Auras
summary: Robby has trouble turning off his doctor brain— he tries for you.
pairing: michael “robby” robinavitch x reader
contents: 18+ only, suicidal ideation, anxiety, migraines, fluff, Robby trying to grow
wc: 1,586
an: not truly back, just wrote this to cope and have fun. writing has felt so pressurized lately and this felt good. this is my first Pitt fic and I’ve only seen 6 episodes so…be nice!
Robby’s eyes are glazed over as he looks down at his watch, glowing in the low light. Someone must’ve turned the lights off. For privacy, for respect. He’s not sure. Not sure why, not sure it matters.
Time of death— 14:07.
His heartbeat sounds violent in his ears, like a cruel joke in the presence of death. Could he possibly deserve it?
“Robby. Robby?” Collins gently knocks Robby’s shoulder with her own, trying not to look concerned.
Robby blinks, the corner of his mouth turning up as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Hmm?”
“Dana’s waiting for you outside.”
“Got it. You all come find me if you need to,” he says to the lot before stepping out, his eyes meeting Dana as he closes the door behind him.
As usual, Dana wastes no time. “Kiara’s here to talk to you about the 17 year old.”
He turns on his heels, heading towards room 14. “Right, thanks.”
Dana falls in step beside him, quiet for several moments before she asks, “You okay?”
Robby wrinkles his nose, nodding. “I’m okay.”
“It’s okay if you’re not.”
“I know. But I’m fine. Hour left, I’ll be fine.”
“Just one,” she murmurs encouragingly.
–
The hour felt like 10. They’d lost someone else, saved many others. Sometimes it was hard to feel in the face of loss that he’d done anything right.
The answer to that question can be saved for another day, a reckoning with god.
Robby tries to zone out and tune in all at once on his commute home, wanting to be moved by the yellow tulips planted in a school garden, by the laughter of a man and woman who walk hand and hand together down a street. Wanting to forget that his back is aching and that he watched more than one person take their last breath today. Because maybe if he can do those things, the thoughts will go away. Maybe.
When he steps into your shared apartment he knows you’re home immediately. Your things are haphazardly strewn about, keys barely missing the catching tray, shoes in the foyer, your jacket barely hanging on the kitchen counter.
He frowns, head tilting in wait for your footsteps but the apartment stays silent.
“Honey?” Robby calls out.
“Hmm?” you groan.
He’s heard that groan before and knows it very well— you aren’t feeling well. His shoes are off and bags on the floor in an instant, then his eyes are on you.
Curtains drawn tight, not a lick of light being let in besides small streams through the bedroom door. You’re curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed, wrapped in one of his t-shirts, migraine cap on.
Though he knows, he asks anyway. “What do we got here?”
“Our usual suspect,” you whisper. “Shut the door please.”
“Of course,” he agrees easily, shutting the door before he joins you on the bed.
An aura migraine. You get them often even with routine treatment and prevention. Robby’s snapping back into gear before he can think about it.
“What have you taken? Did you do all the steps we established?”
You walk him through each course of action you’ve taken, opening your mouth to let him know how much medication you’ve taken when he cuts you off.
“And your pain? How’s it scaled?”
You sigh, finally opening one eye to peek at him. There are shimmers all around him, ones that would make him look magical if they weren’t making your head feel like it would explode at any minute.
“Robby,” your tone is gentle but chastising.
How many times have the two of you had this conversation? How many times have you had to remind him that your home is not The Pitt, even when there’s something wrong? That he’s safe here, that the decisions are small. Weightless. Shared.
He ducks his head, squeezing your hand. “I know.”
“I’m not one of your patients,” you remind him softly.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
It takes some strength but you raise your other him, cupping his cheek. “You can trust me to take care of myself.”
He sighs. He can trust you. He does trust you. “Sweetheart, I know, I just—“
“You’ve taught me so well. You know that I listen to you.”
You finally feel some of the tenseness in his body melt away as he rests his head more firmly into the palm of your hand.
His smiles down at you apologetically, eyes crinkled in the corners. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can get you?”
“More water. And the largest dose of cuddles.”
“Coming up. No more pain meds?”
“I’m maxed out.”
Robby frowns, trying to do the math. But that would mean…
“How long have you—“
“I didn’t even make it to my first planning period,” you admit softly, and when his frown deepens you keep talking. “You were working. We have a plan for when I’m struggling. I’m okay, Michael.”
He takes a deep breath without recognizing it. “You’re okay.”
You smile, wincing a bit. “Just the sight of you is helping with the pain.”
It’s true. You’re sure it’s a combination of the meds, the ice on your temples and yes, of course, the man that you love.
Robby brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing it gently. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
On his return, Robby helps you sit up, guiding the glass of water to your mouth. And when you’ve had your fill, you ask him again to lay down with you, scooting over as you curl up. He shrugs out of his scrubs, pulling on a fresh set of pjs before sliding in beside you and gathering you in his arms.
You and Robby have argued about it before but this— the two of you wrapped around each other, nearly fused together— is what real medicine is.
—
Robby wakes before he means to. His consciousness loads like a wave, a slow return that never fully let him go.
The room is still dark— darker even now that the sun has gone down, curtains in their same place. For a moment, he doesn’t move, he simply listens.
Your breathing is the first thing he finds. It’s steady and even, just like you. A soft exhale against his chest where you’ve tucked yourself in closer sometime during your shared slumber. One of your hands is fisted loosely in the fabric of his shirt, like you needed something to anchor yourself and chose him without thinking.
He tries to get himself stay there, he longs to stay there in the rhythm of your breath. But before he knows it his mind is starting, instincts taking over.
How long has it been since your last dose? Did you drink enough water? Is your temperature—
Robby takes a long, deep breath through his nose. He won’t go there.
His eyes close again, hoping that the squeezing motion will send his racing thoughts packing.
He knows this pattern. It builds quickly, how easily it pulls him back into something clinical, something controlled. Something that feels safer than just being here…beside you.
His hand shifts where it rests against your back, flattening there instead of moving. He doesn’t try to find a pulse, doesn’t try to check your temperature. Instead he notices how soft you feel, how good you smell beside him.
You stir slightly at the movement, your brow tightening for a brief second before it smooths again.
“Robby?” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.
“I’m here,” he answers immediately, softer than he expects.
You hum at that, something content and small, and press closer without opening your eyes.
The instinct is back, sharper this time. Louder.
He should ask how you’re feeling. Check for the pain? To make sure it hasn’t gotten worse, that’s okay right?
Robby swallows, his gaze dropping to where your face is half-hidden against him. There’s no strain there now and no tightness around your eyes. Just the lingering traces of exhaustion, the kind that comes after pain finally loosens its grip.
“Need anything?”
You jump a little, smiling as you crack one eye open to look at him. “A really big breakfast in the morning. I’m talking pancakes. Toast. Every carb we can find.”
“You’re hungry.”
“More hungry for this right now,” you assure him as you rest even more firmly against him.
He grins, dropping a kiss ever so gently on your forehead. He wants to feed you now, to check your vitals and maybe give you one more dose now that the night wanes on.
Your fingers tighten in his shirt before he can say anything, and you sigh, clearly content.
That’s what stops him. Your ease, your comfort as you melt more firmly again, breath warm.
You’ve told him what you need. He’s not your doctor, he’s your partner. He can settle in that even if it’s just for tonight.
His thumb moves along your arm, slow and absentminded. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, to you, to himself.
You don’t respond, already drifting again, your breathing evening back out like it never changed.
Robby watches you for a moment longer. Then, carefully, he adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, tucking it in where it had slipped down. He settles back into the pillow, his hand finding its place at your back again.
This, here is more than enough. And for tonight, maybe he believes that he is too.
planning to write a little more for him, so let me know if you wanna be tagged <3
