Bitter/Sweet
Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader
10.5k word count
Summary: Baker!Reader tries to be there for the hardest shift of Dr.Robby's life. Reader happens to be one of the lead venders of Pittfest...
Trigger Warning: implied age gap (reader is late 20s), blood, semi-gore, ANGST, medical inaccuracies, LEAH LIVES, idk if theres anymore. (i even made a mood board >_< it'll be posted shortly)
A.N: this is my first like "post" on here. I love thePitt! Feel free to send requests, let me know if its terrible :P
The morning started quiet, the kind of quiet that made me think the world had decided to move slower just for me. The kitchen smelled like coffee and sugar, the soft hum of my mixer filling the space while the first bit of light slipped through the curtains. I could feel the flour on my cheek, hair pinned back in a way that already felt too tight, and a list a mile long for tonight’s event. My hands were steady, but my nerves weren’t, they never are when this day comes around.
Robby was still upstairs getting ready for his shift. Today was going to be a rough day. It was Adamson’s anniversary and he had refused to take time off. I was already bracing myself for whatever version of him would show up this morning: the one who pretends he’s fine, the one who picks a fight just to feel something, or, if I was lucky, the one who let me help him carry some of the weight.
I heard him before I saw him. The bathroom door creaked open. Heavy footsteps followed.
He came into view a moment later, hair still damp from the shower, the scrub top clinging to his shoulders and his cargo pants creased at the knees. His expression was unreadable, that same practiced calm he wore like armor. I hated how well it suited him.
“Morning,” I said softly, setting a plate on the counter, some toast, eggs, a few strawberries I’d sliced before the sun came up. “You should eat before you go. You’ve got a long shift.”
“I’ll grab something later,” he said, not looking up as he reached for his watch. His tone was even, clipped like he was talking to a coworker, not his girlfriend.
I forced a smile and turned to the counter, sliding the brown paper bag I’d already packed toward him. “Then take this, at least. I put in those protein bars you like and a coffee to go.”
He paused, just long enough to make me think he might actually say thank you, then shook his head. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” I said, quieter this time.
When he finally looked at me I almost wished he hadn’t. There wasn’t anger in his eyes, only exhaustion. That empty kind of hurt that didn’t leave room for anything else.
I waited a moment, hoping he’d say something else, but he just slipped his watch into place and reached for his airpods. The silence between us stretched thin, humming with everything neither of us wanted to say.
“Robby,” I started, careful, the way you speak to someone standing too close to the edge. “You know what today is. You don’t have to act like it’s just another shift.”
His shoulders tensed, barely. “I know what day it is.”
“Then you know I’m not asking you to pretend,” I said. “I just … I want you to know you don’t have to go through it alone.”
He finally looked up, and for a second I saw it, the flicker of grief behind his calm, the way his jaw tightened like he was fighting not to feel. “I appreciate it,” he said, voice flat.
“I mean it,” I whispered. “I love you, Mikey. You don’t have to keep carrying it all by yourself.”
He nodded once, eyes already sliding toward the door. “I know,” he said again, quieter this time, like he was trying to believe it.
“I’ll be home late tonight,” I said, trying to fill the cracks in the moment. “PittFest is supposed to run until eleven. I’ll save you a few of those croissants you like, okay?”
He gave the smallest hint of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Be safe.”
And just like that, he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the house went still again. For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at the half-finished coffee cup he’d left on the counter, the steam fading the same way his warmth always seemed to. My chest felt heavy, but I didn’t cry. I just exhaled, slow and shaky, and turned back to my mixer.
Work was safer than feeling. So I worked. Flour dusted the counter like snow, the scent of sugar, bread, and vanilla filling the room while I lost myself in the rhythm: stir, scoop, repeat. By the time the light fully stretched across the kitchen, I’d finished half of what I needed for tonight’s event. Still, none of it quieted the ache.
I wanted to cry, but there wasn’t time for that. I took a deep breath, “Control what you can and the rest will follow”, “It’s okay, it’s a bad day not a bad life” I repeated the mantra to myself.. Maybe if I say it enough I'll believe it. I wiped at my face with the back of my wrist, frustrated at the tears I didn’t remember starting to fall. “Get it together,” I muttered, setting another batch in the oven.
Then, without really thinking about it, I pulled a new lunch bag from the drawer. Turkey on rye, some chips, and a cookie,his favorite kind, the one he always pretended wasn’t. I made a mental note to stop by the bakery to grab him a coffee. I’m sure Dana and the interns could use a mid-day pick me up too. Then, on impulse, I tore a page from my recipe notebook and wrote a quick note:
Mikey,
I know today hurts, even if you won’t say it out loud.. I love you beyond words and ill be here when your ready to talk <3
I folded it neatly and slipped it inside before sealing the bag. I’d take it to him later maybe between shifts, maybe when the hospital quieted down enough for him to breathe.
He probably wouldn’t eat it. But maybe he’d know I was still here.
PTMC
Robby approached the charge desk, head spinning and mind everywhere and nowhere all in the same breath. He couldn’t believe another year had passed by since Adamson’s passing. Quickly shaking himself from his thoughts, he approached Dana:
Robby: “No guts, no Gloria? Must be time for my weekly spanking.”
Dana: “You sure you’re cool being here today?”
Robby scoffed, “Not you too. I’m fine . . . the world keeps spinning, cases keep coming.”
Dana’s eyes softened, “Robby, it’s normal to grieve and need to take a step back. You’ve got people who care, Robby. Don’t shut them out.You’re not alone.”
Robby,”Thanks, but I’m fine. Just another day in paradise. Where’s Abbot?”
Dana, “He’s getting some “air””.
Robby, “...Really?”.
Robby started his way up to the roof. Even though he hated talking about how he felt, he would never let you or Abbot feel the weight of the world alone.
Robby heads to the helicopter pad where Jack is standing near the edge deep in thought.
Robby, “Mornin, Jack.”
Jack, “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to help Y/N today?”
Robby, “I’m working, she can manage with her crew. What’re you doing up here?”.
Jack shakes his head in disbelief, “ Alright.. Had a guy come in hit by a drunk driver at a crosswalk. Man was a 39 year old Vet. Survived three tours without a scratch. I spent two hours coding him.”
Robby releases a breath of air, “Shit..that's always a hard way to end the night”.
Jack, “Yeah no kidding..Sometimes I wonder why I’m still here. Some days I feel like a hero, and others I feel like the villain delivering the next person to the grim reapers door step.”
Robby, “The job that keeps on giving… Nightmares, stomach ulcers, and suicidal tendinces. You heading home?”.
Jack, “Yeah, I’m off tonight. Thought about heading down to Y/N’s bakery to help her after a quick power nap.”.
Robby, “Sounds like a plan brother. She’ll be happy to see you, she’s been asking when you and Samira are going to come over again.”
Y/N’s POV
The hum of the food truck kept me grounded. The afternoon sun poured in through the small service window, catching the dust in the air and making it look like fairy dust. My hands moved automatically — trays lined up, utensils in their place, labels facing forward. Every motion was another attempt not to think about him, about how cold he’d been this morning. About how much he’s struggling and making himself suffer in silence.
“Hey,” a familiar voice called softly. Jack leaned against the truck’s open window, his rumpled appearance making me feel a little lighter. “You’re running yourself ragged,” he said. I forced a small smile. “Occupational hazard. Keeps me out of trouble.”
He studied me for a second, like he could see straight through the act. “He’s… not doing great today,” Jack said carefully. “You know how he gets.”
I nodded, throat tight. “Yeah. I figured.” “You shouldn’t let him treat you like that, you know.” “I’m not,” I lied. “I’m just… making sure he eats.”
Jack’s eyes softened, but he didn’t push. He just nodded toward the small brown lunch bag sitting on the counter, the one I’d written his name on in looping, hopeful letters. “You always do,” he said quietly. Then, after a pause, “He’s lucky, you know that?”
I didn’t look at him, just folded the top of the bag and set it aside. “He will,” I whispered, “once he realizes I’m not always going to wait for him to let me love him.”
Jack swallowed, then tried to shift the mood. “So, little birdie told me you’re on babysitting duty tonight.” Finally, something easier to hold on to. I nodded with a small smile. “Yeah, Jake and his new girlfriend are supposed to ‘help.’ I think they’re just using it as an excuse to skip lines and get free food.” Jack chuckled. “Can’t say I blame them. Best croissants on this side of the Mississippi… especially that Nutella one with the —” “Strawberries,” we finished together, laughing.
“You’re not slick,” I teased. “But since you’re my best friend, I made sure to set a box aside for you and Samira.” He feigned a gasp, clutching the light blue box I handed him. “For me? You shouldn’t have.” I rolled my eyes. “Alright, cowboy, I see you favoring that leg. Go home and rest. You coming to PittFest tonight?” “Hell no,” Jack said, smirking. “No offense, we’d love to see you in action, but crowds like that? Not for me. Too many people, too many things that can go wrong. And Samira’s working, so she’ll be wiped.” I nodded in understanding. “I figured. I’m hoping we sell out early so I can catch the headliners. Mikey’s favorite band is playing tonight.”
Jack’s face softened. “You’re both my best friends, and I love Robby, but he needs help. It’s not fair, the way he shuts you out. You show up for everything he does, but when it’s your turn, he disappears. You deserve better.” The air felt tight, heavy. “I know,” I said quietly. “But he’s the love of my life, Jack. I can’t just give up on him. He’s hurting, and I won’t abandon him when things get tough. You know me, once I love you, that's that.”
Jack nodded, lips pressed together. “I know, kid. Just… keep your head up.” Then his smirk returned. “And keep sticking by him like a bad rash.” “Jack! Gross!” I groaned, covering my face as he laughed. “Just saying,” he grinned, already backing away. “Text me when you get to PittFest. Stay safe, kid!” “I will! Tell Samira I miss her and that I’m still the reigning UNO champion!” Jack waved over his shoulder, middle finger raised in goodbye.
As his footsteps faded, the silence crept back in — and suddenly, the hum of the truck didn’t feel grounding anymore. It just felt lonely.
By the time I finished stocking the truck and double-checked the locks it was three in the afternoon. Jake’s car pulled up with a rattle, music thumping faintly through the open windows. He hopped out, waving like he hadn’t just been twenty minutes late.
“Sorry, sorry!” he called, jogging over. “You ready?”
I forced a smile, slinging my tote over my shoulder. “Yeah. Just… gotta make one stop before we hit PittFest.”
Jake groaned, though his grin gave him away. “Lemme guess….Robby?”
I shot him a look. “He has the vendor passes.” I reached into the truck for the lunch bag. “It’ll be quick.”
Jake eyed the bag, one brow lifting. “You’re still doing the whole Florence Nightingale thing, huh?”
“Shut up,” I muttered, trying not to smile. “He’s having a rough day.”
He sighed, the teasing slipping into something gentler. “Yeah. I know. Just… Don't lose yourself trying to fix him, okay? My mom and him fizzled out for this same reason. ”
“I won’t.” The lie came out too easily.
You grabbed the coffees for the other staff along with a few extra goodies you had. “Be a sweet heart and help me load this in the car. Lord knows if he’s still in a bad mood, the interns aren’t fairing off much better.”.
We climbed into his car, the brown bag settled between us on the seat. For a while, neither of us said anything. The road hummed beneath the tires, the late afternoon light streaking across the windshield.By the time the hospital came into view, my heartbeat had already picked up. I didn’t know if it was dread, or hope, or both tangled up so tightly I couldn’t tell them apart.
PTMC came into view, equally haunting as it was beautiful. Walking through the back entrance, the sharp smell of antiseptic hit us first. The noise came next: monitors beeping, overhead pages calling for consults, the steady shuffle of nurses and techs who never stopped moving. Even after years of visiting Robby at work, the hospital still made my chest tighten.
Jake whistled low. “Man, this place never slows down.” His hands full of blue boxes and a drink tray.
“Level one trauma,” I murmured, clutching the brown paper bag and left over coffees a little tighter. “It’s always chaos.”
As we got closer to the charge desk, I could see Dana buried in chart forms, glasses sitting low on her nose. When our eyes connected, her expression softened, almost as if to say “Yeah girl he’s being an ass to us too.”.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite baker,” Dana greeted, forcing some brightness into her tone. “You here to feed us or rescue Robby from himself?”
“Bit of both,” I said, managing a weak smile. “He leave the vendor passes with you?”
Dana gave me a look that said she knew exactly why I was here and exactly what I wasn’t saying. She tapped a clipboard before answering. “He’s still in South 3. They brought in a rollover about twenty minutes ago and he’s up to his elbows.”
I felt the dread twist in my stomach before I could stop it. “Oh. Right. Of course he is.”
Jake shifted awkwardly beside me, glancing around at the busy hallway. “We can wait,” he offered, but Dana shook her head.
“It might be a while. Tell you what, I’ll page him and let him know you’re here. In the meantime…” She reached into the drawer behind her and pulled out two laminated passes, handing them to me with a small, sympathetic smile. “You might want to sit for a minute. You look like you’ve been running on fumes.”
I forced a small laugh. “Comes with the territory.”
Dana leaned in a little, lowering her voice so only I could hear. “He’s trying, you know. Even when it doesn’t look like it.”
That cracked something small and fragile in my chest. I nodded, blinking hard. “I know.”
Jake cleared his throat, reading the tension like a siren. “Hey, why don’t I go see if I can get ahold of Leah. Make sure she knows where to meet us and all that stuff while you wait on him?”.
I nodded, grateful for the space.
When he walked off, Dana reached out and squeezed my hand. “He’s lucky you’re patient,” she said quietly. “Just… don’t forget you deserve to breathe too.”
I smiled, even if it felt hollow. “I’ll try.”
Dana gave me a knowing look before helping me unload everything into the staff break room, waiting for a man who might not realize how much I was breaking just to show up for him.
Before I could decide whether to sit or just keep standing there pretending I wasn’t spiraling, the automatic doors to the trauma bay opened and a small group of interns spilled out in a whirlwind of scrubs, clipboards, and nervous energy.
They looked too young to be dealing with the kind of chaos behind those doors. One of them — tall, blonde hair, kinda resembled what I imagine a Victorian child would look like — nearly collided with me before skidding to a stop.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” he blurted, wide-eyed. “Are you okay, ma’am?”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “Ma’am? Really? I’m not that old.”
Dana chuckled from behind the desk. “Easy, Whittaker. You just bumped into Dr. Robby’s better half.”
That set them off like firecrackers. Three heads snapped in my direction, curiosity blooming all at once.
“You’re her!?” one of the girls gasped — petite, blonde hair pulled into a tight pony tail and black framed glasses, probably not even twenty-four. “You’re Y/N?”
I blinked, caught between surprise and amusement. “I think so… unless there’s another one of me running around here.”
Whittaker grinned. “You’re the one who makes those muffins he brings in on his last shift of the week, right? The blueberry crumble?”
“Guilty,” I said with a playful shrug. “Though I’m starting to think he takes all the credit.”
“Oh, he does,” the one, you later learned was Trinity Santos, said with mock seriousness. “We thought he made them himself. He said something like, ‘I dabble.’”
Dana snorted. “Dabble, my ass. The man can barely make toast without setting off the fire alarm.”
I laughed, the warmth of it catching me off guard. “That sounds about right.”
A third intern, tall and quiet, tilted her head. “He talks about you a lot, you know. Not in a mushy way or anything,” she added quickly, cheeks flushing, “just… like you’re his person.”
That knocked the air out of me more than I expected. I forced a smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “He’s mine too,” I said softly.
Whittaker leaned on the counter, eyes bright with curiosity. “So what brings you in today? We don’t usually get surprise visits unless someone’s bleeding.”
“Lunch delivery,” I said, holding up the little brown paper bag. “He forgot it this morning.”
Dana raised a brow, her tone teasing. “You mean he refused it this morning.”
I sighed, the edge of a grin tugging at my lips. “Tomato, tomahto.”
Turning to face the new faces, Then I grinned and added, “I also left some goodies in the staff lounge. Ham and cheese croissants, and I think there are Nutella ones too.”
That earned a ripple of laughter from the interns before Dana’s pager buzzed. She glanced down, then back up at me. “South 3’s almost wrapped. He should be out in a few.”
“Thanks, Dana.”
The interns started to shuffle away, still whispering and sneaking glances at me like they’d just met a celebrity. Whittaker shuffled around, “Dibs on the Nutella!”. I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
Heavy footsteps could be heard heading your way before you heard a familiar voice, “Good call on the chest tube, man. You bought us enough time to stabilize before transfer. ICU could use a guy with your instincts.”. My heart did a little flip at the sound..Robby appeared a moment later, gloves tossed into the nearest bin, hand sanitizer glittering on his palms. He still wore his scrub top with cargo pants, the uniform of the man who could save a life without blinking.
Behind him was Frank Langdon, or also known better as ER Ken. I stayed where I was, clutching the paper bag in my hands, heart hammering against my ribs. I hadn’t meant to interrupt , at least I hadn’t planned on him seeing me until he’d at least had a second to breathe , but then Langdon’s eyes caught mine.
For a split second, his expression froze. Then that trademark grin spread across his face, the kind that could light up a whole room.
“No way,” Langdon said, already striding toward me. “Is that my favorite baker or am I hallucinating from lack of caffeine?”
Before I could answer he wrapped me in a hug, warm and ridiculous and exactly what I needed. “God, I’ve missed you. You never come by anymore. We’re dying without your sugar fixes.”
“Put me down, you lunatic,” I giggled, swatting at him as my feet hit the floor again. “And I dropped off pastries last week!”
“Yeah, well, they didn’t come with you,” he said, smirking.
The warmth of it faltered when I felt eyes on me. Robby was standing a few feet away, expression carved from stone, jaw tight enough to crack. His gaze flicked from Langdon’s hand still resting on my shoulder to the lunch bag I was gripping like a lifeline.
Langdon noticed, too and his easy grin faltered as he stepped back. “Uh… I should, uh, check on my other patients.”
I forced a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Good seeing you, Ken.”
“You too, sweetheart,” he said softly before retreating down the hall.
The silence between Robby and me stretched thin. I could feel Dana quietly slipping away from the desk, giving us space.
“Hey,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Brought you lunch.”
He looked at the bag, then back at me. His eyes were tired but not angry exactly, but the kind of weary that made it hard to tell if he was going to speak or walk away.
“You didn’t have to,” he muttered finally, voice low, guarded.
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. “But I wanted to.”
The air between us was thick enough to choke on. A few nurses pretended to be busy charting; the interns lingered, whispering behind clipboards.
“Mikey,” I said softly, stepping closer. “You don’t have to keep doing this, acting like you’re fine when you’re clearly not. Just let me in, let me help.”
He stiffened, eyes darting to the bystanders. “Not now.”
“Why not now?” I pressed, my voice cracking. “You talk to everyone else when they’re falling apart. You patch them up, listen, tell them they’re not alone,but when it’s you, I’m not allowed in? You think I don’t notice how much you’re hurting?”
He exhaled through his nose, sharp and irritated. “Jesus Christ, you don’t know when to stop, do you?”
The words hit harder than I expected. The hallway had gone quiet now; even Dana looked frozen behind the desk.
“I’m just trying to help you,” I whispered.
“Yeah, well, I don’t need it.” His tone was clipped, his control cracking. “Not everyone needs to unpack their feelings every five minutes. Collins understood that.”
The name landed like a slap. For a second, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears.
“She gave me space,” he added, quieter but no softer. “She didn’t push.”
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “She also left , Robby.”
He flinched,just barely,but enough for me to see the regret flicker behind his eyes.
“I didn’t mean—” he started, but I was already stepping back, my fingers tightening around the paper bag until the crinkled spots bloomed through.
“I think you did,” I said quietly. Then I set the lunch on the counter beside him. “For what it’s worth, I still love you.”
And before he could say anything else, I turned and walked toward the exit, trying to ignore how every pair of eyes followed me out.
The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall, leaving a silence so heavy it could crush bone. Robby stood there, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the spot she’d disappeared through. The paper lunch bag sat on the counter beside him, crinkles in the bag spreading slowly across its surface like guilt he couldn’t scrub out.
Dana’s voice cut through the quiet. “You realize everyone saw that, right?”
Robby didn’t look at her. “Dana—”
“No, you don’t get to brush me off this time.” Her tone was sharp but steady. “She came here to take care of you on one of the hardest days of the year, and you humiliated her in front of half the floor.”
“I told her not to push—”
“And you think that gives you a free pass to be cruel?” Dana snapped. “You’re better than that, Robby. Or at least, you used to be.”
The interns were huddled near the charting station, wide-eyed. Whittaker muttered under his breath, “That was messed up, man.”
“Watch it,” Robby warned.
But Mel squared her shoulders. “No, he’s right. She didn’t deserve that. You should’ve seen her before you came out ,she was trying so hard to keep it together. She brought you lunch.”
“Enough,” Robby barked, louder this time. His tone shut them all up, but not the look on their faces that mix of disappointment and disbelief.
Before he could respond, Langdon rounded the corner, wiping his hands on a napkin. He stopped short, scanning the room, then caught onto the tension.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
Dana just crossed her arms. “Ask your boss.”
Langdon looked between them, then at the lunch bag, then back to Robby. “She was left, didn’t she?”
Robby’s silence was answer enough.
Langdon’s jaw clenched. “You know, for someone who saves lives for a living, you’ve got a hell of a talent for breaking the people who love you.”
Robby’s head snapped up. “Watch it, Langdon.”
“I am,” Langdon said evenly, not backing down. “She looks at you like you hung the damn stars, and you act like she’s a burden. You’re the only person who has the power to make her shine that bright, Robby,but you’re also the only one who can dim her beyond recognition. And you just did.”
For a long moment, no one spoke. The interns had gone quiet, the kind of silence that carries more judgment than words ever could.
Robby let out a long breath, dragging a hand down his face. “I just want this shift to be over.”
Langdon shook his head slowly. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “We all do.”
He turned and walked away, leaving Robby standing in the middle of the chaos he’d created and surrounded by people, but utterly alone.
Robby’s eyes flicked once more to the lunch bag, the edge of a folded note peeking out. His hand twitched, but he didn’t move. Not yet.
Outside, the city rolled on toward evening. I went back to the truck, checked my list one more time and tried to shake the cold weight that had settled in my chest. I told myself that tonight would be normal. I told myself that he would come home and we would sit on the couch and eat croissants and everything would be fine.
I told myself a lot of things to keep from thinking about what happened in that hallway.
PITTFEST – That Evening
The music was loud enough to make the ground shake. The crowd pulsed with light, laughter, and the smell of fried food and spring air. For the first time all day, I actually felt free.
We’d sold out hours earlier — every croissant, cupcake, and pastry gone before sunset. Jake had whooped and lifted Leah off her feet when the last order was called, and I’d laughed so hard I nearly spilled my drink.You should’ve felt proud, and you did, somewhere under the ache that had lived in your chest all day.
Now the three of us stood near the main stage, beer in my hand, the band Robby loved playing one of their older songs. The one he used to play in the kitchen at midnight when he couldn’t sleep. The one that made him hum without realizing it. Memories of us dancing in the low light of our first apartment played through my mind.
I let the sound wash over me, the bass thudding in my chest like a heartbeat. For a few minutes, I let myself pretend everything was fine, that he hadn’t looked at me today like I was a burden and unwanted.
When the band finished their set, I grinned and nudged Jake. “Matching shirts?”
He rolled his eyes, but Leah laughed. “You’re impossible.”
I stuck my tongue out and wove through the crowd to the merch table, bought three shirts — one in each of our sizes, and a fourth in his. Just in case.
The night air was electric when I turned back, the fabric of the shirts soft and warm in my hands. I could already picture teasing him about wearing it tomorrow.
And then
The first gunshot cracked through the music like thunder.
At first, nobody moved. Someone screamed. Then came another shot, and chaos ripped through the festival like a wave.
“Jake!” I shouted, pushing through the stampede of bodies. “Leah!”
I spotted them by the food truck, Jake waving frantically. My lungs burned as I sprinted toward them, shoving through the panic.
“Inside!” I yelled, throwing the door open. “Go! Go!”
They climbed in, Leah trembling, Jake trying to keep her down low. The air filled with the deafening sound of ricochets — metal pinging, glass shattering.
I dove in after them, the metallic tang of fear sharp on my tongue. A bullet tore through the side panel, sparks flying. Leah screamed, curling against the counter.
“Stay down!” I shouted, moving without thinking — covering them both with my body, pressing them to the floor, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.
The next shot hit the truck’s side, a spray of sparks across the counter. Then another, and fire exploded through your back, burning and bright and unending.
For a second, I didn’t even realize it was me. The air vanished. You gasped, choking on smoke and pain. Your hand came away red. Leah’s scream echoed from somewhere above you.
“Y/N—oh my god—Y/N!”
Jake’s voice broke as he pressed his hands to the wound. “No, no, no, you’re okay, you’re okay—”
The shirts I’d bought were scattered on the floor, the one meant for Robby soaked in red.
The pain hit like fire, sharp and deep. My breath stuttered, catching halfway in my chest. The world tilted, edges blurring, but Jake’s panicked voice cut through the noise.
“Y/N oh god there’s so much blood—”
“Phone,” you managed, breath thin. “Front console.”
He scrambled for it, hands shaking, glass crunching under his boots. Leah was still pressed against the floor, whispering a prayer through trembling lips.
Jake slid back beside me, phone unlocked and waiting. “What do I do? Who do I call? 911?”
I shook my head weakly. You could barely lift your head. “Call… Robby.”
He hesitated only a second before tapping the contact. The line rang once, twice—then clicked to voicemail.
My stomach sank. “Call again.”
He did. It went to voicemail again.
You swallowed hard. “Let me… talk.”
His thumb trembled over the screen. “What do you want me to say?”
“Just say what I tell you,” I whispered. I took a shallow breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Mikey..baby… hey. It’s me.” The words came slow, heavy. “There was—there was a shooting at PittFest. I’m with Jake and Leah. We’re okay for now, but—” My voice faltered when a wave of pain tore through my back. “If—if I don’t make it out, I need you to know I love you. Always have and always will. .”
Jake’s throat worked, eyes glassy. “Y/N, stop—”
“Finish it,” I whispered. “Tell him we’re in the food truck. Tell him to find us.”
He did, voice cracking as he ended the message.
Another round of shots rang out outside, closer this time. The metal of the truck shuddered, sparks flying as a bullet struck the frame.
I forced myself upright, every muscle screaming. “When it stops… you grab the keys. Get as many people inside as you can. The truck’s heavy—you can use it for cover. Then drive—drive everyone you can to PTMC. Dana will be there. Robby will know what to do.”
Jake shook his head, tears streaking his face. “I’m not delaying getting you to the hospital—”
“You will,” I said, voice breaking. “You have to. Promise me.”
He nodded, choking on a sob.
The edges of my vision dimmed. The noise outside faded into a low hum. My hand found Leah’s, squeezing once, gently.
“You’re safe now,” I murmured. “Stay down… wait for the sirens.”
The world tilted again, and then everything went quiet.
PTMC — NIGHT
The first tone over the radio was sharp, followed by the dispatcher’s voice calm, clipped, too calm to mean anything good.
“All units, be advised: active shooter at PittFest grounds. Multiple casualties. PTMC is designated primary receiving facility.”
Dana froze mid-step, clipboard still in hand. Around her, the charge desk went dead quiet for two beats before bursting into motion. Nurses moved like a wave, pulling stretchers, prepping bays, shouting for extra hands.
“Robby!” she called across the chaos.
He was already moving, switching gears before anyone else had time to panic. “Get Trauma One through Four ready. I want blood units pulled and a second line open in each bay. Call in surgery and ortho full standby.”
Dana nodded, already on the phone, but she caught the flicker in his eyes. The brief moment where he wasn’t the attending, he was the man whose entire world existed ten miles away at that festival.
“Do we know how many injured?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said. “First responders are still on scene.”
He clenched his jaw. “Then we prepare for everyone.”
“Dana, try to get ahold of Jake or Y/N”, Dana nodded, grabbing the landline.
He turned to bark another order when his pager buzzed — TRAUMA ALERT: ETA 6 MINUTES. He shoved it back into his pocket and strode toward the staff room, yanking his blood-spattered scrub top off and pulling on a clean one.
His phone sat on the table, the screen lighting up with two missed calls and one new voicemail. He didn’t see it.
Jack Abbot strode in, still half in street clothes, badge clipped to his belt. “Jesus, Jack,” Dana said as he passed through the charge desk. “Did you run here?”
“Heard it on the scanner,” he panted. “PittFest. How bad?”
Robby turned at the sound of his voice, a rush of relief cutting through the tension for half a heartbeat. “I’m glad to see you brother.Active shooter, multiple casualties inbound. We’re setting up triage zones—green, yellow, pink, red, black, and white.”
Jack nodded, switching instantly into clinical mode. “You got enough hands?”
“Never,” Robby said. “You and I will handle Red. Dana’s coordinating all zones.”
Jack moved to grab gloves, but paused. “Hey, Robby… have you heard from Y/N?”
Robby froze for a fraction of a second. “No,” he said quietly. “She’s supposed to be working PittFest tonight, but—”
“Yeah,” Jack cut in, his voice tight. “I figured. She didn’t answer when I called.”
For a moment, neither man spoke. The noise around them felt far away, just the two of them standing there, caught between duty and dread.
Robby finally cleared his throat, forcing himself back into the role he knew best. “We’ll find out soon enough. Let’s get ready.”
Dana stepped forward, tossing them both triage tags and trauma bands. “Ambulances are lining up outside. Five out in the bay, three more en route.”
Jack nodded, already moving toward his station. “Copy that.”
Robby glanced once toward the staff lounge as the first siren screamed past the bay doors — his phone still sitting there on the table, the screen lighting up with another missed call he’d never see.
Then he turned back to the chaos, jaw set. “Alright, people let’s move. PittFest victims incoming. I want trauma teams ready in thirty seconds.”
The room snapped back into motion, every voice rising at once.
“Samira your with me,” Robby said, snapping a new glove onto his wrist. “Dana, make sure security locks down the entrances until PD clears it.”
“Yes, Boss.”
The automatic doors at the ambulance bay opened, the first sirens screaming into the night. Dana watched him for a second longer — how he stood taller when everything went to hell, how he’d built a whole armor of composure just to survive.
But as she turned back to the charge desk, her stomach twisted.
She’d seen the name flash on his phone before the screen went dark.
Sweets🍒— 2 Missed Calls. 1 Voicemail.
And her heart sank.
“Let’s go!” Robby barked, voice sharp enough to cut through the chaos. “We’ve got this — Green and Yellow zones outside, Red with me!”
The bay doors flew open. EMTs pushed in a man covered in blood and glitter — festival confetti stuck to his face, his shirt soaked crimson.
“Thirty-two-year-old male, GSW to the upper thigh, entry and exit,” the paramedic shouted. “BP ninety over sixty, responsive but fading fast!”
“Move him to Trauma Two,” Robby ordered, already slipping gloves on.
They fell into rhythm controlled, precise, mechanical. Dana moved between stations, shouting vitals, calling for transfusions. Stretchers lined the hallway, nurses cutting through clothing, IVs snaking across the floor.
Another gurney arrived. Then another. Then five.
Smoke. Sweat. Screams. The acrid scent of gunpowder clung to every patient who came through the doors.
Jack wiped his forehead, catching Robby’s eye across the chaos. “Still no word from her?”
Robby shook his head, too tightly. “Phones are jammed. We’ll know if she’s—” He stopped himself. He couldn’t say the word here. Not out loud.
Dana brushed past them, holding up another triage tag. “Black tag — male, mid-forties. DOA.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were glassy.
Behind her, a paramedic stumbled in, shouting over the din, “We’ve got kids, two teens, both with shrapnel wounds conscious but bleeding bad!”
“ RED,” Robby snapped. “Now!”
The ER lights seemed too bright, the noise too much, the walls too small. Every shout felt like an echo of the ones he’d ignored earlier that day.
Jack met his gaze again, quieter this time. “She was supposed to be there, Rob.”
“I know,” Robby said, almost to himself. His voice cracked. “God, I know.”
Before either man could say another word, the overhead speakers crackled to life:
“Inbound transport — female, mid-twenties, gunshot wound to the back. ETA four minutes. Coming from PittFest.”
Robby’s stomach dropped.
Jack froze, watching him. “...Robby?”
But he was already moving — gloves off, blood still on his sleeves, running toward the bay doors like something in him finally broke.
Dana stood by the glass doors, scanning the line of flashing lights. Her radio crackled with half-phrases: “more inbound… multiple GSWs… civilians in private vehicles…”
“Dana!” one of the security officers shouted from the bay entrance. “We’ve got a non-EMS vehicle coming in hot!”
She turned as headlights swerving into the lot, horn blaring. The food truck screeched to a stop halfway between two ambulances, its sides shredded with bullet holes, the windshield cracked like a spiderweb. Blood streaked down the paint in dark, uneven trails.
Jake stumbled out before the engine even cut, voice breaking. “Help! Somebody help us!”
Leah followed, her hands and shirt stained crimson. “She’s not waking up—please!”
Dana’s heart stopped. She knew that truck. Everyone did.
“Get a trauma team out here now!” she shouted, already sprinting toward them. “Langdon, gurney—let’s move!”
Robby and Jack burst through the bay doors just as the back of the truck swung open. The smell hit first — iron and smoke. There were three other victims inside, one moaning, one eerily still, and in the center—
“Y/N,” Dana whispered.
Jake’s voice cracked as he clutched the doorframe. “She—she saved us. The bullets—one hit her. She told us to drive here—said you’d know what to do—”
Robby’s face drained of color. “No,” he breathed, already moving. He climbed into the truck, hands slick with someone else’s blood, finding hers beneath it all. “Y/N! Hey—look at me—come on, sweetheart, open your eyes—”
Jack grabbed a gurney, voice shaking. “She’s still got a pulse! Let’s move!”
“Get her inside!” Robby barked, his composure gone. “Langdon, trauma room two—now!”
Dana reached for his arm. “Robby, you need—”
“I said move!” he snapped, already climbing down with her in his arms.
The lights of the ambulance bay bathed everything in a harsh, sterile white. Sirens howled. The world narrowed to the sound of her uneven breathing against his chest.
As the trauma doors swung shut behind them, Jake fell to his knees on the asphalt, hands covered in blood that wasn’t his.
The doors slammed open, the world narrowing to harsh white lights and the flat rhythm of chaos. Y/N’s gurney rolled in.
Robby was beside her, gloves half-on, adrenaline shaking his hands. “Get a line in—move—she’s losing pressure!”
Jack stepped in front of him, blocking the bed. “No.”
Robby’s eyes snapped up. “Get out of the way.”
“You’re not working this case, brother.” Jack’s voice was steady, but his eyes burned. “You’re too close.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Robby.” Samira’s voice cut through, firm but calm as she appeared at the head of the bed, already setting up airway tools. “We’ve got her. Let us do this.”
He froze, torn between fury and fear. Then he caught sight of her—his Y/N—pale, lips bloodless, her shirt cut away to reveal the dark wound seeping through the gauze. His throat closed.
“BP seventy over forty,” a nurse called. “Push fluids,” Samira ordered. “Hang two units O-neg, get me suction.”
Robby stumbled back, fingers clawing through his hair, the sterile air suddenly too thick to breathe. This is my fault. I did this.
Through the glass, Jake stood shaking, talking fast to a dazed Dana.
“I swear, she saved us,” Jake said, voice hoarse. “We were by the stage when the shots started. She threw us in the truck—made us duck. She covered Leah when the bullet hit. She told me to drive here, told me you’d know what to do.” He blinked back tears. “She was laughing earlier, man. Bought us all matching shirts—one for you too. Said she wanted to surprise you.”
Robby pressed his palms into his eyes. His chest felt like it was caving in.
Inside the trauma bay, Samira and Jack worked in rhythm — compressions, orders, suction. The beeping monitor fluttered weakly, then spiked, then faltered again.
“Pulse’s fading!” “Prep for intubation!”
Robby’s breath came fast, ragged. “Come on, sweetheart, fight—please—”
Jack looked up once, catching Robby’s reflection in the glass. “You better pray she does.”
The crash cart beeped to life, its rhythm syncing with the pounding in Robby’s head. Guilt, love, and sheer terror all blurred together until he couldn’t tell one from the other.
He wanted to run. He wanted to hold her hand. He wanted to take back every word he’d said that morning.
But all he could do was stand there and watch the woman he loved fight for her life— and know that if she didn’t make it, it would be because of him.
Robby stood on the other side of the glass, scrubs streaked with blood, his hands still shaking. He couldn’t make himself sit down. Every sound — the monitors, the muffled voices, the squeak of gurney wheels — felt too loud.
Jake sat hunched over on one of the plastic chairs, his face buried in his hands. Leah sat beside him, pale and trembling, a shock blanket draped around her shoulders. She hadn’t said a word since they’d arrived.
When she finally did, her voice was barely a whisper. “It should’ve been me.”
Robby turned, startled. “What?”
Leah’s eyes filled with tears. “She pushed me down. The bullet…it was meant for me. If I hadn’t frozen”
“Stop.” Robby’s voice cracked. He knelt in front of her, gripping her shaking hands. “You listen to me, okay? Y/N wouldn’t let anything happen to you. That’s who she is. That’s… what she does. She protects people. Always.”
Leah choked back a sob. “She was smiling, even when she was bleeding. She kept saying it’d be okay. That you’d know what to do.”
That broke him.
Robby stood, pacing, running a hand through his hair, the walls closing in. His chest felt like it was caving in from the inside. He looked toward the trauma room doors — that narrow window of glass showing flashes of movement, the blur of scrubs and blood.
“I can’t even remember,” he said suddenly, almost to himself.
Jake looked up, dazed. “What?”
“The last time I told her I loved her.” Robby’s voice was hoarse now, unsteady. “I don’t—God, I don’t know when it was. Maybe a week ago. Maybe longer. I said it out of habit, not meaning it like I should have. Not like she deserved.”
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “And today… I told her to stop pushing me. I brought up Collins—like she wasn’t enough. Like she hasn’t been holding me together for years.”
Neither Jake nor Leah spoke. There wasn’t anything to say.
Through the glass, the red light flickered once. Jack appeared on the other side, eyes locked on Robby’s. He gave a short nod , just one.
Relief, terror, disbelief it all hit at once. Robby staggered back into the chair behind him, his breath coming out in a sharp, broken laugh.
“She’s alive,” he whispered. Then, quieter, like a prayer: “She’s alive.”
The room felt smaller than it was fluorescent lights humming overhead, the air heavy with antiseptic and grief that hadn’t found a place to land yet.
Samira was the first to speak. “She’s stable. Vitals are holding. She made it through the worst of it.”
The words should have felt like oxygen. Instead, Robby just nodded, eyes fixed on the floor.
Robby sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, staring at his bloodstained hands. He hadn’t spoken since Samira said stable. The word didn’t mean safe, not yet.
Jake stood by the window, jittery and pale. Leah sat curled in a blanket on the couch, eyes red, her voice quiet when she finally broke the silence. “She shouldn’t have been the one to get hurt. It’s my fault. She pushed me down. It was supposed to hit me.”
Robby looked up, eyes hollow. “No. It’s not your fault. That’s who she is. Y/N would’ve walked through hell to keep you and Jake safe.” His throat tightened.
Jack exhaled hard, his arms crossed. “Yeah. And she’s been doing the same damn thing for you for years.”
The words landed like a blow.
“Jack,” Samira warned softly.
“No, he needs to hear it,” Jack said, his tone low but shaking. “You shut her out. You buried yourself in work, pushed her until she started apologizing for trying to love you. And now she’s in there fighting for her life, still fighting for you.”
Robby didn’t argue , he couldn’t. He just pressed a trembling hand over his eyes.
Dana stepped into the doorway then, moving quietly, a folded note in her hand. Her usual calm was gone; her expression was raw, maternal. She sat beside Robby, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Jack’s not wrong,” she said gently. “But he’s not saying anything you don’t already know.”
Robby swallowed hard, voice breaking. “She called me. Twice. Left a voicemail.”
Jake spoke up, his own voice still wrecked. “She made me. She said you’d know what to do.” He fumbled for Robby’s phone, handed it over. “You should hear it.”
Robby hesitated, then hit play.
Her voice filled the room — faint, breathless, but steady:
“Mikey…baby…hey, it’s me. There was a shooting at PittFest. I’m with Jake and Leah. We’re okay for now, but—if I don’t make it out, I need you to know I love you. Always have and always will.”
The recording clicked off, and for a long time no one breathed.
Dana’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Jack turned away, jaw locked, tears stinging his eyes. Leah sobbed quietly into Samira’s sleeve.
Robby stared at the phone like it might shatter in his hands. “She thought she was dying… and she still used her last breath to make sure I knew she loved me.” His voice cracked completely. “And I can’t even remember the last time I told her I loved her back.”
Dana slid the folded note across the table. “This was in the lunch bag they brought in.”
He unfolded it slowly, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting:
Mikey,
You don’t have to pretend with me. Not today, not ever. I know today hurts, even if you won’t say it out loud. I love you beyond words and I’ll be here when your ready to talk
Xoxo Sweets <3
His voice broke halfway through, tears spilling freely now.
Jack exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “She wrote that before PittFest?”
Robby nodded weakly. “This morning.”
Leah sniffled, wiping her nose. “She meant every word.”
Robby swallowed hard, his throat tight. “And I told her she was too pushy. That Collins gave me space.” His voice cracked again. “She almost died thinking I didn’t love her.”
Samira crossed the room, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Then make sure she wakes up knowing different.”
Robby nodded, pressing the letter against his chest like he could absorb the words through his skin. “I will. She’s going to hear it every damn day.”
Jack swore softly, dragging a hand over his face. “She’s a better person than I am.”
Robby let out a choked laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all. “She always has been.”
Dana leaned in, her voice soft. “Then you make this right, Robby. However long it takes, you make it right.”
He nodded, gripping the letter like a lifeline. “I will. I swear to God, I will.”
The room fell silent again, broken only by the rhythmic beeping from down the hall — proof that she was still here. Still fighting.
Robby sat beside her bed, hands clasped loosely around hers. Her skin was warm again — not pale and lifeless like before. The oxygen mask fogged faintly with each shallow breath.
He hadn’t moved in hours. Couldn’t. He just sat there, listening to the one sound he’d almost lost forever.
“I don’t even know where to start,” he whispered, voice rough from too many hours of silence. “You’ve always been the strong one, you know that? You’ve been holding me up since the day we met, and I’ve been too damn proud to admit it.”
He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “You walked into my mess and decided to stay. Even when I gave you every reason to run.”
He glanced at the letter on the nightstand — creased, smudged from his fingerprints. “I read your note again. Jesus Christ, you have no idea how much it hurt. How much it meant. You said you’re in all the quiet places I won’t look… but sweetheart, that’s everywhere. You’re everywhere.”
He swallowed, his thumb brushing lightly across her bandaged hand. “I thought I was protecting you by keeping you out of my pain, but I was just protecting myself from being seen. You tried so hard to love me, and I made you feel like it was too much.” His voice cracked. “And then today, I made you walk away thinking you weren’t enough.”
He took a shaky breath, his forehead resting against the back of her hand. “I would’ve traded places with you in a second. I swear I would’ve. You didn’t deserve this , not the bullet, not my silence, not any of it.”
The monitor kept its steady beat.
Robby let out a long, broken sigh. “You told me once that love wasn’t supposed to hurt. I didn’t get it then. But it hurts because it’s real. Because losing you would’ve meant losing the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”
He lifted his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But if you give me one… I’ll never make you question where you stand with me again. I’ll tell you I love you every morning, every night, and every time I walk out that door.”
He leaned closer, voice barely a whisper now. “I’m right here, okay? You’re not alone. Not anymore.”
Her heart monitor blipped faster, faint but unmistakable.
Robby froze, breath catching. “Sweetheart?”
Her fingers twitched weakly in his grasp.
Tears filled his eyes again, but this time they came with a broken laugh. “There you are,” he whispered, pressing her hand to his lips. “There’s my girl.”
The monitor kept beating steady, strong, alive.
Robby had fallen asleep sitting up, head resting on the edge of the bed, her hand still cradled in his. His scrubs were wrinkled, eyes bruised with exhaustion, but he hadn’t moved since she’d been out of surgery.
A soft rustle pulled him from the edge of sleep.
“Mikey….?”
His head snapped up, breath catching in his throat. Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but it was hers.
“Hey,” he breathed, instantly on his feet, leaning close. “Hey, sweets. I’m right here.”
Her eyes fluttered open, confused at first, pupils adjusting to the light. “Where…?”
“You’re at PTMC. You’re safe.” His voice wavered, thick with relief. “You’re okay.”
She blinked slowly, memories coming back in pieces. “Jake? Leah?”
“They’re fine,” he said quickly. “They’re okay because of you.”
She exhaled, a tiny sound of relief, and then winced when she tried to move. “Hurts.”
“I know.” His hand hovered just above her bandaged side. “You took a bullet meant for someone else, Y/N. You scared the hell out of me.”
A weak smile flickered across her lips. “You look like shit.”
That made him laugh, a choked, broken sound that turned into tears he didn’t bother to hide. “Yeah. I earned it.”
She studied his face for a moment, her voice soft. “You’ve been here the whole time?”
“Couldn’t leave,” he whispered. “Didn’t want to. I needed to tell you something before I lost my nerve.”
Her brows furrowed. “What?”
He leaned in closer, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “I’m sorry. For everything. For today. For before today. For every time I made you feel like you were too much when you were the only thing keeping me going.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but she didn’t speak.
He squeezed her hand gently. “You said in your note that I didn’t have to face everything alone. I’m done pretending I can. I love you, Y/N. I always have. I’m just sorry it took almost losing you to say it right.”
She swallowed hard, tears spilling down her temples. “You’re an idiot.”
He laughed again, forehead pressed to hers. “Yeah. But I’m your idiot.”
“Good,” she whispered, her hand tightening weakly around his. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
He closed his eyes, exhaling shakily. For the first time in days, his heart didn’t feel like it was collapsing in on itself.
A knock came, and the door cracked open. Jack’s familiar grin peeked through. “You two decent?”
Robby rolled his eyes. “You’re never decent.”
Jack laughed as he stepped in, followed by Samira, Jake, Leah, and Dana. The sight of them all together made the room feel lighter.
“Hey, hero,” Jack said softly, moving to Y/N’s bedside. “You really outdid yourself this time.”
Y/N smiled faintly. “You mean the bullet wound or saving your sorry friend’s hospital from chaos?”
Dana chuckled from behind him. “Both, sweetheart. You had half the trauma floor praying last night.”
Leah came forward hesitantly, her eyes wet. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, voice trembling.
Y/N shook her head gently. “No. Don’t you dare apologize. You’re okay. That’s what matters.”
Leah hugged her carefully, mindful of the IVs. Jake joined them a moment later, awkwardly patting her shoulder. “You scared the hell out of us, boss,” he muttered.
“Join the club,” Robby said under his breath.
Jack leaned back, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, you scared her first, genius.”
Robby nodded, not even trying to argue. “I know.” His voice softened. “I’m lucky she’s still willing to look at me.”
Y/N reached over, threading her fingers through his. “Luck’s got nothing to do with it.”
The group stayed for a while, filling the room with warmth, quiet laughter, gentle teasing, the sound of people trying to move forward. For the first time since the shooting, the air didn’t feel heavy.
When they finally started to leave, Jack lingered by the door. “Don’t screw this up again, man.”
“I won’t,” Robby said simply. “Not ever.”
PTMC – RECOVERY ROOM (A Few Days Later)
Y/N sat propped up in bed, sunlight spilling across her blanket. A small vase of daisies sat on her bedside table, one of many flowers that had appeared since she woke up. Robby was perched on the edge of the chair beside her, flipping through her discharge papers for the hundredth time.
“Robby,” she said, amused. “You’re reading the same sentence over and over.”
He looked up sheepishly. “Just making sure they didn’t sneak in a clause saying you can’t bake anymore.”
Before she could respond, a knock rattled the door.
“Permission to enter, Dr. Broody?” a voice called.
Robby groaned. “God help me.”
The door swung open, revealing three of his interns Whittaker, Mel, and Santos all carrying coffee trays, balloons, and what looked like a lopsided chocolate cake.
“Look who survived and baked better than the hospital cafeteria!” Santos announced dramatically.
Whittaker grinned. “We come bearing caffeine, sugar, and relentless teasing.”
Mel handed Y/N the cake box. “We tried to bake this ourselves, but Dr. Robby said we could ‘use the time to study charting efficiency.’ So if it’s bad, blame him.”
Y/N laughed softly, accepting the box. “You baked? I’m honored.”
“Technically,” Whittaker said, “we begged the cafeteria pastry chef to help us not poison you.”
Santos leaned toward Y/N conspiratorially. “Word around the hospital is that your boyfriend’s been taking credit for your baked goods in the break room.”
Robby looked up sharply. “Excuse me?”
Jack’s voice carried from the hallway as he’d clearly been listening in. “It’s true! He said ‘we’ made those lemon scones last month.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “We, huh?”
Robby threw his hands up. “I supervised quality control!”
The interns burst into laughter.
“Sure thing, Mr. Quality Control,” Santos teased. “Or should we say Mr. Mrs. Doctor Robby?”
That made Y/N snort into her coffee, face flushing. “Oh, don’t give him ideas.”
Whittaker grinned. “Too late. It’s canon now.”
Even Robby cracked a smile, shaking his head. “You’re all fired.”
“Too late, sir,” Mel shot back. “We already filed a ‘thank you for not letting our favorite baker die’ petition with Dana. You’re stuck with us.”
The room filled with laughter, light, unguarded, healing. For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like a hospital. It felt like home.
Robby glanced at Y/N, her smile brighter than he’d seen in months. He reached for her hand beneath the blanket, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Mrs. Doctor Robby,” he murmured with a grin. “Could get used to that.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her voice gave her away. “Don’t push it, Doctor Broody.”
The interns cheered, and the sound of laughter carried down the hall.
Epilogue – Six Months Later
The sun rose slow and golden over the city, spilling light across the rows of food trucks setting up for the weekend market. The scent of bread, cinnamon, and butter filled the air, carried on the early morning breeze.
Y/N stood outside her freshly repainted truck tracing the new logo with her fingertips. The old bullet holes were gone, patched and painted over, but she hadn’t erased everything. A small dent on the back door remained, a reminder, not of pain, but survival.
Robby leaned against the counter beside her, scrubs under his jacket, stethoscope still hanging around his neck. He looked tired, but his smile was easy now, the kind that came without effort.
“You know,” he said, sipping his coffee, “that looks good on you.”
She glanced over, amused. “You mean the truck?”
He smirked. “I meant the smile.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “Smooth, Doctor Broody.”
“Learned from the best, Mrs. Doctor Robby.”
“God, don’t start,” she said, laughing as she tossed a dish towel at him.
Jack and Samira showed up first, hand in hand, Samira waving a coffee cup triumphantly. “Look who’s open for business again!”
Jake and Leah trailed behind, carrying a basket of flowers. Leah grinned shyly. “For the counter. To make it feel… happy.”
“It already does,” Y/N said softly.
They all lingered around the truck, talking, laughing, stealing croissants. It felt like a family loud, chaotic, alive.
When the morning rush started, Robby stayed by her side, helping hand out orders and sneak bites of her muffins. Every now and then, he’d brush his hand against hers, a quiet little promise that he wasn’t going anywhere.
As the crowd thinned, she leaned against the counter, catching her breath. “You realize this is the first Saturday you’ve had off in three years?”
He grinned. “Yeah. Turns out life’s better when you stop hiding in the hospital.”
She gave him a look, the kind that said I told you so without words. “You proud of yourself?”
He nodded, eyes softening. “I’m proud of you. You rebuilt all this… and somehow, you let me stay.”
Her heart clenched in that old, familiar way, the one that hurt, but in a way that felt good. “You earned it, Mikey. Every second.”
He stepped closer, hands brushing flour off her apron. “So what’s next, Mrs. Doctor Broody?”
She smirked, voice low. “Sell out before noon, take you home, and see if you can finally beat me at UNO.”
He laughed, leaning down to kiss her temple. “You’re on, sweets.”
The bell above the window jingled as another customer approached, and Y/N turned back to her work, the light catching the faint scar along her collar bone. It didn’t ache anymore. It just reminded her that she’d survived that they had.
And somewhere between the smell of sugar, the sound of laughter, and the feel of his hand brushing hers, she realized something simple and true
Home wasn’t the truck, or the bakery, or even the hospital.
Home was this.Him. Them.
The end.
