he's tugging you after him, not giving you a chance to protest as he makes you get a scan of your nose. He does that, cleans your bloody face and just then he goes join his busy colleagues.
Jack knew he could spare those 5 minutes to make sure that you were okay. If he was really needed, someone would come get him. But now, he can get back to work with one eye still on you.
After all of the injured people are taken care of he's gonna take you home and keep you in his hands the whole time. And maybe have a little heart to heart session as well.
Description: Alexa, play ‘manchild’ by Sabrina. Or, 3 times Jack notices the incompetency of your new boyfriend and gets annoyed, and 1 time he does something about it.
Tags/warnings: big age gap (r is in 20's and abbot is 50), "ive got tattoos older than you" gets said, yes he has tats bcos i said so, size diff, mentions of concussion, medical inaccuracies (idk shit), (1) allusion to reader having a choking kink (💀), r has a used to have a massive crush on him, made ellis a lesbian bcos ofc, abbot life's goal is to make fun of r's bf, flirting (so much), bit of yearner!jack & dom!jack vibes, gets dialogue heavy at the end, angsty fights & confessions, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos, i use loads of em dashes (dont even compare me to chatgpt bcos im better), pet names: kid, kiddo, sweetheart
Note: tysm for the love on my first ff, it means the world to me. Writing something longer made me lose all objectivity, and I genuinely cannot tell if it's good or great or whatever. Please give me feedback (PERSONALLY). Again, I tried to keep r neutral but you might see mentions of r having hair.
Enjoy. This is for the ones with a competency kink. And for the ones who def wanted him to call you “kid.” and the ones who love silver foxes (get checked) (ur girl incl)
1
“I told him not to take me here,” you mutter to Jack, who's checking for tenderness in your neck, his thick fingers pressing against the side, while you try not to think of his hands on your neck in a very different context.
“Let him. Something the boy can do right, hm?”
After checking for initial symptoms — making you walk in a straight line, and balancing yourself on a single foot, you're subjugated to the very hands-on physical examination. You're suddenly wondering how other patients remain composed when Dr. Abbot touches them like this.
Well, usually, attending physicians don't do a history check or a physical exam, but this one does. For you. Probably because you're his staff.
Focus.
You clock into the reality, realizing the dig he made at your “boy.”
“Yeah, she didn't wanna come, I kinda dragged her here. I was like, ‘babe, it may just be a light concussion but you're a nurse, not a doctor’ so, like, thanks, doc. We needed the big guns,” proudly speaks Noah standing against the wall, checking time on his phone for the 5th time since you've been in this room.
Jack's jaw tightens and he shoots him a look so dirty, Noah actually takes a step back.
“Watch it, kid, if it wasn't for nurses, American healthcare would be even fuckin’ worse.”
Abbot looks back at you, and raises an eyebrow as if to say “really? him?”
You should speak up in your boyfriend's defense, something — anything — to wipe that perceptive look on Jack's face, the smugness he isn't trying hard enough to hide. You might as well be in your birthday suit right now, for how bare you feel. How bare you always feel in his presence.
God knows how much you'd actually like to be — no, you have a boyfriend. A perfectly handsome, competent, and a caring one.
Handsome. Not rugged.
Competent. Doubtful.
Caring. Well, caring enough.
“Doctor Abbot…” you begin, voice stripped raw, breath coming uneasy, when his index brushes right over your thrumming pulse.
“Focus on the examination. Tsk, thought we taught you better here. Well, I at least did. Don't you agree, nurse?”
The air leaves your mouth in a little puff, leaving your throat dry, your lips soon following. You need a glass of —
“Need some water? You've been here a while,” Jack asks, tone becoming gravelly and intimate, eyebrows drawing closer seeing how pale you look.
He immediately turns to Noah — hands leaving your neck — without waiting for a response from you. His voice takes on its normal cadence. “Hey, son, grab her a bottle, would you? Vending machine is at the end of the corridor. Thanks.”
His ‘Thanks’ comes out in a slow drawl that makes you squirm in your seat.
Your attending has not even fully turned back to you yet, when your partner speaks up, “Uh, bottle of what?”
“A Pinot Noir, perhaps. Which one do you prefer?” His eyes find yours again, brows raising in deep amusement. Is he getting a kick out of humiliating your boyfriend — and by extension, you?
“Uh…” noah looks utterly confused. You feel almost bad for him. Almost.
“Water, son. Get your girl a bottle.” Noah makes a move to leave, complying immediately to the doctor. Has he ever even listened to you so quickly? God, men are such dicksuckers for each-other.
“A chapstick while you're at it, maybe,” Jack mutters, trying to keep the humour out of his voice. Noah stops in his tracks again, clearly deaf to the sarcasm.
Jack huffs. “Just go.”
You honestly don't understand why he dislikes Noah so much. You've only been dating him for 3 weeks.
Well.
Noah did try to make a “romantic” gesture by coming to pick you up from your shift. Except, he arrived an hour early as a “surprise” and cribbed because you couldn't leave early. And he did just undervalue your job as a nurse. And…of course, an hour ago, he accidentally hit you your head with a football while he was showing attempting a trick.
As Noah leaves, Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Don't worry, I'll get you a chapstick,” he says, staring shamelessly at your trembling bottom-lip before making a slow way up again.
“Penlight. Incoming.”
You've barely had time to react when a sudden light shone in your eyes. Your face instinctively tries to move back, only to be stopped by a feather-light touch on your jaw. Jack's finger retracts as soon as it comes, leaving you starved for more. More than just the pad of his index.
You hold still for him, letting him sway the torch alternatively between your eyes. When the light is kept back with a soft clink, there are no more distractions as he stands up straight again.
The creases in his scrubs only increase when he folds his arms over his chest.
“So.” You mutter, your gaze trying to find something interesting on the floor.
“Nick seems like a good guy.”
“Noah.”
“Right. We should thank Nick for bringing you here right on time. Wouldn't wanna lose one of our best nurses.”
You scoff at his words. Your feet are moving in a slow back and forth rhythm, your eyes fixated on them.
“Let's not say things we don't mean for good staff satisfaction scores.”
“If you're trying to insult me by implying I care about that shit, good job. I'm slightly more offended than the time you implied I am too old for karaoke." He's slightly rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Didn't imply, actually. I think I was pretty direct.”
A huff of laughter leaves his lips. You don't want huffs or sarcastic laughs. You want his full belly-laugh. His happy laugh that you've only seen Robby drag out of him.
“I don't care about staff satisfaction scores,” he lightly shakes his head for a moment.
“Yes, you just sai —”
“Only care about yours.”
That makes you look up at him again with widened eyes and parted lips. Little shit, off-handedly throwing around words that gives you butterflies.
Dead butterflies, of course, just like your affections on him. Former crush. Yes.
You quickly regain your senses to retort.
“Satisfaction with your services? If so, thank you for checking me for a concussion.” The formality in your words completely betray the flush creeping up your cheeks.
“Of course, what else?” You hate the way he says your last name. The way it rolls off his tongue. The way it reeks of intent, and not casualty.
The sharp noise of metal rings dragging across a rod brings you out of your trance. Nic — Noah emerges from behind the privacy curtain, a bottle of water clutched in his right hand, and a simmering cup of black coffee in left. “Got you choices, babe.”
You smile thankfully at him, perhaps more grateful for the distraction. You extend your hand, your pointer gesturing at the water. You don't feel the same electricity when Noah's fingers brush against yours in the hand-off.
Jack takes a step back. He nods at you. “Rest. Hydrate. You know it.”
"Mhm, no big brain activity, limited screen time, don't avoid if symptoms worsen."
"Impressive. How does a civvie like you know the drill?" he asks, eyes widening in mock-surprise.
"Oh, I'm very smart. Could've easily been a nurse at your hospital," you can't help but smile.
"Shame. I'm sure you would've been terrific."
He nods at your boyfriend next, “Nick.”
“Uh, it's actually Noa —” but Jack's right hand has already caught the edge of the curtain, swiftly pulling it out of his way, and disappearing shortly after.
“She prefers lattes, by the way.”
2
Bzzzzzzz
“Doctor Ellis, I didn't know you allowed your staff to bring phones in a trauma bay. I would've brought mine to play some music while we inserted a chest tube inside this man.”
Ellis only grunts, too focused on work at hand.
Your cheeks heat at Doctor Garcia's comment, feeling the loud buzz against your thigh for the nth time today.
“I'm sorry — ” you had only just begun when Dr. Abbot's voice cut in, deadpan and dry.
“Yolanda, you listen to music?”
“Doesn't everyone?”
“Yeah, well, normal people do. Why?”
Garcia's sharp glare to the attending does nothing to his demeanor. His hands — controlled, precise, and so fucking practiced — don't stop for even a fraction of a second.
“Not everyone can have eccentric hobbies like nude yoga, Dr. Rabbit.”
Nude yoga? Nude? You force your mind to not conjure up an image of that. Especially not with your attending — who you have used to have a schoolgirl crush on — as the main character. Or, you'll be the one on the operation table instead of observing, breaking out in hives.
“I'm sorry, Dr. Garcia,” you complete.
“Apologise to the man on the table; It's not my life on line. No matter how much I wish whenever I work with you boy scouts.” You always cringe at the bluntness in her tone, but it's worse when directly aimed at you.
“Easy, Garcia,” Jack commanded, tone instantly gaining its authority, pausing a moment to shoot her a look. Yolanda doesn't deter, and two of your most-respected, highly-competent seniors seem to engage in a silent eye-conversation. It ends with a twitch of Garcia's lips as she glances at you, and your attending muttering, “shut it.”
Huh, Strange.
***
The biohazard bin shuts with a snap, and you rub your clammy hands, trying to get the feel of rubber gloves off them. Trauma bays are always stress-inducing, no matter —
Bzzzzzzzzz.
You're about to kill someone tonight. It's gonna be your boyfriend. And you're gonna enjoy it. And you're gonna go online, talk about it, and watch a number of supportive women tell you, “I support your rights, but also your wrongs. You go, bitch.”
The constant vibration against your thigh, the baby crying in pedes, and looking like a fool in a trauma bay…you heave a sigh. Has the ED always been so bright? It's like the lights are directly in your eyes.
You hate loud. So much.
You un-pocket your phone, letting it unlock before you start typing furiously, your mouth instinctively murmuring everything you're typing. Your feet carry you forward, muscle memory taking you to a quiet corner, where you can peacefully argue. And bang your head against the wall, if you're lucky. But you're not sure if there's a staff discount at The Pitt. And frankly, you're already struggling with rent and groceries.
Look at you being fiscally responsible.
“Fuck, sorry,” leaves your mouth as soon as you accidentally collide with someone. A single calloused palm settles on your hip, steadying you.
Your lips part to say something, but no words come out. It seems the entirety of blood in your body has rushed towards your hip to greet Dr. Abbot's hand, before it retracts.
“Been apologising a lot today. Forgot your training or have you rejoined pre-school?” His body moves to your front, effectively blocking the view of rapid-paced staff, and people in wheelchairs and gurneys.
“Just…one rookie mistake after another.” Your body sags sideways, taking support of the wall. As if on instinct, his posture mirrors yours, his entire side leaning against the wall as well. You deposit your phone back in your pocket.
“For what it's worth, you started out not too long ago. You are, technically, still a rookie,” he speaks.
In this slow corner, the lights seem dimmer and noise quieter. Your shoulders drop just a bit. You're not sure if it's the location or him. Your bet is on location.
You wonder how you must look to the others, a junior nurse and the person with the most seniority on this floor, tucked away in a hushed hallway. What would they think of you? Certainly not co-workers.
Your lips curl in a tired, soft smile. “Trying to make me feel better again, sir?”
“Trying to tell you trauma surgeons have a permanent stick up their ass. Shen and I have bets on whether she lives in an ice castle or a secluded cave.”
Your smile grows bigger, and his eyes crinkle. “It's not just her. In fact, I admire women with a mean mouth.”
“Only women?”
“Men already are. I can't think of any situations where they'd need to be more mean.”
“I can think of a few,” his voice dips even lower, rocks coated in honey. Your eyes find the fluttering pulse on his throat, and travel up his face, to find his gaze fixated on your lips. He looks up again. Slowly. Not in a rush.
In this low-lit corner and his head tilted down to adjust to your height, his curls — salt and pepper and presumably soft — brushed his forehead, creating shadows across his face.
You clear your throat, trying to erase some of the tension. “It's Noah. You met him the other day, if you haven't forgotten."
“Oh, I tried.”
You click your jaw, “He's a nice guy, sir.”
“Uh-huh. Is he blowing up your phone? What's wrong?” His brows furrow in concern, and you find his worry comforting. You're about to open your mouth to explain —
“Did he forget his Roblox password?”
You slightly shake your head, looking down at his shoes. “You…Dr. Abbot,” you trail off, looking up at him again to see the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes wide as if he's seriously expecting an answer.
“How do you even know what that is? And no, that's not it. He…sprained his ankle, hewasdoingaparkourjump,” you mumble the last part as quickly as you can, cheeks heating and eyes wandering.
Jack pauses, expression caught somewhere between humour and exasperation, “Wow, didn't know your boy was still in middle school. Tell me, were you trying to find a boyfriend or a son?”
You throw your head back, a light groan escaping your mouth. While you rub your eyes, you feel your attending move. After a second, he has a bottle of water in his hand.
You give him a look of gratitude and hold your fingers out. But before passing it to you, he twists off the cap with ease. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the sight of his biceps straining against his scrub top.
You empty almost half the bottle, throat working the liquid down, flushed under the heavy gaze of the man standing in front of you who is currently shamelessly oggling your neck. He's quick to take the bottle off your hands once you're done.
You mutter a quiet “Thanks.” He holds out his free hand forward. You shoot him a confused look, your fingers come up, hovering centimeters away from his palm.
Does he want you to hold…?
“Your phone, nurse.”
Your eyes blink, realisation creeping with a smudge of cringe, “Oh, that makes more sense. Yeah.” But the embarrassment is quick to vanish when you think about what he said.
“What? No. I feel naked without my phone on me.”
His eyes drop to your chest the moment the word “naked” leaves your mouth. You're not sure you've stopped blushing in the last 2 minutes.
“You're not a teenager.”
“Well, I love my phone like one,” you defensively say, standing up straighter. Your right hand moves towards your pocket to protect your mobile.
Abbot rumbles your last name like a warning, his husky voice settling low in your belly, and your traitorous hand is fishing the phone out without a conscious thought.
Before you can even hand it to him, he slightly bends, prying it out of your fingers.
“Now, I feel like a teenager,” you pout.
He uses her corner of your phone to tap against your nose, “Then don't make me go all authoritative on you again, kid.”
With that, he pockets your phone and walks away. You watch him twist the cap off the bottle again and drink directly from the mouth of it. The mouth you just had your own lips wrapped around.
Kid.
You need a chair.
3
“Okay, instead of using this job as an excuse for a sad dating life, how about you guys just admit…y'all got no game,” Mateo knocks back the last sip of his drink, making this very, very bold claim.
“First of all, nobody was talking about dating life. We were talking about sex. Forget dates, when was the last time any of you got laid?” Ellis asks, using her glass to gesture vaguely around the table, a few droplets falling on the wood.
Your shift was hell. Well, everyone's was. Really, every shift is hell, so this one was no different. The only thing was that today, everyone decided to grab a drink. Not in the nearest park, no. Instead, they're all here, the nearest bar that's open at a time when a person should be doing a morning walk, not shots.
You're tucked between Mateo on your left and Jack on your right, in a worn-out brown leather booth, with Shen and Ellis across the table.
“I don't feel comfortable talking about the personal details of my married life with my colleagues,” replied Shen, sadly nodding his head.
Jack's voice, raspy from his whiskey, cuts in, “Oh, shut it, Shen.”
“I'd say 6 weeks since we slept together,” Shen gave up quickly. A series of sympathetic groans and nods went around the table.
Mateo juts his chin towards Ellis, raising his brows. “Hooked up with someone last week. Left before she woke up,” replied the woman.
“Didn't know you were a player, doc,” laughs your fellow nurse, before his head turns to you. “And you? Come on, we're the youngest and hottest, we gotta rub it in their faces. Besides, you have, uh, what's his name...”
You laugh nervously, tracing the rim of your glass with your index. While everyone’s lazy and heavy-lidded all around, you feel Abbot's fervent gaze burning a hole into the side of your head.
“Noah. And hate to disappoint, but it's been some while,” you admit. Not being able to hold back any longer, you finally turn your head to the right. Not taking his eyes off you, your attending takes a long sip of his whiskey.
“How much is a while?”
This is inappropriate. Your attending physician shouldn't be asking you this, you're sure of it. But nobody but you looks alarmed.
“I would say…none of your business, doc,” you softly murmur, the liquid courage making your tongue sharper.
“And what about you Dr. Abbot?” Mateo jumps in again.
It's your turn to look at Jack with the same intense gaze. He doesn't take his eyes off you, “been a while for me too,” he mutters so low, like he's only referring to you.
You lose. You lose the staring contest and let your eyes fall back to your glass. Thank god, you have some of your drink still left.
“Why, is it…old man stuff?” Mateo asks, and your eyes widen at his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh. Ellis's rich chuckle fills the quiet bar. You finally bring your cup to your lips.
“I'm an attending, Mateo. We're always at the very top of our performance. Here to serve well. In or out of trauma bays.”
Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, and you break out into a violent cough. Why would he say it like that? You're pretty sure you look like a tomato.
You feel a strong hand on your back, beginning to rub small circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Easy,” Jack whispers into your right ear.
Is nobody watching this?
You look around to see Shen, Ellis, and Mateo have deeply engrossed themselves in a completely different conversation. You wonder for a second if it's intentional.
His heavy hand stops rubbing, instead patting the small of your back softly and rhythmically. Your coughs start dying down, and you wipe the underside of your watery eyes with your knuckle.
“Have trouble swallowing, kiddo?” His voice is right next to your ear, every breath rustling a tiny bit of your hair.
Oh. Oh. OH.
“Think I need some air, sir,” you mutter, voice dried. You feel floaty, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
Jack rises from his seat with a low grunt, “Think we're gonna step outside for a moment,” he announces.
You quickly follow suit and walk out after him before you can see anyone's expressions. You're pretty sure you hear Shen's giggle.
***
You welcome the morning chill that greets your face as soon as you step out, double doors falling shut behind you. You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, and take a deep breath, easing the night's tension out of your body.
“Hot date yesterday?” You're quickly brought back to reality, turning sideways. Abbot has his hands in pocket and hair ruffled from the wind.
“Oh, uh, yes. How'd you guess?”
“You clocked in yesterday wearing something…different.” His eyes drop to your chest, before lingering on your lips, and then meeting your eyes again.
Your cheeks burn. You didn't realise he saw you in your fancy clothes. It was bad enough that you were running late, and worse that you didn't get to change before clocking in with your date outfit still on.
“Yeah. Noah took me to dinner. I just signed a new lease. I'm moving out of my current dumphole to another dumphole, but it's nearer to work. So.”
“Congratulations, glad to have you close.”
“Thanks, sir.”
A comfortable silence falls over for a minute before he speaks again, “was the place nice and quiet?”
“Hm?”
“Where he took you. Nick.”
“Ah. No. It's kinda trendy right now, so, super loud…” you trail off with a sigh. Jack keeps looking at you, as if wanting you to say more, as if finally expecting you to spill the truth out: Noah doesn't know you.
“Hm. Didn't peg you for a gold person, either.”
“What?”
He gestures with his chin towards your neck, where a sliver of chain is peeking out from under your shirt. A new one, gold colored, gifted by your boyfriend yesterday.
“I'm an anything person, really.”
Jack doesn't say anything, only waits. And this time, it works.
“Well, silver, if I had to pick. I like silver,” you speak, your voice bordering on a whisper.
Jack finally stops looking at you, and with that, you finally breathe. He casts his gaze towards the sky.
“I know.”
He says your name.
Your first name that he rarely says. Your heart stutters. Every bit of fresh air you inhaled seems to leave your lungs all at once. Instead, a family of butterflies — so fucking alive — have swarmed in there, rendering you speechless.
Please say my name again.
“I know, kid.”
“I'm not a kid, Jack.” For a second, you watch his eyes get darker. He takes a step closer to you. Then another.
You crane your neck to look up at him. Suddenly, he turns his back to you. One of his hands peeks from his side, and tugs at the lower back of his shirt, pushing it down by an inch or two.
You stand confused, until you notice faint black ink — now visible — just below his neck. You suck in a sharp breath.
By the time Jack turns towards you again, you're barely holding yourself up. He leans forward, his nose only inches away from yours.
“I've got tattoos older than you,” he breathes, “kiddo.”
Your knees turn to jelly. A sharp heat travels straight into your belly, increasing the buzz between your legs. Your lips part, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip.
You can only numbly turn your body towards the door as he holds it open for you. There's not a hint of teasing or smugness in his expression. There is something else, though.
Desperation.
You walk in through the gate, mind already trying to think of a reason to break up with Noah. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it finds plenty.
+1
“Oh, honey, just take this right now. The doctor has told your mom the rest. You're gonna be just fine!” You give your brightest smile to the 6 year-old girl, looking all sad and tiny on the gurney.
You stand up straight again, your back protesting. For someone still “young”, you definitely have an old-person back.
The mom gives you a thankful smile that still doesn't hide her tiredness, “Thank you so much.”
“She's gonna be alright, mom.” You flash one last smile and turn to pull the privacy curtain. When you step out, you see Lena, your charge nurse, and Jack in a conversation at the charge nurse station.
Lena calls out to you, “All done in there, hun?” You nod and give a thumbs-up. You expect your attending to say something, a joke, or even glance at you, but he doesn't.
Your heart sinks. After the morning at the bar, you went home and planned how to break-up with your boyfriend. On the other hand, Jack apparently went home and came up with, “10 ways on how I will ignore my co-worker who I occasionally flirt with on purpose.”
For the past week, there have been no lingering looks, no cornering you to check in, and no making fun of you.
No point in dwelling. You start going on about your usual business, entering through another curtain, all while the back of your mind still calculates how to leave Noah.
You had prepared your speech and your reasons. But then, Noah lost his job the same day you were planning to have the talk. And 2 days later, he was leaving to visit his parents in California. Shouldn't you just wait until after the trip? It will be so much easier.
Yes, you're definitely delaying it because it makes sense, and not because you're scared that Noah will absolutely take it the wrong way. He's been miserable lately as is, and while you were trying to be sympathetic, you couldn't find it in yourself.
Noah had always been unobservant and insensitive to your needs, not doing anything till he's told. All while, he expected it all from you — emotional support, moral support, and now, financial support. You saw nothing wrong with being “needy” but didn't you deserve the same treatment from him?
As you leave another exam room, still conflicted, you see Lena waving you over, the telephone receiver pressed against her ear. You quickly walk over.
Lena brings down the handset, palming the mouthpiece so the other person can't hear. “Sweets, it's your boyfriend, he's all panicking over something. Do you wanna take this, or should I make an excuse?”
The color from your face drains. This is humiliating, Noah calling at your work because he can't take care of himself. You quickly un-pocket your phone, tapping the screen awake.
9 missed calls from Noah.
“Uh, I'll take it. Thank you, Lena. Sorry too.” She gives you a sympathetic smile and hands you the handset.
“Noah, you can't be calling me at work.” You whisper into the mouthpiece.
“Babe, did you think I wanted to? I called your phone like 3 times, but you didn't pick it up. It feels like you're ignoring me.”
“It's because I am ignoring you. I am at a fucking hospital, working the emergency department,” your voice is straining with the effort to keep it low.
“Oh, I knew you'd throw your job in my face because I'm unemployed. You're a nurse, not a doctor, babe. See, I remember things.”
You take a deep breath.
“What do you want?”
“I locked myself out of my house. The locksmith will come by in the morning. Can you swing by and drop your keys? You know, I lost my license recently, and my ankle is still not good enough to take the subway.”
“No.”
“Jesus, I'm stranded, just be a good girlfriend for once.”
That sends you over the edge. You put the telephone down with more than necessary force, cringing when a few people turn to look at you.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.
“You okay, kid?” Lena asks sweetly, coming to stand closer to you. You're only able to nod at her. If you open your mouth, your voice will break. When your charge nurse finally steps away, you clear your throat, and blink back your tears.
When you look up with clear eyes, there's Dr. Abbot standing about 20 feet away from you, in a conversation with a nurse that he's not listening to. Because he's looking directly at you.
You quickly move your head, “Lena, mind if I take 5?”
“Take 10, hun.” You flash her a grateful smile and start walking towards the supply closet.
You twist the doorknob and walk into what must be a 6×6 feet room, and close the door behind you. Your phone is still in your hand, clutched tightly enough to be used as a weapon. You open Noah's chat.
This isn't working out. When the locksmith figures out your door, pack my things in a box and leave them outside my door. Have fun folding your own bedsheets. I'm changing my Netflix password!
Your thumb hovers over the send button. Is the message too unkind? Too cruel for you? You drop the phone in your pocket, with the text still sitting there.
You force yourself to take deep breaths, pressing the heel of your hands against your eyes, turning around to face the organized racks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuc —”
The door slams open, and then shuts behind you, making you jump around, your hands falling to your chest.
“Jesus, Jack.”
“Did you forget your manners?” His voice comes out stern, low enough to drop the temperature of the room.
Your hands fall to your side. You're not in the mood for this. You don't want him in here, no matter how quickly your body is gaining color in his presence.
“What do you want, sir?” your question comes out breathless.
“You know, we pay you to work, not to hide in supply closets when you have fights with your childish boyfriend.”
“I asked Lena first, and I should be out in 5.”
“A patient can need you in 1,” he deadpans.
“Good thing there's Mateo and a bunch of fucking nurses already out there! I'm not the only one, sir,” you frantically wave your hands around, voice rising in pitch.
“Yeah, you're the only one yelling at your attending,” he leans back against the door, looking like he's enjoying a goddamn show. His calm pisses you off even more.
In your frazzled state, the true words spill out before you can filter them.
“Yes, my attending who has spent the last couple of days icing me out, keeping his distance, like I broke into his house and stole his leg.”
He's eyeing your motioning hands cutting through the air. You must look like the crazy one, while he stands there all frickin’ composed, his lips twitching.
“That's dark. And I'm your attending, nurse, as you mentioned. I'm not your boyfriend,” he shakes his head slowly like he's talking to a dog.
“I know that. Do you?”
“Oh, I know I'm not Nick,” he snickers.
“FOR THE LAST —” your voice booms throughout the small room before you stop yourself. You pinch your nose, chest heaving up and down.
Deep breaths. In and out. You're not the only two people in the hospital, no matter how much it feels like that.
Nurse, there's people that are dying.
“For the last time, his name is Noah,” you calmly say, voice shaking with the effort of controlling your pitch.
“Right, sorry. I just forgot because he forgot to fill his name out on your discharge papers when he brought you in. It's okay, children make mistakes like that all the time. Even when the forms are very easy to navigate, and the font size is very large,” Jack mocks, laughing sardonically.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I care about all my staff.”
Sweetheart.
“You're killing me.”
“Trauma bay 1 is empty,” he deadpans, shrugging his shoulders.
A humorless laugh escapes you. Oh, he thinks he's so funny.
“Staff. Is that what I am? Then why do you look at me differently than you look at others? Why do you catch me in the hallways? Why are you always seeking me out? Why have you not walked out of this —”
You flinch at the sudden motion, hand moving towards your temple where something just knocked against it. You look down, where a box maybe twice the size of your hand, lies on the ground.
The rack behind you is still vibrating from when your right arm collided with it 2 seconds ago. You shouldn't have been waving your arms around so much.
“Ow,” you mutter, the heel of your impacted hand rubbing your temple, and eyes downcasted at the box, looking at it like it personally wronged you. Which it did.
Jack quickly moves towards you, his left hand shooting up to take hold of your fingers that are kneading your head — same fingers that smashed against the rack — and brings your conjoined hands down.
“Careful. Are you hurt?” With only inches between you, he bends his head down to examine where you took the hit. His free palm brushes your hair back gently, and you shiver at the touch of his warm skin.
Trapped between your torsos, your hands are still joined, his thumb stroking against your knuckles to soothe any pain you felt on the impact.
“I asked you something, kid.”
You've lost your voice. You look from your connected fingers to his eyes.
And, oh.
His eyes have softened, looking at you with concern. This man sees lacerations, head traumas, hematomas, and fractures every single day. You've never seen him look this worried, and all for a pathetic clash that didn't even leave a bruise behind.
He switches positions with you, and suddenly, his back faces the shaky rack, his form protectively towering over yours. All of your body protests when he moves back, his hands dropping to his own sides.
“You can continue yelling at me now.”
In and out. Deep breath.
“Why have you not walked out of this room yet? And why have you kept me at an arm's distance?” you say but your voice is anything but loud, it's small and quiet, breaking at the end.
“As I said —”
“Stop, stop, stop. Stop, Dr. Abbot, and don't lie to me.” You instinctively take a step forward, closing all the distance again.
A pause.
“I really thought you were gonna break up with him. That morning, I thought you finally regained your senses, and were gonna cut off the dead weight,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.
“Jac —”
“Shut up and let me speak. I thought you were gonna end it with him, and you would come to the next shift looking happy and bright again. Just like you used to before you let that boy date you. You.”
His eyes are boring into yours, and he looks breathless and affected, so opposite to how he was just a minute ago.
“Me? What about me?”
He laughs humourlessly, “let's not fish for compliments. You know what you are. And if you don't, it makes me wonder what kind of limpdicks you have been with.”
You suck in a sharp breath, at a loss of words. Your cheeks burn, and your heart does a backflip.
He thinks that?
Jack turns around, so his back is facing you. Both his hands brush his hair back, and you can see the expansion and contraction of his back as he takes deep breaths.
“What if I had broken up? Nothing would've changed. It's not like you would've done anything. You would've continued to eye-fuck me across gurneys, and flash a smile once a day,” you speak up, voice rising in pitch again.
He turns back sharply, walking even closer to you, his chest colliding with yours.
“Oh, you know it's more complicated than that,” he retorts, eyes narrowing.
“What? You're my senior, you're older —”
He says your name. Low. Authoritative. You feel a traitorous sensation between your thighs.
“I'm not just older, I am old. Period. And I know just how old I am, because I feel it everyday when I strap my leg, and wake up with a new pain every day."
You don't know how to respond. Your gaze falls to his lips, and before you know what you're doing, you're withdrawing your phone from your pocket.
You take a tiny step back to make space, and tap your screen awake. It directly opens to Noah's chat, your message still sitting there in the type box.
You turn your screen towards Jack. His eyes move back and forth, reading your draft. When his eyes meet you again, they're intense, frantic, and what do you know…excited.
“Why haven't you sent it?”
“Because he's already going through a lot. He doesn't have a job, or a car, or…okay, I get it.”
Jack's fingers come up to grab your chin, holding it up. He looks like he's just had a shot of espresso and topped it off with another 3.
“Do it. Do it right now, in front of me, or you'll chicken out. He lost his job, his car, the next thing he loses is you. The one that's worth the most.”
With his breathless voice, taking the edge of desperation as every second ticks, you know you've lost. You bite your bottom lip.
His thumb moves from your chin, to your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth, “don't worry yourself over him.”
Deep breath. In and out.
You slowly look down at your screen, your thumb hovering over the little arrow.
Send.
You put the mobile back in your pocket and look up at Jack with hope, like a kid waiting for approval. Jack flashes you the biggest smile you've ever seen on him.
You did that. You.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you can't help but lean into his palm. You're high watching him smile, a similar one takes form on your lips.
He's so beautiful. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. He should be on TV, winning Emmy's for his grin.
But then you falter, “My…my minutes are up.”
“You can take another 5,” his face leans closer, and the tip of your nose kisses his.
“Patient might need me in 1,” you helplessly whisper, your breaths mingling.
“Well, consider me a patient, then. Your patient.”
You gulp. Your knees are growing weaker by the second and you can't stop staring at his soft lips. You let out a little pathetic whimper before lifting your chin, brushing your lips against his softly.
Fuck.
Your heart tries to escape your ribcage, palm operating with a brain of its own and landing right over his heart. His fluttering, excited, nervous heartbeat greets you, and your lips curve upwards.
Just as you try to move your lips against his —
“Not like this,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You let out an entirely pathetic whine, forehead crashing against his neck with a soft thunk. Your affectionate graze on his sternum turns into a punch — also, pathetic — and it makes him chuckle.
“How, then?” your mutter into his neck.
His arm comes around your waist, holding you up for him so you can let your weight go. His arm tightens as soon as he feels you melt.
“When I'll get you all the silver jewelry in the world,” he breathily replies in your ear.
“That's a lot.”
“What can I say? I like paying for things.”
His free fingers travel to the back of your neck, deftly working the hook of your golden chain with a single hand. You catch as the necklace falls down your chest, reluctantly taking your face out from his neck.
Note to self: Ask him what perfume he uses later.
“One hand, wow.”
“A lot of things I can unhook with one hand.”
He captures your wrist that you've held against his chest — index hatefully scratching, trying to harm him for not kissing you — and brings it to his lips.
He doesn't break eye-contact when he kisses the inside of your wrist. Then the middle of your palms, and finally the tips of your fingers.
You're grateful for his arm around your middle, otherwise you'd be on the floor, shrieking and screaming.
“Don't want to see that on you again,” he points with his chin towards your fist with the necklace inside it.
“Yes, doctor.”
He nods, heat swimming in his gaze. He finally extracts his arm from around your midriff, using it to pull out your phone from your pants and swiftly slipping it in his.
“No more worrying, hm? In return…” He empties his other pocket, taking out a set of keys. He brings your palm down from his face and puts them in it.
“Sit in my car at the end of the shift. You know which one. Turn the heating on, and wait for me,” he raises his eyebrows, awaiting confirmation.
“Yes, okay,” you gulp, closing your other fist as well. One holds your past, another, your future. Or, so you hope.
“Yes, what?” he asks, already side-stepping you and moving towards the door.
“Yes, doctor”
“Good girl,” he shoots you a wink, the door falling shut behind him.
Look at that, your 10 minutes are up.
I enjoyed writing this sm, and i hope you lovely people do too. again, feel free to glaze me in asks, comments, and dms. likes and reblogs appreciated much <3 i also need to know if yall blushed reading this, if yes, WHEN
Tags/warnings: f!reader, age gap (reader is 24, Brendon is mid-late 30s), inappropriate boss/employee relationship, high key perv!brendon, daddy kink, masturbation (m and f), fingering, hand job, angst, car crash, injury, comfort, fight/confessing feelings, dry humping, lil somno, oral (f receiving), protected piv sex
Summary: Your dynamic with Brendon is easy, comfortable, until one night everything changes and you're forced to deal with your feelings for each other.
a/n: something to get me out of this writing slump dear god
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"Daddy!"
The shrill of childish excitement lights up the surgery department in an instant, eyes and ears cutting through the sterile floor towards the sound, eager for a reaction from someone, anyone.
It's even more satisfying when Brendon Park, the Shark of orthopedics, stops mid sentence, turning swiftly to the sound, his blank expression curling into a gentle smile as he bends down to pick up the three year old in his gigantic arms.
"What're you doing here, guppy?" he teases. Brendon Park jokes, and glances get thrown between residents, interns and nurses alike.
Ah gossip, the great equalizer.
"Wanted to see you."
The little girl manhandles him, pulling and squeezing his cheeks like he's not a great white but rather a pliable flounder, reducing him to nothing more than a sucker for his kid.
"Oh yeah, where's—?"
"Jesus trouble, how do you run so fast?"
The way Brendon Park lights up for the second time practically blinds everyone. Oh this is definitely making the rumor mill rounds today. So long boring ten hour surgery to come.
"I didn't run!" the child huffs. "I ski...skiddered."
"Skipped?" Brendon looks to you for confirmation.
You roll your eyes at her antics, nodding your head towards her father, gracing him with a smile that makes everyone understand exactly why their big, mean, scary boss is acting the way he is.
The floor returns to its normal shuffle after that, one more second of inaction and the Shark would've definitely snapped.
"Hey," Brendon greets you, a little reserved, definitely surgical in nature.
"Hey Mr. Park," you beam and he instantly stills.
"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."
You sigh out a laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully as you instinctively step closer. He can smell the faint sweetness of your perfume, the spilled apple sauce on your shirt, the hint of laundry detergent on your fingers.
"I'm glad we caught you," you tell him. "We didn't know if you'd started on time today."
"Just about to go in."
You nod, clinical, like you're absorbing information and processing how you're going to get out of his hair in the next twenty seconds.
"Gotcha, well, you got what you wanted trouble," you hum, moving to grab the child in his arms.
She knows what's coming and so she throws herself onto her dad, tiny hands fisting the purple scrubs, cheek pressed tightly over his chest.
"No! I wanna stay with daddy."
Brendon opens his mouth to speak, to defuse the situation before the guilt eats him alive. But you're no sucker, unlike him.
"Really?" you frown. "You wanna stay with your daddy while he does his surgery instead of going to the park to get ice cream with me?"
In all honesty, he stopped listening to you the second the word daddy left your lips. He's certain his kid can feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast, rattling against this ribcage and threatening to burst out of his chest.
All he registers is the toddler flinging herself out of his loose embrace, almost face planting against the sterile floors and practically buzzing with excitement.
"Brendon?" you turn to him, smile turning into a frown quickly.
He springs back into reality when your hand lands over his forearm, light and grounding, like an anchor he didn't know he needed.
"Yeah, yeah," he responds, pretends, shifts out of your touch like he's already late for something that isn't even remotely time for. "I'll see you for dinner, okay guppy?"
But she doesn't care anymore.
"Okay! Bye dad."
Instead, she grabs your hand, demanding and pushy, and pulls you down the hall.
"Bye doctor Park," you tease. "See you later."
And just like that, calm and cold return to the surgery department, and Brendon Park snaps back into the sharpness that defines him.
It's late by the time he makes it home.
Too late, too tired, too...everything.
He sneaks into his own home like a teenager, light steps, a soft touch as he turns the key, even takes off his shoes by the door before he even makes it into the house.
It's not the first time either, not gonna be the last.
He shouldn't feel bad, this is what he pays you the big bucks for at the end of the day.
It's when he peeks into his daughter's room, catching the two of you snuggled together in her tiny bed, butterfly printed comforter covering her and not you, a book forgotten, Mr. Stuffles the rabbit on the floor that it hits him.
Hard.
He'd been miserable that first year after his girlfriend left him. They'd been planning a wedding, the baby being just another blessing in the string of goodness that they had been experiencing.
At least it had been to him.
It took her a year to leave, to finally crack under the pressure and run away. He didn't know how to be a dad alone, much less navigate co-parenting with the woman who had torn his heart out of his chest with her bare hands.
If it hadn't been for his mother, sisters and brothers, Brendon would not have made it through it.
But even they could only get him so far. He needed to go back to work, needed to find something to keep him going, needed...help. Professional help.
And that's when he'd found you.
Frank Langdon's occasional babysitter, full time student looking for a summer job while you got yourself situated for your master's program.
The little guppy was two at that point and Brendon simply couldn't be there for her all the time. So he poached you away from the ED doctor.
To say the dynamic had started out a little toxic would be...an understatement.
Once Brendon returned to the OR with full force, he fell hard into it, into the love and thrill and control that he could exert over his patients, his work, his process.
All the control he'd lost, the scared man that he had become—frantic and powerless—disappeared the second he got back in those scrubs.
And so did the loving and caring father that had put his kid first.
You ripped him a new one about eight days after first meeting him, a night like this, one where he came back home buzzing from a procedure well done, pupils dilated and ego through the roof.
She was young enough to not remember then, but she was definitely old enough to hold onto broken promises now, and that is what tugged at his heartstrings.
Now, tea parties and recitals were just as, if not more important than getting to do a risky procedure no one at PTMC had done before.
Of course, this time around he'd texted, let you know there had been a complication with the surgery. The shaky intern typing out the message practically stopped breathing every time Brendon asked him to erase everything and start from scratch.
They all thought it was cute how he wanted it to be perfect and gentle for his daughter, but the truth is, he needed it to be for you.
Brendon steps into the room softly, bending down to pick up the stuffy and placing it in between his kid's arms before he closes the picture book and sets it on the nightstand.
Neither of you startle at the movement, the soft glow from the salt lamp casting shadows that you knew were never meant to harm you.
It's only when Brendon places a hand over your shoulder, squeezing gently that you blink awake.
"Hi," you whisper, barely turning back to look at him.
"Hi," he smiles softly. "Are you comfy?"
You scoff out a laugh, soft enough not to wake up the kid but loud enough to make his smile grow twice the size.
"Let's get you to bed then," he places a hand under your neck then, pushing you up by supporting your back with his forearm while you tangle your hands around his other arm and pulling yourself into a sitting position.
Certain you're awake enough not to topple over, he leans over you and places a kiss to his kid's temple, watching her nose scrunch ever so slightly before settling back into comfortable sleep.
You smirk at his antics, using his body as leverage to get up to your feet, hands clumsily digging into the muscles of his back.
He groans lightly, old man that he is, and quickly retaliates, holding onto you so that you'll hoist him up with you.
"So heavy," you joke, straining to keep the two of you upright.
Brendon shrugs. "Just full of love."
"Booo," you chuckle, making your way out of her room, Brendon's hands over your shoulders to steady you. "There's leftovers in the microwave if you want them."
He hums in acknowledgment, letting you go as you make it out to the hallway.
"Eat, then shower?" he asks you.
"I'll take advantage then."
He nods. "Yours is still busted?"
"Yeah, guy said earliest he could come is next week."
"Damn plumbers."
"Indeed."
He stares at you for a long second after the conversation settles.
He's...comfortable. Too comfortable with you.
The past year has been a whirlwind. One summer quickly turning into you deferring your master's program so you could finish out the year with them. Then one semester turned into two, into you moving in, into...this.
Don't get him wrong, Brendon knows where the two of you stand. It's not necessarily healthy, but it's innocent, it's professional, it's...just a pathetic crush, nothing more. A fantasy he'll never allow himself to indulge in.
And yet, he cannot stop himself every time his eyes fall on your lips, the plumpness calling to him, beckoning him forward, demanding attention, truth.
"Goodnight then," he manages, rough and exhausted, desperate yet...not enough. Never enough.
You smile dopily at him. "Goodnight Brendon."
It's his own fault really, he should've knocked. But it's his house for fuck's sake, why should he?
So that's how he gets a complete eyeful of you taking a shower the next morning.
He got a late start which meant making breakfast, taking his guppy to school and then going to the gym, all before nine.
Unfortunately for him, earbuds in, distracted as all hell, he completely misses all the warning signs, the closed door, the steam, your clothes on the floor, the music blaring from the speaker.
He's certain he's dead and this is both heaven and hell simultaneously when he finally dares to look up and—
Jesus fucking Christ.
He should look away, he needs to look away...but he physically can't, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of skin visible through the condensation of the glass shower.
If only he would've reacted a second earlier...
You turn in slow motion, your reaction catching up late. You yelp, hands coming up to wrap around your chest, only aiding in pushing your boobs up further.
He instantly snaps into action, blush taking over every inch of his face and neck as he curses out a long string of apologies, blood pumping through his heart and his...yeah, he needs to get the fuck out of there.
"I'm sorry, so sorry," he stumbles out of the bathroom ungracefully, fast enough that he doesn't catch your own reaction, the way your chest constricts, the way your legs rub together.
Brendon manages to hurriedly hide in the kitchen, heart hammering against his ribcage, eyes wide and mind absolutely running a million miles an hour.
He needs to forget he ever saw that, needs to erase it from his brain...but his stupid erection won't let him.
The tent in his pants becomes painful the second he gives it attention, the flimsy material of his work out shorts just not helping his case at all. He needs to take care of this, needs to stop being such a weirdo before you come out.
So he rushes into your bathroom, locks the door like a sane human being does, and pulls himself out of his boxers methodically.
This isn't pleasurable, no, not at all, never. This is necessity. Emotionless, cold and surgical. He spits on his hand, wrapping it around himself without much preamble, thinking of nothing, searching for only one thing, release.
But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.
Imagine her on her knees.
"Fuck no."
How beautiful does she look, skin wet, hair stuck to her neck, eyes wide, mouth open?
"Shut the fuck up."
Her mouth would be so hot, come on, Brendon, give into her—
"Go away."
And yet he groans, the mere thought of you knowing what he's doing two doors away, the way you pushed up your chest, the need to paint it—paint you—white with his spend—
He's biting down on his other hand quickly after as he cums loudly, making sure to aim for the toilet while does.
You're no longer in the shower when he comes back out, your movements confined to your room. He doesn't have the courage to seek you out, so instead he just showers in silence.
The two of you don't interact at all before he's making his way into work.
You left his food prepped on the dining room table, disappearing out of the house the second you did to run some errands.
The tinge of shame and embarrassment linger deep in his bones all throughout the day, following him around like an unwanted shadow.
How would he even start to apologize? You have to talk about it, there's just no other way around it, but...how could he ever tell you it was a mistake when a part of him wanted nothing more than for it to happen again—to get a better look?
Since he made it to work late, he leaves even later. As he makes his way into his home, the same stillness from the night before greets him, only this time, it's heavy, like a breath that's been held in too long.
He goes through his routine quietly, dropping his bag by the door, checking in on his kid before walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.
But before he can make it, something catches his attention.
A breath. A gasp. A moan.
He freezes in front of your closed door, body going rigid with goosebumps, head turning almost robotically as his senses sharpen.
Your light is still on, peeking through the bottom slit of the door. Not uncommon, you like staying up to wait for him before you go to sleep.
No, what catches his attention is the distant...humming.
He steps forward, tentatively pressing his ear to the wood. It's not just a humming, it's vibrations, soft and steady.
Another shaky breath escapes you, louder than you would've liked, and you readjust the toy.
A shiver passes through Brendon as realization hits.
His cock twitches painfully against his underwear. Fuck this cannot be happening right now.
His head falls against your door, stabilizing, grounding. He can't, he will not—
Another moan from you. You're close.
Whatever resolve Brendon has snaps as he pulls himself out of his pants, hot, heavy and leaking.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispers as he takes himself into his hand. He begins to pump quickly, the pace excruciating and borderline painful, but he doesn't care, he needs to—
"Brendon," you huff, a breathy moan curling around his name. "Please I'm—Motherfucker!" you curse through gritted teeth, the vibrations stopping abruptly.
Brendon's heart does a leap in his chest.
Oh my god.
He can feel how frustrated you are, can hear how you shift uncomfortably over your sheets, can practically taste how wet you are as you toss the toy with a thump on the mattress next to you.
And Brendon doesn't think. Can't think, can't process a logical thought to save his life as he lifts his unoccupied hand and—
Knocks.
Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.
Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.
"Are you okay?" he keeps poking.
You swallow thickly, shame mixing with terror.
"Mhmm."
"Can I come in?"
A broken sound leaves your chest, unprompted and definitely surprising you just as much as it does him.
"Um...no?"
He says your name again, stern and fatherly. He hears you moving around frantically, hiding all evidence of what you were just doing.
"Okay."
"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.
It's now or never.
He opens the door. You never seem to lock it, fucking adorable.
He has to physically hold himself back from pouncing on you as his eyes land on your heated cheeks, on your slightly tussled hair, on how you're gripping your comforter to save your life.
He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.
He hears you gulp loudly as you notice his final movement.
"How was your day?" you barely manage to ask, your throat hoarse, your breathing broken.
He settles down on the bed by your feet, close enough to make your heart beat out of your throat, far away enough that he won't overwhelm you entirely.
"Good, good," he sighs, one hand tentatively inching closer and closer to you. "Lot of injuries today."
"I bet."
He smirks, a huff of a laugh cutting through the tension in the room.
"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."
You let out a shaky breath, settling into the false sense of security, choosing to believe that he definitely did not hear you...yeah.
Brendon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning like an idiot. God, you're just so adorable.
You nod, shifting forward, closer to him. "It's okay, I know you didn't do it on purpose. It was just...weird I guess."
You laugh, awkwardly, because what a silly predicament the two of you have found yourselves in, clearly.
Brendon doesn't follow your lead, not at all. He just keeps watching you, eyes darkening as he leans into you as well, his hand finally coming up to grab ahold of your foot over the comforter.
He squeezes enough to punctuate the moment, the tension, the heat. Your gaze snaps towards his hand, towards him, towards—
Your eyes widen without your consent as they land on his crotch, on the straining in his scrubs, on his still practically throbbing erection.
"Brendon," you exhale, confusion and desire blending together excruciatingly.
He shivers over you, his grip tightening on you.
"Don't," he warns. "Don't start something you won't finish, sweetheart."
Your gaze meets his then. He looks like a caged animal, practically vibrating as he holds himself back.
Emboldened by your lust, by the pent up frustration left coiling in your lower stomach, you get up on your knees, letting the comforter fall around your waist, the slightest sliver of skin peeking through.
"Oh I intend to finish it," you whisper.
"Unlike your vibrator?"
That breaks the spell quickly, heat rushing up to your face, neck, back instantly.
"Oh my god, Brendon!" you smack his arm, falling back down on your heels.
He smiles dopily, his hand sliding up your thigh as your brain processes all this new information. Distracted, you don't even notice when he slides beneath the fabric. It's only when the backs of his fingers graze your dripping folds that your breathing hitches.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans. "You're so wet."
You whimper at the feather light contact, hips bucking towards his touch.
"Please," you're no longer thinking, finally. "I need...make me cum, Bren."
The smirk that adorns his face then, all self-righteous and proud, only gets you wetter.
"Is this what you need, baby?" he leans in, breath hot against your ear as he presses a kiss just below it. "Needed my fingers to get yourself to cum?"
You moan, hands coming up to grab a hold of him, nails digging into the toughness of his arms.
In response, Brendon presses his thumb over your clit, slowly moving the pad in torturous circles. You pull him closer, opening your legs so that he has better access.
"Tell me what you need," he commands. "Tell daddy how to make you feel good."
Oh your head is spinning. A tear falls down your cheek, frustration rocking you out of control.
"Need your fingers," you pant.
He grins against your skin. "You already have 'em."
You whine, patience wearing thin. Who would've ever thought, his good girl, so demanding.
"In me, please," you choke, swallowing the drool that has gathered in your mouth before continuing. "Please daddy."
It breaks him, his ring and middle finger thrusting into you in one swift movement as his thumb picks up the pace.
You instantly hide your face agains the crook of his neck, your breathy moan muffled against him as he hooks his fingers into you, curling them over and over again against you until your legs are shaking beneath him.
"That's it, baby, such a good girl for me."
You shiver against him, melting against his warmth.
"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."
He slows down his movements, keeping you right on the edge between putty and alert.
You nod against him, timid hands grazing down his torso towards his pants. The second your hand slides under his waistband, a hiss escapes him, causing a shiver of praise to boost your ego.
You manage to pull him out, long and thick and hot and heavy against your palm, you can't help but salivate at the sight. You let your drool drip down on him, his hips jerking as the wetness lands over his sensitive tip.
You giggle, overly amused by his reactions, emboldened by how easy it is to tame the Shark with just a simple swipe of your hand over his leaking head.
"Fucking hell, baby," he groans, picking up his own pace in retaliation.
You pull back to look at him then, gazes locking in silent competition.
He looks completely disheveled, broken and almost...reverent. Gratification blooms in your stomach, your hand pumping his length in tandem with his own fingers inside of you, the pace causing the two of you to slowly start to unravel together.
Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan as your body clenches around him, so close to the edge, so, so, so perfect—
"Daddy," you warn. "I'm gonna—"
He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.
It takes him no time to catch up to you, his own body tensing in anticipation.
"C'mon baby," he implores. "Let go for me, cum with me."
A choked moan ripples through you as the coil snaps. Your legs quake, your vision blurs from pleasure, your hand stills over him as you feel his own release take over.
It's overwhelming to say the least, his hot moans heavy in your ear, his spend spurting onto your hand, painting his scrubs and your delicate skin, his warmth...oh my god he's so everywhere.
You can't think straight. Can't breathe right. Can't—
You groan as he removes his hand from inside of you, wetness running down your inner thighs as he does. Pleasure clouds your brain as you watch him bring his hand up to his mouth, his tongue lapping up your release, humming contently at the sweet taste.
Hunger flares in your belly as you do the same, lifting your hand up towards your mouth and sucking down on the spot covered by his cum.
You can feel the moan that ripples through him, his body tensing up with lust once more as he watches you.
"Fuck sweetheart, who would've thought..." he smirks, leaning down to smash his lips with your own, mouth desperately seeking to combine your tastes into one sloppy, searing kiss.
You oblige instantly, opening up for him to take whatever he pleases.
He pushes you down onto the mattress, his imposing body slotting itself perfectly in between your open thighs.
He's about to join you on the bed when you break the kiss.
"Outside clothes," you grumble, sleepy and spent.
It tugs at his heartstrings, his mouth curling into a loving smile as he strips down to his boxers before slipping back into bed with you, pulling your body to nestle snugly against his.
"I'm sorry, baby," he kisses your temple, watching you settle into sleep beside him, completely oblivious to how he licks and cleans your skin before finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness.
You're woken up by laughter.
Soft and airy, like a gust of wind rustling outside your window.
Your curtains are still drawn, only slivers of light peeking through into your room, the warmth from outside starting to become overwhelming as you toss the comforter aside.
You sit up with a start, memories from the night before crashing through you like a downpour.
You almost, almost could've pretended it had all been a dream. Almost, if not for the stickiness lingering between your thighs, for the Brendon sized dip in your mattress that he left behind.
It's impossible not to feel his lingering presence in your bed, the way the sheets molded to accommodate him, the way his woodsy scent mixed with hospital antiseptic lingers on the cotton.
Fuck!
You're so close to spiraling, to having your chest cave in from the pressure of guilt, but then you hear it again.
That laugh, like a tug, a spark, a lifeline.
School, you're supposed to up to help with drop-off today.
You're quick to dress, pulling on your sleep shorts, hastily forgoing underwear because you simply aren't thinking straight.
It's late, too late to be thinking instead of moving.
You burst into the kitchen, ready to hastily put together breakfast and Brendon's lunch when—
"Noooooo!" the toddler screams at you from her high chair. "Go back!”
You frown at her, moving slowly around the kitchen island to catch her dad, sweatpants low on his hips, topless for added effect, just finishing up at the stove.
Behind him, a plate with a mountain of pancakes, and beside it, a tray, decked out with cut fruit, a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, even a cup with a little flower from the backyard.
He must see the flurry of emotions taking a hold of you, so he softens instantly.
"Morning," he steps forward slightly. "We were just coming to surprise you."
Your gaze snaps up to his, searching, panicked, overwhelmed and then...grateful.
Your cheeks heat up softly, not instantly, not rushed, just comfortable, safe, loved.
"I'm sorry bug," you lean over and plant a kiss on her head, unruly curls frizzy from sleep. "But now we can have breakfast together, yeah?"
She sighs, dramatically, before she turns to you, arms high up so that you'll pick her up.
You roll your eyes, obviously doing exactly what the princess wants.
You're about to walk out into the living room when you turn back to Brendon, the expression you manage to catch across his features just barely shy of adoration.
You've done this plenty of times before but it's never felt this...domestic. And you can't help how your stomach twists, how your heart blooms—you like this.
Breakfast continues on in that same way. Stolen glances, confusing feelings and an overly energetic toddler that get maple syrup over everything, especially her hair.
One rushed bath time later, you're putting her hair up into ponytail braids, her request, when his imposing frame slides up to lean against his daughter's open door, purple scrubs hugging his body deliciously.
"Ready to go, guppy?"
The kid nods, bashful, as she takes in the little hair clips in her hair, the beads from her ponytails.
"You look beautiful, trouble," you kiss her cheek and she responds by throwing herself around you, a hug so tight it melts you right into her.
"Thank you!"
"You're so welcome."
When she finally lets you go and runs towards her dad, you catch his stare through the mirror. It's...everything. Stormy, bright, hopeful, sorrowful, angry, pleading, you can't look away.
Later, he mouths. We'll talk.
You nod, shooting him a timid smile before he's being dragged out of the house.
Your brain is fuzzy for the next half hour, your movements slow and sluggish.
You focus on tidying up around the house, going through routine out of muscle memory. Cause the truth is, your mind is far away, stuck on the night before, on his lips, his fingers, his hot breath—
Jesus fuck you have got to get it together.
The postman comes through at the perfect time, envelopes snapping you out of inaction. You sort through them absentmindedly still—energy bill, invitation to the annual hospital gala, ortho research magazine, University of Pittsburg—
Your name.
His address.
Your heart constricts, your throat tightens.
Shaky fingers tear through the sticky adhesive, almost tearing the letter within its confines.
Rabid eyes scan the corporate jargon.
Final notice. Unable to push back start date another semester. Confirm attendance or forfeit spot. And then, a deadline.
Sink or swim.
Reality pounding at the door of your carefully crafted fantasy.
It all crumbles instantly.
You've grown attached, complacent, lost yourself as you found a new place, comfortable, easy, simple. You love your life, you love how easy it is to not have to think, to just do, to soak up the joy and the tantrums and the late nights and...
Him.
He's your fucking boss for crying out loud! He can't...he doesn't...you live in his house, you eat his food, you take care of his kid.
How can you take his money and be with him romantically?
You're taking advantage of him, this is so wrong, how could you ever do that to him? To them? To yourself?
But if you leave...if you leave you lose everything you've grown attached to, everything that makes up who you are now, everything—everyone—you love.
This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to go. How could you have been so stupid to—
Your phone blares, a reminder alarm goes off, effectively cutting off your spiraling but only making you even more panicked.
You're late for pick up.
You don't remember much, just that you're driving a little more on edge than you usually are. The lunch traffic is easing down, luckily, but it's just a reminder that you're late.
The school calls, you tell them you're on your way.
He texts, you ignore it.
The green light turns red after you cross—
And it all goes dark.
You're so out of it that your name doesn't sound real.
There's overlapping voices, bright lights, too many hands touching your sweaty skin.
You try to push them off, try to close your eyes for them to be pulled open, try to complain but your throat is so dry nothing remotely close to words spill out.
You know where you are before the nurses have a chance to ease your discomfort.
You can't be here. Nope, not here, bad place to be cause he's here.
You try to get up the second they transfer you into a bed, even manage to sit before Langdon's hands are pulling you back down against the pillow.
"No, nope, none of that," he chides.
"Frank—" your voice sounds so broken it scares you.
"You're okay, let us take care of you," he stares deep into your eyes, his baby blues reminding you of the exact person you're desperate to avoid. "Please."
Before you can continue protesting, they drug you. Yeah, not their finest moment, not yours either. Lorazepam, just enough to calm you down, to finish their exam.
You're lucid, you think, just...softer. It's only then that your body comes back to you, the weight of your bones, the exhaustion in your muscles.
You don't complain again, only answer questions when they're asked.
You're fast tracked to CT, nothing abnormal though you definitely have a concussion. Your body is littered with little cuts and bruises from impact, apparently a motorcyclist who decided to accelerate to sixty without thinking twice. He's being treated at Westbridge so you'll know more later.
Now...now you're just a guilty, crying mess, injuries wrapped, IV almost done, waiting for an ortho consult because everyone in the ED knows you.
But he's not here yet.
It's been hours and he hasn't shown his face.
Logically, you know why.
He had to go pick her up when you didn't know. He had to call out of work because you weren't reliable, he had to—
The curtain is drawn and a child's voice says your name.
You can't help but burst into tears again, desperately trying to hide away, to brace yourself for the impact that follows her around.
But it only makes her more afraid, more distressed, and it breaks your heart.
With your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face, you don't see him, but you hear him.
Hear how he steps into the room, how he refrains from speaking your name, how he pulls the curtain closed again, how he picks up his kid and settles down on the stool beside your bed.
And then you feel tiny, cold hands press over your cheeks, gently poking at you until you break, calling out your name over and over and over until he says it.
Low and soft, pleading.
You open your eyes, a fresh waterfall dripping onto her fingers, causing her to recoil adorably.
"Yucky," she shivers, wiping your tears on her father's shirt.
That gets a laugh out of you.
"There she is," Brendon's voice is heavy, like the emotional weight has solidified into his body and is crushing over his chest.
You finally look up at him then, relinquishing your fears and staring directly into the place you know is both salvation and ruin.
"Well hello baby shark," Dana's signature snark breaks the moment. "Y'wanna come with me and let the boring grownups talk? I got apple sauce and crayons."
Wow she's so easy to lure away it's a wonder she's still in one piece. Well...who wouldn't be, with a dad like that and a nanny who would kill anyone that even thought about breathing near her with wrong intentions.
She winks at you and shoots a stern look at Brendon before leaving the two of you alone.
He doesn't even let the room settle before he's pouncing, lips on yours simply to prove to himself that you're alive, that you're breathing, that you're still here.
You can't stop crying, can't stop shaking, can't—
He shushes you gently, warm hands cupping your cheeks and wiping away the wetness as it falls.
You choke out a half-hearted laugh. "Not yucky?"
He smiles against your mouth, kissing you one last time before he pulls back to look at you.
"I was so worried," the confession is a mere whisper but it hangs thick in the room, suspended in a web of all the things you've both left unsaid. "When Dana called—" he chokes on a breath. "Fuck, sweetheart I almost—I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, I was resetting someone's fucking shoulder and..." he chuckles at the memory. "Almost made it worse."
"The great Brendon Park, almost ruined by one phone call," you try to joke, try to lighten the mood but...it's impossible. The way he stares at you, his gaze searing, his hands holding onto you as if he's afraid if he lets go you'll disappear—"Brendon."
"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, we should've—I should've—"
You shake your head as much as the concussion will allow, your hands coming up to lace with his own.
"It's my fault," you sob. "I wasn't thinking—I...I got scared."
His brow furrows but he doesn't prod, doesn't force you to speak. He just waits, patiently, like you've seen him do plenty times before with a snotty, emotionally confused toddler.
So you take a steadying breath, grab his hand tighter, and tell him everything. The letter, your panic attack, your uncertainty, your fears, your...hopefulness.
It doesn't matter that your brain doesn't feel comfortable baring your soul to him, your heart does. With each word, the clutches of doubt and panic ease off, your grip lightening until you're unashamedly fiddling with his fingers, tracing lazy patterns over his skin like he...like he belongs to you.
He sits with your confession for a while, a few seconds turning into a few minutes but he doesn't pull away, doesn't make you feel unwanted. So you don't panic either, you just trace his nails with your fingers over and over and over agains until—
He lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a soft kiss onto your knuckles.
"What do you wanna do, baby?"
Baby, like it's simple. Baby, like it's normal. Baby, like you're his.
You search his eyes for malice, for a truth that you desperately need to push on him so that you can focus on a broken heart and not the overwhelming reality of choice, of making it work.
But all you find is patience, kindness, openness.
Fucking girl dad ortho bros that are emotionally intelligent—they're the worst.
You sigh, honest and raw. "I don't know. I just don't want to lose you."
He hums in understanding, rolling closer to the bed.
"I don't want to lose you either," he states, unflinching. "We can take this however you need, you can still live with us, you can..."
He trails off as he notices the hesitancy in your eyes.
"You don't want that?"
He doesn't say it maliciously, but it still sucker punches you all the same.
"I don't know...what about trouble? She's young but she's not stupid. I don't...I don't want her to think that I'm...that I don't love her because it's not the same—"
"She's a smart kid, she'll understand," he's too quick to catch your lie. "Now if you're afraid of things changing..." he catches your guilt flash through your eyes. "Then that's okay. We can go slow. We don't have to figure it all out right now."
You nod, accepting the easy way out.
One step at a time.
You can live with that.
Recovery is...boring as all hell.
The motorcycle guy lived, your insurance companies settled out of court, nothing to worry about according to Brendon who's been fussing over you for the past five days.
He's taken a temporary leave to nurse you back to health and "take care of his girls" as he put it, settling some stupid bet that the surgery department started a few days ago.
The little bug is practically glued to you, helping out her dad in whatever way she can, which isn't much, but it's always appreciated. She's even started reading you bedtime stories, but in truth she's just making things up as she points to the pictures.
At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.
It's a Saturday when it happens.
No school, no early alarms, no nothing except his steady breathing, his safe embrace keeping you flush against his front, your leg straddled over his hip so that he can pull you in closer—
It's his own damn fault honestly.
You blink awake as a hardness pressed against your front. His heat pulls you in, your sleepy brain not thinking anything other than closer, warmer...so you roll your hips and a jolt of pleasure courses through you.
You're suddenly extremely aware of everything, frustration rearing its ugly head as memories flash from that night again.
You haven't touched yourself since then. Haven't wanted or been able to. But now, this morning you're just...very aware of how much you need it.
You roll your hips again, hoping to wake him up and have him take care of you. You can feel how much he needs it too, how much his body craves yours. If you can just—
"Baby," he groans against your temple, grip on you tightening, pulling you further into him. "What're you doing?"
You huff, desperate, sliding a hand in between your bodies and accidentally on purpose raking your nails along his length.
He hisses against your skin, question answered instantly as his eyes snap open.
"Oh sweetheart," he coos, merciful it seems. "Did you wake up needy, baby? Need me to take care of you?"
You nod, pathetically honestly, but you can’t care less.
He's got you sprawled under him in the blink of an eye, his mouth connecting with yours in a searing kiss before his lips begin to trail a path downward.
You're doing much better today. The cuts have scabbed over, the bruises are starting to fade from purple to brown, movement doesn't make you dizzy, if anything, it makes you just the right amount of lightheaded.
You feel his touch everywhere. Feather light grazes over your abdomen, nails raking up towards your breasts under his obnoxiously soft cotton t-shirt.
He removes his mouth off you so he can pull the shirt off your body, the offending fabric getting tossed to the side as his mouth latches onto your nipple.
You arch into his mouth, strangled moans escaping before his hand comes up to slide his fingers inside. He presses them against your tongue and you instantly suck on them as he too continues his assault.
When he's finally satisfied, he trails lower, hot tongue licking down your stomach until he reaches your pubic bone. His hand slips out from between your lips so he can hold your legs open for him before settling his mouth over your panties, taking a deep breath in and relishing in the way your breathing hitches.
Fuck he's so beautiful like this.
"Thank you baby," he grins against you. Fuck did you say that out loud?
He doesn't let you think on it as his mouth opens up, wide and predatory, and bites down on your mound, his tongue pressing against your clothed clit, working it through the fabric.
"Bren—please, I need—" you pant, already delirious.
"What do you need baby, tell daddy what you need."
Your head spins, heat blooms everywhere.
"Your mouth," you try, hoarse and needy. "Need your mouth."
He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.
His tongue is ravenous, licking a powerful stripe from your entrance up to your clit, groaning against your folds at the gathered wetness.
"So fucking good," he mumbles into your skin before his puffy lips latch onto your clit. He sucks and licks and pulls and tugs, all the while your body thrusts into his mouth. You almost hit him before his grip on your thighs tightens and he reminds you swiftly that he's much stronger than you.
You bite down on your tongue, hard enough to feel the sting, the faintness of copper lacing your taste buds. You know you have to be quiet but fuck do you want to scream.
"Bren fuck oh my god," you whimper, your hands threading through his soft waves, the lack of gel sending another shiver down your spine. No one else gets to see him like this.
He bites down on your clit then, pulling slightly before he slides down again, his nose perfectly hitting your bundle of nerves as his tongue and mouth fuck your entrance.
He feels you cumming before you even know what's happening, the coil in your abdomen snapping without even giving you a heads up. Your hands come up to muffle your screams while your body rocks, a tidal wave crashing through you as he does his best to hold you down, to work you through it.
He's gentle, diligent, devout almost as his mouth continues to kiss and lick and suck until you twitch from overstimulation. Only then does he detach himself from you, the bottom half of his face glistening with your release.
You look at him with the most gleeful expression, so proud of yourself, of his smugness.
He settles in between your legs again, pulling them tight around his waist, just reveling in being able to hold you against his naked front.
You're so blissed out, grateful and happy, planting your lips over every inch of skin he'll let you. But you're greedy now, you need more, want more.
You press your front against the bulge in his sweats and he hisses.
"We don't have to—"
"I want to," you kiss him again, your lingering taste euphoric. "Please."
You don't need to tell him twice. He rolls over towards his bedside table instantly, pulling out a silver wrapper and discarding his pants in what feels like seconds.
You can't help but giggle, the boyish smile on his lips and the way his cheeks tinge pink quickly sending you into overdrive.
You need this man inside of you right now.
You watch in awe as he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling on the slick condom over his impressive length.
Yeah, he's perfect, and he's yours, there's not a shred of doubt in your mind. You don't know how everything will fall into place but you don't have to, because you'll figure it out together.
He settles in between your thighs again, his chest pressing down against yours, desperate to be as close to you as possible before he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly thrusts himself inside.
You're wet enough that with the lube, he slides right in, your ass flush with his thighs in a dizzying, all consuming instant. He's perfectly snug, fitting so perfectly inside of you that neither of you can help the moan of satisfaction that spills.
It quickly turns into a fit of laughter, easy and shy, like you're both making love instead of having sex. And that just feels right.
He kisses you softly, tentatively, letting you get used to him before he begins to move. But you're impatient, your hips rolling on their own as you seek some friction.
He groans into your mouth. "Fuck baby, trying to kill me."
You smirk against his kiss, cocky for exactly three seconds before he meets your movement with a thrust of his hips. With the air getting knocked out of your lungs, he begins to move, slow and unhurried, all the way out before he thrusts right back to the hilt.
You hold onto him like your life depends on it, pressing further into his skin, his warmth, his safety. You can't get enough of him, of the excitement of tomorrow, of the need that comes from wanting nothing more than to be close to him.
"Such a good girl for me," he praises into your ear. "Letting me take care of you, only complaining a couple times."
You huff out a laugh, remembering the first time he'd helped you to the bathroom and then waited imposingly on the other side of the door until you were done. He's lucky he never tried to get in with you otherwise you would've hit him.
His thrusts pick up the pace in response.
"Let me take care of you, baby," he pleads then. "Whatever you decide, let me help you, please."
You blink back tears, nodding against his cheek, nails digging into his chiseled back.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you moan. "Please daddy—"
You don't get to finish as he groans, hoisting your bottom half off the bed as his mercifulness finally snaps.
He fucks into you like he needs to show you just how much your words affect him. The bed rattles, the mattress squeaks awkwardly but neither of you cares. You need this, need each other.
"Come on, pretty girl," he pants. "Cum with me, cum with daddy."
You're just as affected as him, your second peak slowly but surely sneaking up on you again as he sneaks a hand in between your bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb over your clit.
You clench around him and he hisses, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a searing kiss as warmth floods you both. Your moans get tangled in between hungry tongues and teeth, your bodies vibrate against each other in bursts of pleasure and care and...love.
You're unsure how long you're stuck there, in between real life and whatever the fuck you're feeling, but finally when your body pushes him out of you, he rolls over and goes into the bathroom.
You watch him through hazy eyes as he cleans himself up, his adonis like body always such a sight to gaze upon. He blushes crimson when he catches you watching him, the apex predator reduced to a blubbering mess by just one simple look.
But it's not simple, and you both know that.
Pride swells up in your chest as he runs a wet towel in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you over and over again before he finally deigns the day worthy enough to begin, or rather, three soft knocks on his bedroom door startle you back into reality.
"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?"
You roll your eyes, sharing a glance with him that warms your heart.
Yeah, you're gonna be alright.
a/n: thank you to everyone that participated in the poll! hope this is to your satisfaction
dividers by @/enchanthings
something something joining robby on his sabbatical and just spending your time fucking in motels and making out in dimly lit bars in a booth at the back of the room. halfway through the trip, he’s got you on your stomach in a motel bed, his legs either side of yours as he slides his cock in and out of your dripping wet hole. everything feels so fuzzy, hazy and you’re halfway to delirious when it slips out.
“f-feels so good.. dad..”
robby damn near comes on the spot, collapsing down so his chest is pressed to your back as he groans into your neck.
“yeah, honey? dad makin’ you feel good?”
“mmhm..”
he groans again, pressing his forehead to your shoulder before whispering in your ear.
“can’t tell mom about this, ‘kay? just our little secret, honey..”
“promise.. our little secret, dad..”
“good girl.. ohhh, such a good girl.”
robby’s practically grinding against you, squeezing his eyes shut every time he hears the squelching sound of his cock sliding in your hole. he knows there’s people on the other side of the thin wall between the rooms but he couldn’t give two shits what they think. he’s got a pretty little thing in his bed, utterly obsessed with him, calling him dad over and over again as he pounds into her—he’s living the fucking dream.
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.”
Robby likes to touch, especially after a few drinks. Unfortunately, he likes to touch you.
If it was any other man, you'd curl your nose, tell him to fuck off, but something about Robby's steady hand, firm and comforting at the same time, keeps your mouth shut. You melt at his hand on the back of your neck, resting there like you're his while he tells stories about "the old days" to your fellow residents.
It's embarrassing how they look at you– or, it should be, but you're too busy soaking up the way Robby's voice sounds so close to your ear right now. Trinity looks like she wants to jump across the table. Dennis is blushing to his ears right next to her. It's only Cassie and Victoria, sitting slightly too close to one another, who hide their judgement, for nothing if not to appear less hypocritical than their thoughts.
You wonder if they look at Samira and Abbot the same way. Though, you already know the answer, because the two of them are at the bar right now, each with hands roaming far lower than Robby's. And you also know know why they don't. You feel it. It's the same reason why you like Robby touching you like this.
Every time he makes contact, from a mere accidental brush in the halls at work to these nights of drunken handsiness, your heart races. It's the closest you've ever felt to being prey, and you're not entirely sure what the predator is. You know well enough to say it's Robby with his claws that can't help but sink into you, but the lingering eyes and the whispers of your peers when they think you're not around to hear it feel just as dangerous.
So you seek him out, sit next to him and giggle at his every joke, and share sips of his drinks and offer him some of your own. You bear the glares because the thrill of Robby occupies your sleeping and waking mind.
And when the night you're dreaming of eventually does arrive, it doesn't take you by surprise one bit. When Robby leans in, his hand already teasing the inside of your thigh, and asks if you have somewhere to be tonight, you simply smile.
"going out to get milk" is a common turn of phrase used to describe a man abandoning his family.
the "milkman" is a common figure in stories depicting a woman's infidelity and adulterous affair.
this implies that the ability to provide milk would both decrease the likelihood of a man abandoning his wife and children, as it would eliminate the need for leaving to get milk AND would secure that man's marriage, as his wife would have no need to seek milk from an extraneous source.
therefore, all men should produce milk, through various means such as:
- being a cow
- being an almond
- being a woman
- being a coconut
- being in the omegaverse
- being an oat
(list is exemplary and not finite)
in this essay, i will redefine the nuclear family and explain the seductive and inflammatory nature of the 1993 "Got Milk?" commercials.
Request - Hi I'm new to your blog and fics but I love them so much! I'm not sure if you're taking requests but if you are, do you mind writing one where F reader and Robby are in a long term relationship, live and work together. Her parents are divorced and her father wasn't around much. When he does come around he's either asking for money, lying, or promising to stick around and then doesn't. One day she's up for some award after helping out during a dangerous/stressful and chaotic mass casualty event that happened outside of where they work. It gets the attention of local news and her father's attention. He reaches out to ask to go to lunch with her and Robby is worried for her because he knows how awful her dad is. The couple go to lunch with the dad and it's awkward. Robby can see how fake he's being in his 'sincerity. The dad agrees to go to the (planned) celebration for her for the award and she's hopeful. He doesn't end up showing and she tries to mask the disappointment. Afterwards when they're alone she explains that she's hurt and Robby comforts her more.
what a great idea - thanks for the request 🫶
Masterlist
*************************
The emergency department had returned to its normal level of organized chaos. If anyone outside the hospital walked through the double doors, they would think it looked exactly as it always did. Stretchers rolled across polished floors. Monitors chirped. Nurses laughed between patient rooms before disappearing into another assessment. Residents chased attendings with clipboards in hand, trying desperately to keep up. Life had moved on. It always did. The people who had lived through that Saturday afternoon knew better.
Three weeks ago, a charter bus carrying a high school choir had collided with a fuel truck less than half a mile from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The explosion hadn’t reached the hospital, but the screams had. Every available physician, nurse, respiratory therapist, paramedic, and technician had run. There hadn’t been time to think. Only time to move.
Robby had been halfway through reducing a shoulder dislocation when Dana stuck her head through the trauma bay doors.
“We need everybody.”
That was all she’d said. The patient in front of him had looked at the panic on every face around him before quietly saying, “Go.”
So they had. Outside the emergency department, the world had become something out of a nightmare. Smoke curled into a gray afternoon sky. Glass covered the pavement. Teenagers wandered in circles with blood running down their faces, calling for friends who couldn’t answer.
Parents arrived seconds behind ambulances, screaming names into crowds that couldn’t hear them over sirens. The entire hospital spilled into the parking lot. Triage stations appeared almost magically. Blankets. Tourniquets. IV kits. Portable oxygen. People simply started doing what they’d been trained to do.
You had been one of the first outside. Not because someone told you to. Because someone needed help. Robby still remembered looking across the chaos and seeing you kneeling beside a girl who couldn’t have been older than sixteen. Your hands were covered in blood. Not yours. Hers. You were talking to her like none of the destruction existed.
“Stay with me, sweetheart.”
The girl’s eyes rolled. You squeezed harder over the wound.
“I know it hurts.”
She whimpered.
“You can yell at me later.”
Another weak cry.
“You keep yelling.”
“I’m not letting you leave me.”
Then another patient had cried out. Someone else shouted for a doctor. A helicopter thundered overhead. The world kept spinning.
Hours later, when the last critical patient had finally been wheeled inside, Robby had found you sitting on the curb outside the ambulance bay. You hadn’t even realized your scrub top was soaked in someone else’s blood. You just stared at your hands.
“They were so young,” you’d whispered.
He hadn’t answered. There wasn’t an answer. He’d simply sat beside you until the silence stopped hurting quite so much.
Three weeks later…
Life had resumed. Mostly. The memories hadn’t. The emergency department television mounted above the nurses’ station played the noon news while everyone charted between patients.
“…local first responders and medical personnel are being recognized this Friday by the City of Pittsburgh for their extraordinary actions during last month’s bus explosion…”
Dana looked up first.
“Oh God.”
Jack snorted. “What?”
“They’re doing one of those cheesy appreciation ceremonies.”
Langdon glanced toward the television.
“I love cheesy appreciation ceremonies.”
“You would.”
“I absolutely would.”
The anchor continued.
“Several individuals are receiving individual commendations for acts of exceptional bravery…”
Pictures flashed across the screen. Firefighters. Police officers. EMS crews. Then…a photograph of you appeared.
It wasn’t glamorous. Someone had clearly snapped it during the response itself. Your hair had escaped your ponytail. Your face was streaked with soot. Blood covered your forearms
You were crouched beside that teenage girl, one hand pressing into her leg while the other cupped her face. You hadn’t even known someone had taken it.
“…hospital physician Dr.—”
“Oh, hell.”
Every head turned toward you. You stared at the television like it had personally betrayed you.
“No.”
Mel looked between the screen and you.
“Is that you?”
“No.”
Langdon laughed.
“The TV seems to think otherwise.”
“It is literally me.”
“So…” Jack grinned. “…it is you.”
You groaned loud enough for the entire station to hear.
“I hate every single one of you.”
Dana’s smile softened.
“They’re giving you an individual commendation.”
“I don’t want one.”
“You deserve one.”
“I was doing my job.”
“So was everyone else.”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t see Robby up there.”
Jack immediately pointed toward Robby, who had just walked out of Trauma Two carrying a chart.
“Hey, Robby.”
He barely looked up.
“What?”
“Your girlfriend’s famous.”
He frowned.
“What?”
Langdon simply pointed upward. Robby looked at the television. He froze. The reporter continued speaking over footage from the scene.
“…witnesses reported that Dr. Y/L/N remained with multiple pediatric victims until additional crews arrived, helping stabilize several critically injured patients…”
Robby’s eyes stayed on the screen. You, covered in blood. You, comforting that terrified teenager. You refusing to leave her side. His chest swelled with something he couldn’t quite describe.
Pride.
Overwhelming, almost painful pride. He looked at you instead. You looked horrified.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
You buried your face in your hands.
“I’m calling in sick Friday.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I suddenly have the plague.”
“You do not.”
“I think I do.”
“You absolutely don’t.”
The staff laughed. Dana crossed her arms.
“I expect everyone who’s off shift to be there.”
Mel pointed toward herself.
“Can I clap obnoxiously?”
“You almost certainly will.”
“I absolutely will.”
You sighed dramatically.
“I hate all of you.”
“No,” Jack corrected. “You hate attention.”
“Exactly.”
Robby wandered over until he was standing beside you. Without saying anything, he slipped a hand against the small of your back. Just enough pressure for you to feel. Grounding. His thumb rubbed once across your scrub top.
“I’m proud of you.”
You looked up.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know.”
“You’ve already told me.”
“I’m telling you again.”
“I wasn’t the only one out there.”
“No.” His voice stayed calm. “But you’re the woman I love.”
Your cheeks warmed despite yourself.
“You make it really difficult to argue with you.”
“I’ve had practice.”
Before you could answer, your phone buzzed against the counter beside your chart. You reached for it absentmindedly. The smile disappeared from your face before you’d even unlocked the screen completely.
Robby noticed immediately. He always noticed. The warmth left your eyes. Your shoulders tightened. Your breathing changed almost imperceptibly. He leaned closer.
“What?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, you handed him the phone. One text message. From a contact that hadn’t appeared on your screen in nearly eight months.
Saw you on the news.
Proud of you, kiddo.
Think we could grab lunch sometime this week? My treat.
Robby read it once. Then again. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Not because the message was cruel. Because it wasn’t. It was exactly nice enough to make you hope.
He looked over at you. You hadn’t said a word. You were just staring at the floor with that familiar expression he’d come to recognize over the years—the one that quietly asked the same impossible question every single time your father resurfaced.
Maybe this time.
Robby reached over and laced his fingers through yours beneath the counter, hidden from everyone else in the department. His grip was warm. Steady. He didn’t say what he was thinking. He didn’t tell you your father had disappeared after birthdays, after graduations, after holidays, after promises to call, after promises to visit, after promises to simply be your dad.
He didn’t remind you about the money he’d borrowed. Or the birthdays he’d forgotten. Or the countless times he’d said, Next weekend, I promise, only to vanish for another year.
Instead, he simply squeezed your hand. When you finally looked at him, he offered the smallest smile. The kind that said he was already standing beside you…No matter what happened next.
*******
Robby waited until you were home before bringing it up. He knew better than to ask questions in the middle of the emergency department, where interruptions came every thirty seconds and emotions had to be shoved into neat little boxes until the shift was over. You’d made it through the rest of the afternoon exactly the way you always did—with professionalism that bordered on stubbornness.
You’d smiled. You’d laughed when Langdon saluted you every time he walked by. You’d rolled your eyes when Mel asked if she should start calling you “Doctor Celebrity.” You’d taken care of patients.
No one would have guessed that one text message had unraveled something inside you. Now, nearly ten hours later, the apartment was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of the dishwasher and the soft rain tapping against the living room windows. You had changed into one of Robby’s old Pitt Medical Center sweatshirts that swallowed your frame, your hair was piled into a messy knot, and you sat cross-legged on the couch absently turning the television channels without actually watching anything. Robby finished rinsing the last coffee mug before drying his hands on a towel.
“You’ve changed the channel twelve times.”
“I know.”
“You haven’t watched a single thing.”
“I know.”
He smiled to himself.
“You wanna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
You stared at the remote for another few seconds.
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
A long silence settled between you. Finally, you let out a breath.
“I keep reading the text.”
“I figured.”
“I’ve probably read it thirty times.”
“You’ve definitely read it thirty times.”
You looked over at him.
“How’d you know?”
“Because every time your phone buzzes, you pick it up hoping it’s another message.”
You looked away. He’d caught you. Again. Robby crossed the room and lowered himself onto the opposite end of the couch, one arm stretching along the back cushions behind you.
“So…”
“So…”
“What are you thinking?”
You hesitated.
“I think…” You sighed softly. “I think maybe he’s trying.”
Robby didn’t respond immediately. He simply watched you.
“I know what you’re going to say.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You don’t have to.”
He smiled faintly.
“I actually wasn’t going to.”
“You weren’t?”
“No.”
You frowned.
“I was going to ask why you think that.”
Your shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
You rubbed your thumb against the edge of the remote.
“He texted first.”
“Mhm.”
“He said he was proud of me.”
“Mhm.”
“He wants to buy lunch.”
“Mhm.”
You laughed quietly.
“You’re really making me work for this.”
“I know.”
Another silence. Then your voice grew much smaller.
“I guess…”
You swallowed.
“…I guess I keep hoping that one day he wakes up and decides he wants to be my dad.”
The words hung in the room. Honest. Raw. Painfully simple. Robby felt something twist in his chest. He hated how small your voice became whenever you talked about your father. This brilliant, confident emergency physician who barked orders during trauma activations without blinking…Reduced to sounding like a little girl wondering why she wasn’t enough.
He reached over and gently took the remote from your hands before setting it on the coffee table. Then he scooted closer until your knees touched.
“Can I ask you something?”
You nodded.
“When was the last time he called you?”
You frowned.
“I don’t…” You started counting backwards. “I guess…”
“Christmas?”
“No.”
“Thanksgiving?”
“No.”
“Your birthday?”
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You remember my birthday.”
You rolled your eyes.
“It was easy.”
“It was eight months ago.”
“Oh.” You blinked. “…Eight months.”
He nodded.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
You looked toward the rain outside.
“Last summer.”
“And before that?”
You thought.
“…Maybe a year.”
“Mhm.”
“He said work got crazy.”
Robby stayed quiet.
“He probably wasn’t lying.”
“Mhm.”
“He… he gets busy.”
“Mhm.”
You looked at him with a tiny, almost defensive smile.
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“The one where you let me hear myself.”
He smiled gently.
“It usually works.”
“It isn’t fair.”
“I know.”
You leaned back against the couch with a frustrated groan.
“I hate that you’re always right.”
“I’d argue with that.”
“You should.”
“I lose plenty.”
“Not this time.”
The room fell quiet again.Eventually, Robby spoke.
“Has he ever apologized?”
You blinked.
“For what?”
He held your gaze.
“For leaving.”
Silence.
“No.”
“For missing birthdays?”
“No.”
“For disappearing after promising he wouldn’t?”
You shook your head.
“For asking you for money?”
Another shake. He nodded slowly.
“Has he ever paid you back?”
A humorless laugh escaped you.
“No.”
“You know how much?”
You actually smiled.
“Down to the dollar? No.”
“I do.”
You were surprised. “You would.”
“I have a spreadsheet.”
Your eyes widened.
“You have a spreadsheet?”
“I have concerns.”
You stared at him for two seconds before dissolving into genuine laughter.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You have a spreadsheet about my dad.”
“It’s color-coded.”
“Robby.”
“He owes you seven thousand four hundred and sixty dollars.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“I like data.”
“I am dating such a nerd.”
“The hottest nerd you’ve ever met.”
“The hottest.”
He grinned, satisfied with himself. The laughter faded as quickly as it had come. You picked at the cuff of your sweatshirt.
“I know all of this.”
“I know.”
“I know he’s unreliable.”
“I know.”
“I know he’ll probably disappear again.”
“I know.”
Your voice cracked.
“But what if he doesn’t?”
There it was. Not denial. Hope. The quiet, stubborn kind that refused to die no matter how many times it had been crushed. Robby reached over, gently wrapping both of his hands around yours.
“I don’t want you to cancel lunch because of me.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m choosing for you.”
“I know.”
“If you want to see him…” He squeezed your fingers. “…I’ll sit right beside you.”
Your eyes filled immediately.
“If he really wants to change…” Robby sighed. “I’m rooting for him.”
“You are?”
“I am.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“Then I’ll be there for that too.”
You stared at him for several long seconds.
“You’re not even mad at him?”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“Oh, sweetheart…” He looked toward the ceiling as though searching for patience. “I’ve been mad at your father for years.”
“You have?”
“I’ve just never thought you needed one more person yelling his name.”
You felt tears threatening now.
“He missed your med school graduation.”
You nodded.
“He missed your residency graduation.”
Another nod.
“He promised he’d come when we moved in together.”
“Mhm.”
“He never showed.”
“No.”
“And every single time…” His voice remained remarkably gentle. “…you’ve looked at your phone for three days afterward waiting for an explanation.”
You couldn’t stop the tear that escaped.
“I hate that you notice.”
“I notice everything about you.”
He reached up, brushing the tear away with his thumb.
“I also notice something else.”
“What?”
“You’ve never stopped giving him another chance.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I sound pathetic.”
“No.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I think you sound like someone’s daughter.”
That broke you. Not because it was dramatic. Because it was true. You covered your face with both hands.
“I don’t know why I keep hoping.”
Robby stood without another word. You heard him disappear down the hallway. A minute later he returned carrying the soft fleece blanket the two of you always fought over during movie nights. He draped it around both of you before pulling you gently against his side.
Your head found its familiar place against his shoulder. His lips rested against your hair. Neither of you spoke for a long time. Eventually, he murmured into your temple.
“So…”
“So?”
“When’s lunch?”
You sniffled.
“Saturday.”
He nodded once.
“Then Saturday…” He kissed the top of your head. “…we’ll go together.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“You’ll probably hate every second.”
“I probably will.”
A tiny smile tugged at your lips.
“So why come?”
He looked down at you as though the answer was the easiest thing in the world.
“Because if you’re walking into something that scares you…” He intertwined his fingers with yours beneath the blanket. “…you’re not walking in alone.”
******
Saturday arrived warm and bright, almost offensively cheerful. The kind of summer afternoon that begged people to sit on restaurant patios with cold drinks and nowhere to be. You had changed outfits three times.
Not because you wanted to impress your father. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. The navy sundress currently hanging in your closet had been deemed “too dressy.” The white blouse had somehow felt “too formal.” You’d finally settled on a pair of dark jeans, sandals, and a soft green blouse Robby had once told you brought out your eyes. He leaned against the bedroom doorframe, arms folded across his chest as he watched you smooth invisible wrinkles from the fabric for what had to be the twentieth time.
“You’ve officially run out of wrinkles.”
You glanced at him through the mirror.
“I know.”
“You’ve checked your hair six times.”
“I know.”
“You’ve put lip gloss on twice.”
“I know.”
“You’ve also looked at your phone approximately every forty-five seconds.”
You sighed.
“Robby.”
He pushed off the doorway and crossed the room until he stood behind you. His hands settled lightly on your hips before he rested his chin against the top of your head.
“You look beautiful.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I know.”
“What if this is different?”
“I hope it is.”
“What if he really means it this time?”
Robby met your eyes in the mirror.
“I hope he does.”
He wasn’t lying. He genuinely hoped he was wrong. He hoped your father had finally figured out what he’d spent decades throwing away. He hoped this afternoon would be the beginning of something. He simply wasn’t betting on it.
******
The restaurant sat overlooking one of Pittsburgh’s rivers, all exposed brick, hanging plants, and oversized windows that flooded the dining room with sunlight. You spotted your father before he spotted you.
He looked…Older. All gray now. More lines around his eyes. For just a split second, your heart squeezed. He looked like someone’s dad. Your dad.
Then he noticed you. A grin spread across his face as he stood from the table with his arms already opening.
“Kiddo!”
You smiled instinctively.
“Dad.”
He wrapped you in a hug that lasted just a beat too long before stepping back to look at you.
“Look at you.” He shook his head dramatically. I turn on the television and suddenly my little girl’s a hero.”
Your cheeks flushed.
“I’m not a hero.”
“You’ve always been modest.”
His attention shifted to Robby.
“And you must be Robby.”
Robby offered a polite smile and extended his hand.
“Nice to finally meet you, sir.”
The older man shook it enthusiastically.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Robby almost asked, From who? Instead, he simply nodded.
“Likewise.”
You noticed the almost imperceptible twitch in the corner of Robby’s mouth. Anyone else would’ve missed it. You knew him too well. He hadn’t heard a damn thing. The hostess returned to lead everyone to their table. Your father insisted you take the seat with the river view.
“You deserve the best seat.”
You smiled.
“Thanks.”
Robby sat beside you. Across from both of you, your father leaned comfortably back in his chair, already looking around for the waiter.
“So…” He rubbed his hands together. “This one’s on me.”
You laughed.
“You texted that.”
“And I meant it.”
For a little while… It almost felt normal. He asked about work. He laughed when you told a story about Langdon accidentally walking into the wrong trauma bay wearing two different shoes after a thirty-hour shift. He smiled when you described Mel’s inability to whisper. He even listened while you explained how Robby had become obsessed with making homemade pasta despite owning approximately every takeout menu in the city.
“I am not obsessed.”
“You bought a pasta drying rack.”
“It was on sale.”
“You named your sourdough starter.”
“Giuseppe deserves respect.”
Your father laughed loudly.
“I like this guy.”
Robby smiled politely.
“Thank you.”
He watched your father carefully between bites. Not staring. Observing. Years of emergency medicine had taught him to notice details. The expensive watch. Brand new. The cuff of his shirt was fraying. Odd combination. Wedding ring gone. Expected.
Every story somehow circled back to him. Expected. He never once asked what specialty Robby practiced. Never asked how the two of you met. Never asked how long you’d been together. He talked. And talked. And talked.
“…business has finally picked back up.”
“That’s good.”
“I’ve been traveling a lot.”
“I’m glad.”
“I might even be looking at buying another truck.”
“That’s exciting.”
Robby noticed something else. Every answer you gave was enthusiastic. Every question your father asked lasted just long enough for you to answer before he redirected the conversation back to himself. You didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe…You were simply used to it. Halfway through lunch, your father leaned across the table.
“So this award thing…”
You smiled.
“It’s Friday.”
“Big ceremony?”
“I don’t think it’ll be very big.”
“You were on the news.”
“I know.”
“They’re giving speeches?”
“I think so.”
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
The words landed somewhere deep inside you. You smiled before you could stop yourself.
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“I mean…” You looked down at your drink for a second. “…you don’t have to.”
He reached across the table and squeezed your hand.
“I want to.”
Your eyes immediately brightened. Robby saw it happen. The shift. Like someone had turned on a light inside you. For just a second…You looked ten years younger.
Hope did that. Your father continued.
“I’m proud of you.”
Your throat tightened.
“I know I haven’t always been around…”
Robby’s attention sharpened.
“…but maybe we can change that.”
Silence. Your eyes shimmered.
“I’d like that.”
“So would I.”
The waiter appeared to refill drinks, interrupting the moment. When he left, conversation drifted elsewhere. By the time dessert arrived, you were laughing. Actually laughing. Robby couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen you look so… relieved.
As though something heavy you’d carried your entire life had finally been set down. An hour later, everyone stepped outside into the afternoon sunshine. Your father pulled you into another hug.
“I’ll see you Friday.”
“I’ll text you the details again.”
“You do that.”
He looked over at Robby.
“Take good care of her.”
Robby met his eyes.
“I always do.”
Your father smiled.
“I can see that.”
Then he climbed into his truck, waved once through the windshield, and drove away. You stood there watching until the truck disappeared around the corner. Only then did you let out a long breath.
“What?” Robby asked gently.
You turned to him with the biggest smile he’d seen in weeks.
“I think…” You laughed, almost embarrassed by your own optimism. “…I think maybe he’s finally ready.”
Robby’s heart broke a little. Not because he wanted to crush your hope. Because he’d spent the entire lunch seeing things you hadn’t. He’d seen the way your father checked his phone every few minutes. The way he’d forgotten the name of your hospital twice.
The way he’d said, “So… how long have you been a doctor?” after you’d already told him you’d been an attending for nearly four years. The way he’d spoken about himself almost the entire meal. Most of all…He’d seen the hunger in your eyes. The quiet desperation for your father to simply choose you. He reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I hope you’re right.”
“You don’t think I am.”
“I think…” He searched for the gentlest words. “…I think your dad has a lot of years to make up for.”
You nodded.
“He does.”
“And one lunch can’t erase all of them.”
“I know.” You sighed. “But it’s a start.”
He smiled softly.
“It could be.”
You slipped your hand into his as the two of you began walking toward the parking garage. Halfway there, you glanced up at him.
“Thank you for coming.”
“There wasn’t anywhere else I was going to be.”
“You were really good.”
“I tried.”
“You didn’t even look annoyed.”
He chuckled.
“I’ve spent enough years in emergency medicine to keep a straight face.”
You laughed.
“No…”
You leaned lightly against his shoulder as you walked.
“…I mean with him.”
He squeezed your hand.
“I wasn’t there for him.”
“No?”
“I was there for you.”
You smiled to yourself.
“I know.”
Neither of you could read the text your father had already sent to a friend as he sat at the first red light.
Lunch went well. She bought it.
Except…you hadn’t. When the check had come, he’d patted his pockets with an embarrassed laugh.
“Damn. I left my wallet in the truck.”
Without hesitation, you’d smiled.
“I’ve got it.”
You hadn’t even seemed to register it. Robby had. He remembered every single detail. And somewhere deep in his gut…A familiar feeling settled in. One he desperately hoped was wrong.
******
Friday evening arrived wrapped in the kind of excitement that only a hospital could generate. The emergency department had somehow managed to coordinate enough schedules that nearly everyone who wasn’t working could attend the ceremony. Dana had bullied administration into allowing a few early shift changes. Mel had somehow convinced three different people to trade call. Langdon had spent the entire week telling anyone who would listen that he intended to “woo loudly” during your award acceptance speech.
“You mean woo,” Dana corrected for what had to be the tenth time.
“I know what I said.”
“You absolutely do not.”
Jack shook his head.
“We’re going to get escorted out.”
“For supporting our friend?”
“For being you.”
The ceremony was held in one of the city’s historic theaters. Rows of polished wooden seats curved toward a stage draped with deep blue curtains. At the front of the room stood a podium bearing the city seal, flanked by American and Pennsylvania flags. Photographs from the mass casualty response rotated across two large projection screens.
Every image brought back memories. Firefighters carrying children. Police officers directing frantic parents. Paramedics kneeling in broken glass. Hospital staff sprinting toward the scene. You caught your breath when the photograph appeared again.
The one from the news. You crouched beside the teenage girl, your face streaked with soot, one bloody hand holding pressure against her leg while the other cupped her cheek. You still couldn’t remember that picture being taken.
“You okay?”
Robby’s quiet voice pulled you back. You nodded.
“I just…”
Your eyes stayed on the screen.
“It doesn’t feel like me.”
He slipped his hand around yours.
“It looks exactly like you.”
You smiled weakly.
“I was terrified.”
“I know.”
“I kept thinking she looked like somebody’s daughter.”
“You treated her like she was.”
Your fingers tightened around his. One by one, your coworkers filtered into the row behind you. Mel immediately leaned between the seats.
“You look hot.”
You laughed.
“I am literally wearing a navy dress.”
“Exactly.”
Langdon pointed toward Robby.
“And Robinavich cleaned up too.”
Robby looked down at his charcoal suit.
“I showered.”
“We’re all very proud.”
Dana swatted Langdon’s shoulder.
“Would you let them have one normal evening?”
“No.”
“I figured.”
Everyone laughed. It helped. For a few precious minutes, you forgot why your stomach had been tied in knots all afternoon. Then the theater doors opened. Your head turned automatically. An elderly couple entered.
Not him. You looked back toward the stage. A minute later…The doors opened again. A family with two young children. Not him. Without realizing it, you glanced at your watch. 6:52. The ceremony started at seven.
“He’ll be here.”
The thought slipped into your head before you could stop it. Traffic. Parking. Maybe he was running late.
Robby noticed your eyes drift toward the entrance again. He quietly checked his own watch. He didn’t say anything. Seven o’clock came. The lights dimmed. The master of ceremonies stepped onto the stage.
“Good evening, everyone…”
You looked over your shoulder one last time. The doors remained closed.
“It’s okay,” you told yourself. “He can still come in.”
The introductions began. Applause echoed through the theater as firefighters, EMTs, police officers, dispatchers, and hospital personnel were recognized. Every few minutes…The doors opened. Every single time…Your heart jumped. Every single time…It was someone else.
Robby stopped watching the stage. Instead, he watched you. You were still smiling. Still clapping. Still listening. But every time those doors opened…Your eyes betrayed you.
Hope. Then disappointment. Hope. Then disappointment.
Over and over again. By the time your name was announced, he knew. Your father wasn’t coming.
“…for extraordinary courage, compassion, and leadership during the Pittsburgh bus explosion response, please welcome Dr. …”
The theater erupted. Langdon stood immediately.
“I TOLD YOU I WAS GONNA WOO!”
“WOOOO!”
Mel was laughing too hard to stop him. Jack clapped over his head. Dana whistled despite herself. Even Robby rose to his feet, applauding until his palms stung. You looked almost embarrassed as you made your way toward the stage. Your smile was gracious. Professional. Warm. No one in the audience would’ve guessed your heart was somewhere near the back doors. The mayor shook your hand.
“This city is grateful for you.”
“Thank you.”
A framed commendation was placed in your hands. Flashbulbs popped. The audience applauded again. The mayor leaned toward the microphone.
“I’ve been told this physician wasn’t content with treating patients once they reached the emergency department.”
Gentle laughter.
“Instead, she ran toward danger before many of us even understood what was happening.”
The applause returned.
“Several survivors specifically requested that we recognize the physician who refused to leave their side.”
Your throat tightened. The teenage girl. You knew exactly who they meant. The mayor smiled.
“Would you like to say a few words?”
You hadn’t planned to. But somehow your feet carried you to the podium. You looked out across the audience. Coworkers. First responders. Community leaders. Friends.
Your eyes drifted instinctively toward the back of the theater. The doors. Still closed. You looked away before anyone noticed. Taking a slow breath, you leaned toward the microphone.
“I don’t really know how to accept an award for doing something hundreds of people did that day.”
A few quiet nods came from the audience.
“I wasn’t brave because I wasn’t scared.”
Your voice remained steady.
“I was terrified.”
You smiled softly.
“I just happened to be surrounded by people who ran anyway.”
You glanced toward the row where your coworkers sat. Dana was already crying. Mel had discreetly pulled a tissue from her purse. Langdon looked suspiciously emotional despite pretending otherwise.
“If this recognition belongs to anyone…”
You looked directly at them.
“…it belongs to every nurse, physician, technician, therapist, paramedic, firefighter, police officer, and volunteer who chose to run toward complete strangers.”
The audience rose again. A standing ovation. You blinked rapidly, trying not to cry. When you returned to your seat, Robby immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple.
“I’m so damn proud of you.”
You laughed through watery eyes.
“Thank you.”
“You were incredible.”
“I forgot half of what I wanted to say.”
“No.” He smiled. “You said exactly what mattered.”
The ceremony dissolved into a reception filled with handshakes, photographs, and conversations. People stopped you every few minutes.
“Congratulations.”
“You deserve this.”
“My niece was one of the students you helped.”
“Thank you.”
You smiled until your cheeks hurt. Every so often…Your eyes found the entrance again. Still no father. As the crowd began thinning, one of the city council members approached with a warm smile.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”
“You too.”
He glanced around.
“Weren’t you expecting family tonight?”
You hesitated only a fraction of a second.
“My mom couldn’t make it?”
“Oh no, I met your mother earlier.” He smiled. “She seems lovely.”
Your stomach dropped.
“I meant your father. I thought someone mentioned he was coming.”
For one impossible second…You couldn’t breathe. Then you smiled. The practiced smile. The one you’d been wearing since you were eight years old.
“Oh…”
You gave a little shrug.
“Something must’ve come up.”
“I’m sure he wishes he could’ve been here.”
“I’m sure.”
The councilman smiled sympathetically before moving on to greet someone else. The second he disappeared into the crowd, you looked down at your phone. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing. Robby had watched the entire exchange from only a few feet away.
He saw the way your shoulders dropped. The way your thumb hovered over your father’s contact before locking your phone instead. The way you inhaled slowly, as if willing yourself not to fall apart in a room full of people. He crossed the distance between you without a word. His hand found the small of your back. Warm. Steady. Home.
“You ready?”
You looked up at him. Your smile was still there. But your eyes…Your eyes were exhausted.
“Yeah.”
You nodded once.
“I think I’m ready to go home.”
He didn’t ask about your father. Not here. Not where cameras were still flashing and strangers were congratulating you. Instead, he slipped your award into one hand, laced his fingers through your other, and quietly guided you toward the exit. As the theater doors closed behind the two of you, your phone remained silent. It would stay that way all night.
******
The drive home was quiet. Not uncomfortable. Not angry. Just… quiet. The city lights blurred past the passenger window as Pittsburgh settled into another warm summer evening. Restaurants buzzed with Friday night conversations. Couples wandered hand in hand down sidewalks. Someone laughed as they crossed the street in front of the car.
Life kept moving. Inside the truck, neither of you spoke. Your framed commendation rested carefully across your lap, your fingertips absentmindedly tracing the edge of the wood. Your phone sat face up in the cup holder. Dark. Silent. You hated yourself for glancing at it anyway.
Robby noticed. Of course he noticed. He reached over the center console and quietly took your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t say anything. He just held your hand the rest of the drive home.
The apartment greeted you with familiar stillness. The moment the front door clicked shut behind you, the smile you’d worn for nearly three hours disappeared. Your shoulders sagged. You slipped your heels off near the door and walked straight toward the living room.
The framed award remained tucked under your arm. You looked around for somewhere to put it. The bookshelf? No. The mantel? No. The kitchen counter? You finally set it gently on the coffee table. It looked strangely out of place. Bright. Important. Celebratory.
Everything you didn’t feel. Behind you, Robby quietly locked the front door before hanging his suit jacket over the dining room chair. He watched you from across the room. You hadn’t cried yet. Somehow that worried him more.
You stood staring at the award for a long moment before laughing softly to yourself. It wasn’t a happy laugh.
“They spelled my middle name right.”
Robby smiled.
“They did.”
“They usually don’t.”
“They’d have been hearing from me.”
“You would’ve written a strongly worded email?”
“I would’ve written several.”
That earned the tiniest smile. It disappeared almost immediately. You wrapped your arms around yourself.
“I kept looking at the door.”
His chest tightened.
“I know.”
“I told myself traffic was bad.”
He nodded once.
“I know.”
“Then I figured parking probably sucked.”
“I know.”
Your voice became smaller.
“Then I thought maybe he’d text.”
Silence.
“And then…” You swallowed hard. “…I realized I was making excuses for someone who hadn’t even bothered to make one.”
The apartment fell painfully quiet. Robby crossed the room slowly, giving you every opportunity to step away if you wanted space. You didn’t.
The second he reached you, you folded into him. Almost as though your body had been waiting all evening for permission to stop holding itself together. Your forehead rested against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively. Securely. One hand spread across your back. The other cradled the back of your head. He kissed your hair.
Neither of you spoke. You simply stood there. Breathing together. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek. After nearly a minute, he felt your shoulders begin to shake. Then came the first quiet sob.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
His voice was barely above a whisper. That was all it took. The tears you’d been swallowing since the ceremony finally escaped. You clutched the front of his shirt with both hands.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“I don’t…” Another shaky breath. “…I don’t understand why I keep believing him.”
“You don’t have to explain that to me.”
“I should know better.”
“You do know better.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, tears streaking your cheeks.
“If I knew better…” Your voice cracked. “…this wouldn’t hurt so much.”
His heart broke. He cupped your face with both hands, gently brushing away fresh tears with his thumbs.
“No.” His voice was calm. “It hurts because you let yourself hope.”
“I feel stupid.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am.”
“You aren’t.”
“I keep thinking maybe this time…”
“I know.”
“…maybe this birthday…”
“I know.”
“…maybe this holiday…”
“I know.”
“…maybe this phone call…”
“I know.”
“…maybe this award.”
The last word dissolved into another sob. You closed your eyes.
“I wanted him to see me.”
Robby’s own eyes stung. Not because he pitied you. Because he knew exactly what you meant. Not the award. Not the plaque. You had wanted your father to see the woman you’d become.
The physician. The partner. The person. He rested his forehead against yours.
“Sweetheart…” His voice caught slightly. “…he has been missing you for years.”
You frowned.
“What?”
“He didn’t miss an award ceremony tonight.”
He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“He missed seeing the woman you became.”
Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks.
“He missed your white coat ceremony.”
You nodded.
“He missed graduation.”
Another nod.
“He missed residency.”
“Yeah.”
“He missed watching you become the doctor everyone stood up for tonight.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“That wasn’t your loss.”
“It feels like it.”
“I know.”
He kissed your forehead.
“But it wasn’t.”
You let out a shaky breath.
“I just wanted my dad.”
“I know.”
The simplicity of his answer somehow hurt the most. Because there was nothing to argue with. You had wanted your dad. That was it. No complicated psychology. No hidden meaning. Just a daughter wanting her father. Robby pulled you back against his chest.
“I need you to hear me.”
You nodded against him.
“The little girl who kept waiting by the window…” His hand rubbed slow circles across your back. “…she didn’t do anything wrong.”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“The teenager who kept believing he’d show up…” Another circle. “…she didn’t do anything wrong.”
Your breathing hitched.
“The woman who looked at those theater doors tonight…” He tilted your chin until you met his eyes again. “…she didn’t do anything wrong either.”
A tear rolled free.
“The only person who failed tonight…” His jaw tightened ever so slightly. “…was him.”
You stared at him.
“I’ve never heard you talk about him like that.”
“I’ve never needed to.”
“Weren’t you angry?”
He gave a soft, almost incredulous laugh.
“Baby…” He brushed his nose gently against yours. “I’ve been angry for a long time.”
“You hid it.”
“Because it wasn’t about me.”
He sighed quietly.
“If I’d spent years telling you he was a disappointment…” His fingers intertwined with yours. “…all I would’ve done was make you feel guilty for loving your own father.”
You closed your eyes.
“I do love him.”
“I know you do.”
“I don’t even know why.”
“You don’t have to justify loving your dad.”
He smiled sadly.
“Children come into this world wired to love their parents.”
Another tear escaped.
“It doesn’t make you weak.” He tilted his head. “It makes you human.”
You looked at him for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”
“They should have.”
He leaned down and kissed you. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft. Lingering. A kiss that asked nothing of you except to let yourself be loved. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again.
“I watched that room tonight.”
You blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“I watched every person who stood when your name was called.”
He smiled.
“Dana.”
You smiled through your tears.
“Definitely Dana.”
“Mel was crying before you even got to the stage.”
You laughed weakly.
“That sounds right.”
“Langdon nearly dislocated his shoulder trying to clap.”
“Also accurate.”
“Jack looked prouder than he ever admits he gets.”
“He’ll deny it.”
“He absolutely will.”
You smiled a little wider.
“And then there was me.”
“You?”
“I couldn’t stop smiling.” His eyes softened. “I looked at you standing on that stage…”
He reached over and gently picked up the framed commendation from the coffee table.
“…and all I could think was…” He handed it to you. “…that’s my girl.”
Fresh tears filled your eyes.
“They all showed up.”
He nodded.
“They did.”
“You showed up.”
“I always will.”
Your bottom lip trembled.
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise that I’ll spend every day trying.”
He gently brushed his knuckles across your cheek.
“I’ll show up on the ordinary Tuesdays.” A kiss to your forehead. “I’ll show up when you have a terrible shift.”
A kiss beside your temple.
“I’ll show up when you’re sick.” Another kiss. “I’ll show up when you’re grumpy.”
You laughed.
“I’m grumpy a lot.”
“I’ve noticed.” He smiled. “I’ll show up for every birthday.”
A kiss to the bridge of your nose.
“Every holiday.”
Another.
“Every award.”
Another.
“And every day in between.”
You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck.
“I love you so much.”
He closed his eyes for just a moment, letting the words settle over him.
“I know.” Then he smiled. “But I’d really like to hear you say it again anyway.”
You laughed, the sound still watery but genuine.
“I love you.”
He kissed you once. “I love you more than any award could ever explain.”
Another kiss.
“More than any headline.”
Another.
“And more than one man’s inability to recognize the incredible woman standing right in front of him.”
You rested your forehead against his.
“I think…” You exhaled slowly. “…I’m done waiting by the door.
His eyes searched yours.
“You don’t have to stop loving him.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to stop hoping he changes.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t have to keep putting your life on hold until he does.”
A long silence settled between you. Not the heavy kind. The healing kind. Finally, you glanced down at the framed commendation in your hands. Then back up at the man holding you. A small smile spread across your face.
“Help me find somewhere to hang this?”
Robby looked at the award. Then at you.
“I have a better idea.”
“What?”
He took the frame from your hands and carried it into the hallway. You followed curiously. He stopped beside the gallery wall the two of you had slowly built over the years. Vacation photos. Snapshots with friends from the emergency department. A candid of the two of you laughing in the kitchen, flour on both your faces after the infamous pasta disaster. A picture from the day you’d moved into the apartment, sitting on the living room floor eating pizza out of the box because none of the furniture had arrived yet. He found an empty space right in the middle. Then he turned to you.
“It belongs here.”
“With all of these?”
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
He walked back to you, slipped his arms around your waist, and kissed you one last time.
“Because this…” His eyes never left yours. “…is where the people who showed up live.”
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