#jake malloy

[mxmoth]

THE PITT SEASON 1 (2025) Ho'oponopono

[puppydogwhitaker]

robby’s abandonment by his mother adds another layer to his relationship to jake.

he’s not biologically related to jake, but he maintains a close bond with him after splitting up with his mother. the first season takes place in 2025, jake is 17. heather implies she was with robby at least towards the end of the height of the COVID pandemic, meaning jake was at the most 14/15 when robby and his mother broke up, most likely much younger if there was a gap between janey and heather.

it’s hard to maintain relationships with kids after break ups like that when you have no parental rights, especially during a pandemic when pods were small and robby was probably isolating himself because of possible exposure. he wouldn’t have had any custody schedule or guaranteed visitation. it would’ve been robby, jake, and janey all opting into that continued relationship at every step.

it’s not atypical for relationships like that to fade, but everyone at the ER knew jake, even frank, who would’ve started in the ER probably after janey and robby broke up (and when the ED didn’t allow casual visits). so jake has been stopping by the pitt at a decent frequency in the past year or two.

it would’ve been easier to not see jake frequently, let it fade because of the pandemic. robby’s obviously struggled to maintain connections while he was in the worst of his grief, and yet he kept up with jake. why? because robby doesn’t want to be his mother. robby doesn’t want to abandon a kid he promised to care for.

so he’ll plan basketball games even though he has a bad back, he’ll get pittfest tickets and let the kid take his girlfriend because that’s much more fun than hanging out with your not quite step dad, he’ll reach for his wallet to try to offer money, and jake will feel comfortable enough to say he’s already gotten condoms (prompting robby to freak out in that parental way on whether or not jake is having sex already).

so robby tries his hardest not to repeat the trauma his mother inflicted on him. he tries his hardest to be there. and then it turns around and jake’s the one to push robby away, further confirming robby’s worst fear. that he’s just unlovable and somehow not worthy of family, that he will always be the one being abandoned

this was one of the most important connections robby had left with anybody because it helped him rewrite that initial trauma by allowing robby to be the type of person young him needed. robby probably felt so psychologically safe in this relationship with jake, because, in his head, the parent is supposed to be the one with the power to leave. that moment where jake insists robby is not his dad is made doubly painful by robby’s past trauma, because robby felt safe in the idea that a child would never reject the parent.

[cassierins]

Die Your Daughter pt.1

stepdad!Michael "Robby" Robinavitch & Janey's child! reader

synopsis: After your father left your family behind, you struggled to accept a new man stepping into your lives. Michael Robinavitch didn't try to replace him, he simply loved your mother, your brother and you and stayed until one day, you were ready to call him dad.

word count: 3035

a/n: hey everyone, I didn't expect anyone to be interested in this to be honest. I am excited to publish this though, I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!

(This is my first time posting a fic on Tumblr and the first time writing an "x reader" so it might be a bit messy and may contain mispells because I am not a native english speaker.)

series masterlist|part 2

You couldn't exactly recall when Michael had started being "Dad", when he stopped being the "guy your mum's been seeing" and became, instead, "the father who stepped in". Maybe the word had always been resting on your tongue, never quite ready to be sounded out, but it was still there nonetheless.

Jake and you had two fathers, but only one was a dad.

It was Michael.

When you were about eight years old and Jake was barely three years old, your father packed his belongings into two suitcases and left. You could still remember the sound of the suitcases rolling through the house and the quiet click of the door when it closed behind him. He said he'd call, that it wasn't a goodbye but more of a see you later.

He lied.

He never came back. Sometimes cards arrived for birthdays—on the wrong dates, with your names misspelled. Child support came when he remembered, which wasn't often. You stopped waiting for it after a while, but you had never really waited for him or expected anything from him to begin with.

Still, there was always a dad-shaped hole in your chest. It ached in quiet moments: Father's Day, school pick-up lines where other kids ran into waiting arms. No matter how hard your mom tried, no matter how fiercely she loved you, there were gaps she couldn't fill.

Michael filled them.

Not all at once.

Not with grand gestures.

But slowly, steadily, as he showed in quiet ways that he wouldn't leave like your sperm donor had.

He came into your life when you were ten years old and Jake was five years old. Two years had passed since your father had disappeared, but the wound was still fresh.

At first, Michael was awkward, hovering in doorways, unsure where he fit in your family, unsure whether he was allowed to ruffle your hair or tell you what to do. He asked too many questions, laughed at the wrong moments, and brought snacks neither you nor Jake liked.

You still remembered the face he made the first time Jake reached to hold his hand without thinking when he was six years old, eyes wide and glossy with emotions.

Your mother told you years later that he had cried that evening, which Michael tried to deny but the colour of his face, neck and ears betrayed him.

The difference between Michael and your biological father was that Michael learned.

He learned that you hated peas but loved bell peppers. He learned that Jake needed the nightlight left on to sleep. He learned the names of your stuffed animals and their backstories. He learned that Jake loved the Marvel universe but that you preferred the Harry Potter universe, that Jake loved basketball but that you didn't like sports that much.

Somewhere along the way, you started learning him as well.

You learned the way he always double-checked the locks at night, wanting to make sure everything was safe for his the family. That he hummed under his breath when he helped your mother around the kitchen but that he wasn't allowed to cook anything elaborate, or else he'd burn the house down. You learned that he always gave your mother temple kisses and that he always had a hand on her hip.

You learned that his parents had left him the same way your father had, that his grandmother had raised him. You learned that he had a best friend who worked with him called Jack. You learned that he had a mentor called Montgomery Adamson, who sometimes visited and always brought gifts to which Robby would complain with a fond smile about sugar highs and spoiled children.

You learned that he wouldn't leave, no matter how much you pushed him away to see if he would. You had tested him countless times: at first carefully, as if stepping on ice, before you started pressing harder, waiting for him to finally crack.

But beneath the eye rolls, the disrespect, the screams and the slammed doors, you were just the eight-year-old child whose father had walked out on them.

But no matter how hard you pressed, Michael never, ever left.

Michael came home one night when you were thirteen and Jake eight, his arms full of paper bags that smelled like your favourite takeout. He always remembered: no onions for you, extra sauce for Jake, and that soda you liked that no one else in this house drank but he knew it would make your day. He’d balanced everything carefully on the counter, smiling in that tired, gentle way he had after a long day.

He looked warm. He looked safe.

He had felt home for a long time, but you didn't want to acknowledge it. You couldn't handle getting attached to him if there was a possibility that he could leave.

You stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching your brother launch himself into his arms, Michael catching him with an easy laugh and a beaming smile. Your mum, Janey, stepped to his side, and he wrapped an arm around her waist without even looking, placing a kiss on her forehead like it was an instinct.

They looked perfect. The kind of family you had wanted with your father, the kind where no one leaves.

And God, it hurt.

It hurt because it was supposed to be your biological father there, he was the one who had promised forever to your mother first. He was the one who had given you life, so why couldn't he be there?

Why couldn't he be there if Michael was?

And how could Michael stay if even your biological father couldn't?

Perfect things didn't last. You knew that better than anyone.

You stood there in the kitchen, watching them, your chest tightening until it was hard to breathe. If you let yourself believe in this, in him, and he left, it would ruin you. It would split you open in a way you weren’t sure you’d survive. Not again.

So you did what you always did when something mattered too much.

You attacked it.

"God, why do you have to be such a fucking kiss-ass!" you screamed at Michael, vulnerable and angry. "You're just going to leave anyway, so there's no need for the theatrics!"

"Sweetheart, you can't talk to Michael this way!" Your mother said, firm but wounded, like your anger had physically cut her.

"It's alright, Jane," Michael said calmly, his voice soft and gentle.

You hated how gentle his eyes were, the hint of hurt and sympathy shining through them. You hated the way she relaxed, her shoulders dropping, when he squeezed her shoulder so gently, so tenderly. You hated how steady he was, how he never fought back.

You wanted him to fight, to get angry. You wanted him to prove you right.

But there wasn't a single trace of anger or offence in his eyes.

"I'm sorry for whatever made you feel like I would leave," Michael started slowly, looking at you with such gentleness and affection that it made your heart ache. "I'm here to stay, for good. I don't plan on leaving anytime soon."

"Dad said that too," you murmured. "But can you see him anywhere?"

Michael's expression softened at your words, understanding flashing through his eyes.

"I'm sorry your father has left you. I'm sorry he can't be there." He spoke gently. "I can't say that I can replace him, because I won't. He's your father. But I am not going away."

You swallowed hard, listening to his words.

"I'm always going to be there. Even if I were to separate from your mother, I would still be there for Jake and you." The certainty in his words was evident as he stared at you. There was no trace of hesitation or doubt, he truly believed what he was saying.

You hadn't answered anything, having too many emotions to work through. Still, you stayed and shared dinner with your family and considered a future where Michael wouldn't leave like your father had.

Life continued, with occasional bursts of emotions from you directed at Michael. Each time, he simply took it and answered with kindness. He never got angry, he never proved you right.

He stayed.

Again, and again.

He always chose to stay.

You had a hard time understanding why he never did, after all the shit you threw at him, but he did.

When you were fourteen, your mother had received a text from your father. He wrote to her that he missed Jake and you, that he wanted to see you and to see how you were doing. She called for a meeting in the living room. She and Michael sat on one couch, while you sat in an armchair and Jake chose to sit on the floor by the coffee table.

"Your dad would like to see you guys." your mum said carefully, studying your expressions to see how to proceed. "He is going to be in Pittsburgh this weekend, and he suggested meeting in a park."

Your brother didn't react much. He didn't remember your father since he left when he was barely three years old. He knew that he didn't come from Michael, but he never cared to know who was his biological father.

"Why?" You asked. "After all these years, he wants to see us now?"

Janey's face softened at the confusion and hurt in your words. "I know, honey. Still, he wants to make up for the lost years. That counts for something, right?"

Jake frowned, staring at your mother. He glanced at Michael then back at her. "My dad's right here."

The three of you turned to him in surprise. While you had been hesitant about Michael, Jake had always leaned toward him. He gave Michael father's day gifts, when he draw pictures he'd write 'dad' above the oddly shaped stick figure meant to be him. Jake had only ever known Robby as his dad.

"Oh, I know darling." Janey said softly, reaching for Jake's hand. "Michael is your dad, too. But you also got a father who'd like to get to know you. You're free to do what you want, you don't have to meet him if you don't want to."

Jake glanced at Michael. "I don't need him. I've got Mike."

Michael's eyes were glossy as he looked down at your brother who claimed him his dad so proudly and naturally.

You swallowed hard, looking toward your mom who was already looking at you. "I…I think I'd like to see him."

Four days later, you found yourself in a park in the centre of Pittsburgh. You had never been there, but apparently it was a popular spot. You sat down on a bench beside your mother, your brother and Michael having stayed back at home since Jake didn't wish to see him.

"He should be there soon." Your mother said, glancing at her phone.

You hummed quietly, and looked around the park. There were kids running across the grass, their laughter carrying in the warm air. Dogs pulled at their lashes, tails wagging as their owners tried to keep up with their excitement. The sun was high in the sky, clouds nowhere to be seen.

People passed by in a steady stream. Dogs barked at birds as they crossed the sky freely. Somewhere nearby there was a group of teens rolling through carelessly on skateboard, making a pair of old ladies mutter something about 'the younger generation' and shake their heads. An old man sat by the pond, scattering breadcrumbs as ducks gathered around him and quacked happily (did he know it wasn't good for the ducks?).

You checked every face that came to view, any men who resembled even a little to what you remembered of your father before he walked out on you.

You didn't know how much time passed, but you noticed your mother checking her phone again and again. Her thumb hovered over the screen, staring at the screen and waiting for an answer that never seemed to come. She updated Michael and angrily texted your biological father to know his whereabouts. Each time she checked the time and saw that there were no replies, she cursed under her breath.

The sun shifted slowly, the laughter around you faded and rose again in waves. The group of skateboarders left, a young couple pushing a stroller passed by, and the old man by the pond slowly made his way out of the park.

You stayed silent, still scanning the park, still searching for your father's face in the slowly thinning crowd. The hope in your chest felt tighter now, and turned instead into something bitter, suffocating and painful.

"Honey…" Janey said in a soft, gentle voice. "I'm so sorry, but I don't think he's gonna come."

Your heart broke all over again, your eyes filling with tears. Your vision blurred pretty fast, and soon sobs erupted from you. Your mother wrapped her arms around you as heavy tears rolled down your face.

When you got home half an hour later, you found your brother and Michael by the dining table. The scent of your favourite meal filled the house, and a bottle of your favourite soda sat waiting on the table. There was a paper bag at your assigned seat.

You blinked in confusion, eyes red and cheeks streaked with tears. Your mother smiled, gently nudged you forward. You walked slowly, taking in the scene.

"I know how disappointed you must be." Michael said softly. "and it can never replace him…but we're still here."

Your lips trembled, your eyes filling with tears again. You threw yourself at Michael, who let out a startled noise and stumbled back a step. His arms wrapped securely around you as soon as he recovered, holding you firmly against his chest. His embrace felt warm and comforting. He curled around you, as if enclosing you in a safe cocoon where no more hurt could reach you.

After a few minutes, you pulled away slightly. He looked down at you, wiping the dried tear tracks off your cheeks. "It was supposed to be for Christmas." he said, nodding toward the paper bag. "But we thought you might deserve it tonight."

You approached slowly and opened the paper bag, finding the thing you've been begging for for months.

"Oh my god!"

Your eyes widened, a warm joyful smile spreading on your face. You jumped into Michael's arms once again. "Thank you!" You beamed.

That evening, as you shared a warm meal with your family and gushed about your present, you realized that he may have not been your biological father, but he was in every way that mattered.

When it happened, it was on purpose. It was deliberate and thoroughly planned. You were finally ready to say it, and you wanted it to be special, to yell to the world that Michael Robinavitch was your father. There had been plenty of near slip-ups before, moments where 'dad' sat so heavily on your tongue that you had to fight yourself not to spill it. You had always stopped yourself, but today, though, you were going to say it loud and clear.

It was a spring afternoon, the sun filtering through the classroom while a soft breeze drifted in from the open window to your right. It was career day, a day where each student brought a parent or another adult to class if they were able to so that they could present their jobs. You were seventeen and would graduate high school soon. As you were about to begin college applications, your school had organised the event to help students think about their futures.

Michael had taken the day off without hesitation when you asked him. He was wearing a button-down shirt instead of his usual plain black tee and PTMC hoodie, but he had rolled up the sleeves to his elbows, unable to be too formal.

When your name was called to the front, you walked with confidence to the board. Michael stood beside you, following your rhythm.

You took a deep breath.

"Today, I chose to bring my dad with me."

In your peripheral vision, you saw Michael freeze. It was just for a second, his body stilling and his eyes widening slightly. He glanced at you, as if to double-check if he had heard right.

"My dad is an emergency physician at PTMC. He's the chief of the Emergency Department."

His eyes turned glossy when you said it again, a confirmation that he hadn't hallucinated the words that had come out of your mouth. His expression softened in a way you had never quite seen before. He kept looking at you, and not at the students listening to your presentation. Your words mattered far more than anything else in this moment.

You continued to explain his job, the long shifts and the unpredictability that came with the Emergency Department. Every time you say "my dad", you did. It wasn't "Michael", or "The guy my mom's seeing'. Dad.

Halfway through, he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you to his side. He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, then rubbed your arm absentmindedly. You could feel the emotion in the gesture, the way his breathing was slightly heavier and he was holding back tears.

"That's all from me," you finsihed, glancing at your notes before looking back at the class. "If you have any questions, you can ask my dad."

Michael let out a quiet breathy chuckle, his arm tightening around you while he practically beamed with pride at the word.

When the day finally came to an end and the class slowly emptied, he brought you into a crashing embrace. "ohohoh, you don't know how happy you've made me, sweet pea."

You chuckled softly, returning the embrace, your hands gripping the back of his button-down shirt. You inhaled quietly, taking in the comforting scent you've been associating with home and safety for years.

"I love you, I hope you know that." he murmured softly. "so much."

Your chest tightened, emotion swelling warm and overwhelming.

"I love you too, dad."

[doctoralhashimi]

so um. does anyone have eyes on jake malloy or

[sarahwestcott]

God never calls and never answers, but Robby didn’t attend Pittfest with Jake.

God never calls and never answers, but Robby got to orient a new team well enough and quickly enough to save 106 out of 112 victims.

God never calls and never answers, but Jack Abbott was listening to the police scanner and came in immediately.

God never calls and never answers, but Robby got Heather out of the E.R. before the shit hit the fan.

God never calls and never answers, but Jack read a paper about an experimental procedure that saved someone’s life.

God never calls and never answers, but Trinity did a REBOA by herself successfully.

God never calls and never answers, but that young woman did take Cassie’s pen with rescue helpline hidden in it.

God never calls and never answers, but Frank is getting help with his addiction now.

God never calls and never answers, but Robby and Whitaker prayed together.

[mortalfaerie]

i think we collectively moved on from jake and robby's relationship way too soon. the fact that he dated janey years ago and still treats jake like his stepson is so important to me. especially in the context of robby being raised by his grandmother. i need more fics of robby doing father son shit with jake. robby teaching jake how to shave when he's 13. jake coming to him to talk about girls because he feels embarrassed talking to his mom about it. jake hanging out in the break room at the er after school because his mom is working. the rest of the staff doting on him. robby sitting him down when he and janey break up and promising he'll still be in his life even though he's not with jake's mom anymore.

robby is a mensch.

[rowyndodendron]

The Pitt Parallels: Spin To Win! Ft. Langdon & Joy

THE PITT 1x05 vs 2x02

[skulandcrossbones]

the cool uncle + aunt vs. the (ex-)stepdad

THE PITT 1x05