Hate when an x reader fanfic assumes I'm a basic bitch. No hate if you like it but why am I watching Gilmore Girls and listening to Taylor Swift in the fic? Did you have to give the names of the media you consume? No. Is it relevant? No. Especially not if it's set in modern day. And don't get me started on "I/you turned red". It's giving entitlement. It's giving lack of personality. Are we on Wattpad 2018 again?
Summary: Traumatized by the pandemic and the loss of his mentor, Robby, emotionally detaches from his wife, you. As you reache your breaking point and consider divorce, making you both have a tense, public encounter at the nurse's station, leaving him with a ultimatum.
There was nowhere for me to stay
But I stayed anyway... leet me see your face. - Renegade by Taylor Swift -
Inspired by that song and Parachute by Hayley Williams.
Tags: ansgt, stablished relationship, marriage, hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no smut.
Note: you voted for this one and won, hope you like it!
You stood by the sinks on the bathroom. Tired – of your marriage, of the hospital, of your hole life falling apart – small dropes of water falling trougth your face. You went to the bathroom to take a breath, get yourself together before having to face him. Looking at the mirror as you stared at your reflection "C'mon you can do this" you whispered to you.
You were a attending trauma surgeon, a woman who made split-second decisions to slice and saved lives under pressure. But right now, you couldn't even make a decision about your own life.
You walked out of the bathroom, salute a few interns as you reached the elevator heading down trauma bay to see a patient. One last breath as the elevator doors opened. You reached the nurse station "Hi, Dana" you forced a smile as she looked back to you whit a genuile smile. I wasn't that you didn't like her. God she was like your mom sometimes, you could trust her your own life, but right now, you were at your lowest and tried to make it seem like it wasn't like that – even though Dana knew how to read you – "Hi honey, I missed your face. What brings you down at hell?" mid-size smile left your face. Dana just nodded, pressing her lips. "Oh." That's all she said.
"Yes, oh."
You had talked about it with her before. At a breakfast you once shared at the hospital cafeteria, you had sat over cold coffee and confessed the terrifying truth – you were thinking about a divorce –. You had mourn, telling her you couldn't keep drowning in his silence. Dana had just held your hands back then, her eyes heavy with maternal sorrow, knowing that the brilliant man she used to see run the daytime floor, was slowly dragging you into the abyss with him.
"He's in Trauma 2," Dana added softly now, her eyes dropping to your hands, taking them in hers. "Be careful down there, okay?" You smiled at her, "Will do, thanks". As you left her hands, walking towards trauma 2 you could feel your heart rate speeding.
By looking at the man standing a few feet away reviewing a chart on the digital monitor, your hands were trembling inside the pockets of your coat.
To the rest of the hospital, you were two highly respected professionals who worked the same brutal hours, occasionally crossing paths in the trauma bays when a patient needed immediate surgical intervention. It was private, but it wasn't a secret. Jack and Dana were two of the few people who where lucky enough to know about your marriage. There were kissed, no hand-holding in the hospital – or the parking lot ‐ Perla and Princess suspected something based on the way your eyes lingered on him sometimes, but not the truly the depth of it.
They didn't knew that your marriage was bleeding out on the table.
Robby didn't look up from the monitor. His face was a mask of exhaustion. The lines around his eyes had grown deeper over the last few years, etched into his skin by a ghost that refused to leave him. First, it was the crushing loss the man who had taught him how to lead an ER. Then came the brutal, relentless waves of the pandemic years, where he had watched the world fracture under his watch. It had broken something fundamental inside him. A quiet wall he had built to survive the horror.
The problem was, that wall had locked you out, too.
You watched his gazed went down to the tablet, his fingers navigate the screen. He looked so close, yet he felt three states away. You remembered the day you married him —long before the weight of this hospital had settled on his shoulders —. You had jumped into this life with him blindly, completely exposed, trusting him with everything.
You had thought he was always going to catch you.
"The patient in Trauma 1 has a grade-three splenic laceration" Robby said, his voice entirely professional, completely detached. He didn't use your name. He didn't look at you. "He’s stable for now, but he needs an OR before the shift ends"
"I'll take him up myself" you replied, your voice tight, aching with a grief that had nothing to do with medicine.
You stepped closer to him, the proximity making your chest tighten. You wanted to scream. You wanted to grab him by the shoulders and ask him when. When did he decide to just give up on the two of you? When did he decide that protecting his own mind meant abandoning the woman who he promised to love? If he had just told you what he needed, if he had just asked you to hold the weight for him, whith him. You would have done anything.
"Robby" you said quietly, dropping the professional tone for just a moment.
His shoulders tensed. He finally looked up from the screen, his sharp eyes meeting yours. For a fleeting moment, you saw the raw, fractured men behind the mask. The look of love. But almost instantly, his expression went flat.
"We're need to get him up soon" he muttered softly, stepping back, creating that agonizing distance that had become your daily reality.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, a bitter realization settling deep into you. You had spent the last years waiting for the husband you loved to reach out. You had never stopped loving him, not once. Not when he decided to take extra ours, not when he didn't hesitate to leave earlier before you woke up. Never stopped hoping he would turn around and fight for you. You didn't took it personal, yet.
But as you stood there in the quiet room, watching him turn back to his charts, you finally understood.
You had stayed in a place in where you didn't belong anymore, believing his love was absolute. Now, you knew better. You had left yourself completely unprotected, and the impact was cold.
"Right" you whispered, your voice hardening into the clinical precision he demanded. "Send the patient up to OR 4. I'll be waiting" You were going to wait and take the patient up yourself, hoping it will buy you some time with your husband. But no.
You turned on your heel and pushed through the heavy double doors. The rubber soles of your shoes squeaked against the pristine floor. You were going to save a life today, because that’s what you were trained to do. But as the doors swung shut behind you, you wondered who was going to save the two of you from the slow, quiet crash you were both heading toward.
Hours latter, by 6:30 PM, you have finished.
You walked out of the elevators, your shoulder muscles aching from the heavy five-hour splenic laceration repair you had just finished. You were still in your surgical scrubs, a cup of coffee in your hand. You didn't want to go down to the floor, but you needed to sign off on the post-op transfer logs at the central desk.
You needed to face him again.
The hospital didn’t have privacy, it was an open glass partitions and exposed desks where everyone saw everything. Robby was sitting at the central nurse station. Dana, was standing over his shoulder, tapping a clipboard as she gave him the end shift bed counts.
A few feet away, Perla and Princess were whispering over a tray of chart folders. The moment you stepped into the bay, their eyes flicked from you to Robby, their heads leaning closer together. They knew something was going on between the two of you, even if they couldn't prove it.
"Trauma surgeon on the floor" Whitaker muttered, passing you with a tray of sutures, nodding respectfully.
Langdon was nearby, flipping through a tablet.
You ignored them all, walking straight to the central counter.
Robby didn't look up immediately. He was staring at a lab report, his face pale, his eyes hollow.
"I need your signature for the OR 4 transfer, hes stable to get down again" you said, your voice professional.
Robby took the pen, his movements robotic. "Patient tolerated the procedure?"
Dana left leaving you two sapce (or saving herself from that moment).
"Yes" you said, leaning in just enough so no one would hear. Your voice dropped, cracking. "But I'm not. I'm tired, Robby. I'm tired of living with a ghost. I'm tired of you using your a shield to stop you from giving me anything at all. Do you just don't want to love me anymore?"
Robby’s hand froze on the paper. The tip of the pen dug into the chart, leaving a dark, bleeding ink stain.
"Not here" he whispered, hand on his face, trying to control himself, his jaw clenching so hard the bone showed through his skin.
"Then where?" you challenged softly, the tears stinging the backs of your eyes.
You turned to leave, the rejection burning in your chest, ready to walk out of the hospital and finally call a lawyer. You couldn't let his damage completely damage you anymore.
But as you turned your back, Robby’s hand shot out.
His fingers wrapped around your wrist, squeezing your hand with a desperate, terrifying strength.
The entire desk went dead silent. Dana stopped talking mid sentence. Perla and Princess completely stopped pretending to work, their mouths dropping open. Langdon slowly lowered his tablet.
"Don't" Robby choked out, his voice cracking. You faced him again. He looked up at you, his eyes wide, filled with a sudden, agonizing panic. "Don't leave" You didn't say it, but he new. He it was just a mattered of time for you to get tired of this, of him.
"I can'tdo this anymore" you whispered, looking down at his hand on your wrist, your heart breaking all over again.
"Hey. What's the circus about?"
A deep, authoritative voice broke through the suffocating tension. Jack Abbott, just walked through to start his turn. He took one look at Robby holding your wrist, at your tear-stained face, and at the staring staff and his cynical expression instantly hardened into something protective.
Just as you had found shoulder to cry in Dana’s quiet wisdom. Robby had found his own in the lonely rooftop with Jack a week before.
"She needs her husband. If you keep hiding behind your trauma, you’re going to lose the best thing in your life. Go home, talk to her, and stop fighting this battle alone". Jack’s words echoed in his mind since then.
Jack stepped up to the situation, his massive frame deliberately shifting to block the view of Perla, Princess, and the rest of the room. He clapped a heavy hand on Robby's shoulder, his grip firm.
"Dana, take the nurses and clear the beds. Langdon, go check on trauma 6" Jack ordered, his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. They scrambled, dissolving into the hallways. Jack looked down at Robby, his voice dropping to a fierce, quiet rasp. "Robby. Let go of her wrist before you make a fool of both of you".
Robby's fingers slowly loosened, slipping away from your skin. He looked at his hand, then up at you, the realization of what he was losing finally hitting him.
You didn't wait for him to speak. You turned and walked out of the hospital, the cool night air hitting your face as you stepped into parking lot looking for your car, wondering if the man you married had the courage to finally face you.
The drive back to your house was pure silence.
You had left the hospital first, but you knew Robby wasn't far behind. Jack had taken over the floor early; there were no excuses left. No more extra hours to hide behind. No more charts to use as a shield.
When you pulled into the driveway of the home you had bought together years ago. You left the car keys on the kitchen counter and went straight to the living room.
You didn't turn on the lights. You just sat on the edge of the sofa, wrapped in the shadows, watching the headlights of Robby’s bike cut through the darkness.
The front door clicked open. The lock turned.
Robby stepped into the house. He didn't took off his jacket immediately. He just stood in the hallway, his tall frame silhouetted by the porch light, his breathing heavy . There was a man who looked terrified.
He walked into the living room, his boots heavy on the floor, and stopped a few feet from where you sat.
"You were right" He said, his voice breaking instantly in the quiet house. It was the rawest, most vulnerable he had sounded in over a years.
"What you said... about me, because I hate myself. I do. I hate waking up every day feeling like I'm still trapped in that nightmare. I hate that I couldn't save him. And I’ve been so goddamn scared that if I let myself feel any of it, I’d fall apart completely."
You didn't move. You stayed on the edge of the couch, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. "So you decided it was safer to let our marriage fall apart instead?"
"No" he choked out, taking a desperate step closer, dropping to his knees right in front of you. Now, this was just the man who had promised to love you forever, crying. "No, please. I never wanted to do this to you, to us. I thought... in my sick, twisted head, I thought if I kept my distance, my darkness wouldn't touch you. I thought I was protecting you from the mess inside my head."
"You weren't protecting me, Robby. You were pilling me apart" you whispered, a tear finally escaping your eye and slipping down your cheek. "I didn't marry a perfect, doctor. I married you. I wanted you. I wanted to be there for you, to love you. I would have done anything if you had just let me".
Robby looked up, his face glistening with his own tears in the dim light filtering through the window. He reached out, his hands trembling violently as he laid them over your hands. This time, he didn't squeeze with the desperate panic. His touch was gentle, pleading, begging for a mercy he wasn't sure he deserved.
"I am so sorry" he whispered, his forehead dropping heavily against your knees, his shoulders shaking as the dam finally broke completely.
"I'm so sorry I left you alone, I'm sorry I didn't let you love me. I'm sorry if you felt like I didn't loved you any more. I do, good I love you more than anything in my life". He looked up at you, his eyes red, his face full of tears. You free your hands of his, looking for his faces, tracing his checks with your thumbs.
"Don't leave, please. Don't give up on me. I'll get my shit together. I'll see a therapist, I'll talk to Jack, I'll do whatever it takes. Just don't leave this house"
Looking down at his dark head resting against your hans, the anger that had sustained you all afternoon began to melt into something aching and profound. He was a broken men who had finally run out of places to hide.
He was broken, yes, but he was finally here. Really here, for the first time in years
Slowly, deliberately. You raised one hand and gently tangled your fingers into his hair, just like you used to before.
Robby let out a sharp, ragged breath at your touch, his entire body shuddering with a relief so intense it felt physical. He moved his head looking for your touch, his tear-filled eyes searching yours, desperate for a sign that the fall was over.
"Love, It’s going to take time" you said softly. A faint smile on his face, hearing you calling Lovre, his love, after all of this time was like water on a desert. Your voice steady but thick with emotion. "And it’s going to be ugly. You have to let all that damage out, and you have to let me help you. No more supply closets to cry alone, no more silence, no more hiding behind the ER"
"No more" he promised fiercely, leaning up to press his forehead against yours, his hands moving up to cup your face with a reverence that made your soul ache. "No more hiding. I swear to god"
When his lips finally met yours, it wasn't the desperate. It was a slow, tear strained, incredibly tender reclamation of the vows you had made before the world got heavy. It tasted like love, like grief, but above all, it tasted like a beginning.
But as Robby pulled you up onto his lap, on the couch, as you both hold each other, crying, letting go of the weight of the pain. With him, wrapping his arms around you so tightly that the space between you disappeared, you finally felt the ground beneath your feet. He wasn't letting you fall anymore. He was catching you.
Sooo, does this deserve a part 2? Or am i just carzy? Hope you like it as much as i do! I love imagine this broken robby on his knees whit his bubba eyes looking up, kinda hooot lol.
Grant's getting old. He doesn't deny it - not like he can if he wanted to, anyway. But after witnessing him struggling to adapt with the times, you decide to help him.
A/N: Am I meant to be writing for Pope Cody right now? Yes. But a new Shawn Hatosy character dropped and I really wanted to write for him. I love this old man so much. No collage header this time bc I made this on a whim, but trust that when he becomes a regular I write for, I will make some!!
Warnings: no use of iris adams, grant nearly falls for a phishing scam (based off of my personal experience lol), slightly suggestive jokes, POPE CODY MENTION, i wrote grant a lot like how i write jack SO SORRY IF IT'S OOC (i had to work with the little we have), i suck at writing endings pt.2, not proofread!!
WC: 1.7k
LESSON ONE: PHISHING SCAM
It all comes to a head when Grant enters your bedroom, readers perched low on his nose bridge, holding his phone at arms length.
"Honey, can you help me with something real quick?"
Smirking internally, propping yourself up on your elbows. "What's it this time, old man?"
He only rolls his eyes, stepping towards your bed, "I got an email saying that I gotta open a link to retrieve my account. Is that bad?"
You almost pity him - gentle hazel eyes boring into yours, waiting patiently for an answer.
Grant's insecurity about his age is a known aspect in your relationship. Especially when it comes to anything digital.
You can't blame him for being unknowledgeable when it comes to things like this, as he has much bigger worries in his life (and he quite literally is the target demographic for online scams), but it does mean you have to play knight in shining armour once in a while.
He's always been so good to you.
This is the least you could do for him.
"Gimme it." Holding your hand out for him to place his phone into.
Grant obediently does as he's told without a second thought. You'll make sure to revisit that information later.
"Okay, Grant, sweetie, I'll need you to sit down for this." You say as you shuffle over to the right side of the mattress, making room for him.
"What, is it that bad?" He asks, his forehead creasing with worry.
Reaching for his arm, you tug him closer, "Sit down and I'll explain, alright, honey?"
He nods, confusion evident on his face, but complies nonetheless.
Once he situates himself on your bed, you cover his legs with your favourite fluffy blanket, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible.
This was going to be an awkward conversation.
"These emails are called 'phishing scams'. Basically, people pretend to be officials of big companies to try and steal your information. They usually make you click links and give them your password."
Grant listens intently, hanging off of your every word.
He comes to a sudden understanding once you finish explaining.
"Well, I didn't click the link or anything."
"Good! That makes things a lot easier."
Leaning your head on his broad shoulder, you place his phone between you two.
"So now all we have to do is block and report whoever sent you this."
Your fingers zip across the screen, pressing buttons that Grant didn't know the purpose of.
Before he knew it, the email was gone like the wind, and so were his worries.
"That's it?"
"Yep."
You can feel his shoulder shake, hearing soft laughter escaping him.
"What's wrong, honey?" You ask as you kiss his stubbled cheek.
"You must think I'm so stupid right now."
Scoffing, you wrap your arms around his torso, tossing his phone into the expanse of pillows on your bed.
"You're a co-owner and head chef to a restaurant with a Michelin star. You could never be stupid in my eyes."
He nuzzles into your hair, softening at your words, his freckled arms returning your embrace.
"Yeah, well... I nearly fell for the oldest scam in the book. I'm sure when you started dating you never thought you'd have to explain shit like this to your partner."
"Grant."
You cup his face with both your hands, playfully squishing his cheeks, forcing him to meet your eyes.
"There are much worse situations that could happen in relationships than this. I wouldn't have it any other way."
You affectionally rub your nose against his.
"Besides, I find your inexperience cute. Like you're an internet virgin or something."
That gets a laugh out of him.
"Jesus Christ."
"And I'm the one that popped your cherry."
Grant rolls you over, now laying on his chest.
"That's enough, sweetheart."
"You're so welcome."
LESSON TWO: TIKTOK
"I sent you a friend request."
You raise a curious eyebrow.
The two of you were out for brunch. Your favourite cafe, much to Grant's chagrin.
'I can cook better than whatever pre-made bullshit they serve there,' was his go-to response.
But once his eyes land on your pouty lips and dewy eyes, he relents, silently grabbing his keys.
Grant could never say no to you.
You wait for him to explain where he sent the friend request, but he doesn't seem to take the hint.
"On which platform, baby?" You ask, sipping on your beverage as you do.
"TikTok."
Nearly choking on your drink (which you regret sipping at the moment), you stare up at him, evidently stunned.
"Since when do you use that?"
Grant shrugs, a cocky expression plastered on his face.
"Oh, I dunno. Ever since I caught you giggling at a Pope Cody edit."
It appears that your infatuation with the eldest Cody brother has not slipped your boyfriend's notice.
How could it?
It's not like you forced him to binge all six seasons of Animal Kingdom with you or anything... oops.
"I'm gonna need you to reel back a second. First of all, how do you know what an 'edit' is? And second, how did you find my account?"
Grant has the nerve to look offended at your interrogation - leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"I've looked over your shoulder enough times to know what an edit is, honey. Don't think that I haven't seen certain messages exchanged between you and your girlfriends." He looks at you pointedly.
"And imagine how I felt when I found out that Beans has you friended on there, and not me."
Beans.
Of course.
Beans was the only co-worker of Grant's that you've met, the two of you growing closer through mutual teasing of his age.
You try not to giggle at Grant's expression.
He moved to cross his arms, the sleeves of his shirt straining at the motion, and feigning an angry huff.
"I'm sorry, honey. I didn't think that you'd be interested in TikTok, let alone creating an account."
You pinch his cheek, trying to break his facade.
Grant doesn't react, merely staring at you, wordlessly communicating what he wants.
"Oh! Wait, gimme a sec."
Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you open TikTok, expecting to find his friend request in your inbox - only to find nothing there.
"Grant? You said you sent it to me, right?"
That seems to have broken his stoic visage.
"Yeah. Is it not there?"
He frantically reaches for his own phone, sloppily putting on his readers simultaneously.
"Lemme see, baby. Maybe you missed a letter."
"I could've sworn I did it correctly..." He mumbles under his breath, but he hands it over regardless.
You swiftly type your username into TikTok's search-bar, and shoot a friend request.
Lo and behold, your phone dings.
Returning Grant his phone, you accept the request on yours.
"Did it work this time?"
"Sure did." You say as you message him 'hiiiiiiiiii!!!'
"What'd I do wrong?" Grant asks, peering down his glasses, squinting at his screen.
The sight was comical.
"I think you sent it to a different person, sweetie. You gotta get the username perfect or someone else entirely will get the notification."
Grant winces at the thought.
"Shit. What if they accept it?"
You snort, "I'd block them for you, don't worry."
He chucks his readers on the wooden table, and runs his hands down his face.
"God, I meant for this to be much smoother." Grant's voice is muffled by his hands, but you get the idea.
"Aww, honey." You rub his knee consolingly under the table.
"You still caught me off-guard, if that makes you feel better."
Your boyfriend just groans, still hiding his face in his palms, "I'm never gonna get the hang of this."
"That's what I'm here for, baby."
Prying Grant's digits away, you peck his lips softly.
LESSON THREE: HARD-LAUNCHING
Grant felt that this was unnecessary.
Everyone important in your lives knew of your relationship.
It confused him as to why you wanted your online followers (more like, 'strangers' in his eyes) to know about it.
"Look, I've got tons of middle-aged men in my comments, baby. I just want them to stop hitting on me! Posting us together would prevent that. For the most part."
That halted Grant in his footsteps.
You're the most gorgeous girl in the (his) world, so it shouldn't be a surprise that you get flirted with online - especially since you post 'fit checks,' whenever you leave the house.
It doesn't make him feel any less jealous, though.
He trusts you, of course, but as a middle-aged man himself, he could imagine that the intention of the men in your comment section are less than savoury.
If a simple 'photo carousel' (whatever that was) would put an end to those comments, so be it.
Grant allowed you to drag him around town, taking photos together.
Eating ice cream, shopping at the mall (using his card, obviously), getting your nails done (again, using his card).
And when you return home, he ensures to cook to the best of his abilities, as he has to look like the best boyfriend ever, damnit!
He already is, and you remind him of that everyday.
That doesn't stop him from striving to better himself, though.
As the two of you sit down to eat, you take photos of everything Grant made, proud of his creation.
"You went all out, huh?" You tease, placing a leg between his.
"Well, if we're going to... what'd you call it?"
"Hard-launch."
"Yeah, that. If we're going to do that, we better do it right."
You chuckle, touched at the amount of effort he put into a silly internet trend.
"Thank you for this."
"It's nothing."
"Take the compliment, Grant."
He sighs, placing a hand on top of yours.
"This should be expected, honey. The bare minimum. I don't need gratitude for that."
"Let me give it to you anyway."
Standing up, you move to his side of the table, pushing his chair back, exposing his thighs.
You curl up on his lap, back against his chest.
Grant hesitantly places his hands on your hips.
"I mean it, Grant. Thank you."
He sighs contently in response, nestling his nose into the crook of your neck. Nipping softly at the skin there. Inhaling the scent of your hair.
"I love you."
"I love you more."
The comments didn't disappear entirely after you post the photos, but they appear much less.
Grant feels a weight lift off of his shoulders at the news.
