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TWO AGAINST THREE

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 >> you’re here

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.”

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