synopsis robby invites you to stay with him when your apartment becomes un-inhabitable, and just when he thinks things might be moving ahead in your relationship, he's forced back to earth when he hears something he really wished he didn't. (10K words)
warningsrobby goes through it, he's needy, obsessed, then hurt and an ass because he's emotionally oppressed. language! naked-ness, typical hospital stuff though, death (louie :( )
author noteI had this idea from a tiktok and it was robby and whitaker but I just had to write for it. This tiktok. I feel like the endings a bit rushed but hope you like. gif credits to @timothyolyphant
The Pitt mastlist. Last Robby fic!
“You moving in?”
You tripped over your suitcase, lugging it up against the wall in the staff lounge, shoving it into the corner and chucking your bulging bag on top of it with a huff.
Langdon leant against the counter, smirking behind his coffee cup as he took the last sip.
“Ha ha, hilarious,” you said, without finding it anywhere close to funny.
“What's with all the bags?” he asked.
So you went on to explain how you'd finished your shift last night after pulling an extra three hours to help the night shift catch up. How you'd dragged yourself home because your car was still in the garage, getting in at two a.m to find your neighbours outside their apartment, robes hastily thrown on and bottom of pyjama pants dark and damp. You explained to him that pipes had bust all over the place, leaving your own apartment a water park.
“I'm looking at hotels to stay in till they figure it all out,” you said.
“Your insurance going to cover that?” he asked.
You peered at him through the sleep you didn't get. “You're funny this morning, Ken, you know that?”
“Well I got an early start.”
“Hey-”
At the call of Robby's voice, you straightened like you'd been caught doing something you shouldn't.
Frank laughed into his coffee mug.
It was embarrassing, really. How quick your body reacted to Robby and his call quicker than your mind could catch up. All he had to do was appear, say your name or catch your eye and you straightened, falling to his side and doing whatever he said. Somewhere along the way of working with him, he'd trained you.
“You're late,” he said, a small tug in the space between his brows. “Not like you, is everything okay?” Robby slipped in and Frank slipped out, pulling a face behind Robby, puckering lips directed at you.
“Sorry, sorry. My car's in the garage and the uber cancelled and I didn't really sleep much last night, it- it won't happen again.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Interesting night?”
You chuckled to yourself. “You could say that.”
Robby squinted at you before his eyes caught onto the pile of your stuff that wasn't there the last time he came in for a coffee. “Moving in?” he asked.
You laughed, a little more genuine then you had at Frank. “My apartment's flooded, they're just here till I can get a hotel.”
There was something heavy in the rise of his brows, in the way his expression morphed and his eyes widened only a little.
You tried to ignore it, because it almost looked like genuine concern. Not just for his resident that everyone claimed he had a soft spot for, but for the person behind the medical training. “They'll be moved by the end of the day.”
“You get any sleep last night?” he asked.
“Do I look that bad?” you asked with a pitiful huff.
“No,” Robby said at once. “Did you?”
“Couple hours. Those that were lucky enough not to wake up on the Titanic had a few sofas available.” You'd slept on Mrs Issac's sofa for three hours before you woke to her cat curled on your chest and your phone alarm blaring. It had felt as if your head had only just touched down, your dreams had only just started to form in mindless and faceless shapes before you were being brought back out of it.
Robby looked around at the staff room that was empty besides the two of you, peeking out the jutted open door. “We're pretty slow out there. South nineteen's empty.”
You nodded. “I'll look who's in chairs, get someone in-”
“Get some rest,” he said.
At some point Robby had come close to you, leaning his arm on the counter to support his weight. The tattoo hidden behind his watch peeking out at you. He stared down, studying you.
“I'm-I'm fine,” you said, un-sure what to do under his care.
Robby shook his head, lips tugged up slightly. “Fine isn't good enough for my best resident.”
Best resident. Somewhere along the way of working with him that title had been given to you; knelt on the ground, a sword going from shoulder to shoulder and there you had your title. Whenever he could, Robby slipped it into conversation with you, saying it more than your actual name.
“Thirty minutes,” he said.
Arguing with Robby was like arguing with a brick wall.
You sighed, imagining the scratchy blankets and hard bed but your body slumping at the idea of rest. “Thirty minutes. And get me if there's a trauma.”
“Which one of us is attending?” he asked, amused at the fight you tried to pull.
“You don't have best in front of your title though, do you?”
“I don't know, you tell me?”
“Hmm, only on Tuesday's.”
“Oh, Tuesday's are special days, huh?”
Tuesdays were special days because every Tuesday the two of you worked together. You don't know how you realised it, and maybe Robby didn't even know but every single Tuesday since you'd began the two of you had always been on shift together. Days off, weekends missed, long weekends and holidays but every Tuesday without a doubt, you and Robby were there.
Robby led you out, a phantom touch of his hand ballad up in the back of your scrub shirt before it was gone again.
“You'll wake me up?” you asked again.
He nodded his head once more. “I will wake you up.”
“And if somebody needs the bed?”
“I will personally throw you over my shoulder and put you somewhere else.”
You were suddenly glad your back was to him, so he couldn't see the blush on your cheeks at the very idea of being thrown over his shoulder. In your delirious state you picture the situation you'd have to be in to be thrown over his shoulder, the behaviour it would take to have him moving you around, hauling you about-
Thirty minutes of rest you could do.
“Hope you know what you're doing.”
Robby flinched at the accent and heavy smell of nicotine mixed with mint. He didn't even satisfy Dana by glancing back at her. “What?”
She chuckled. “Nothing. I guess.”
He shook his head and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, checking the hotels around the area. There seemed to be three types: expensive, high-end and pristine. Dirty, still not that cheap or booked up. How long would you need the room for? Was your landlord or anyone going to help you out for it? He didn't know your situation exactly but he knew what it was like to be a third year resident and stuck with bills.
Dana leant on the counter next to him, smirking.
“I'm just trying to help,” he excused.
“Yeah, sure.”
He peered at her over the black rim of his glasses. “Something else to say, Evans?”
Her head titled. “Don't you have a spare room at yours?”
Yes, he did. It was plain walled and not at all decorated besides a map of Pittsburgh train lines framed and not hung up. Some old Christmas gift from Jack that he couldn't get rid of in fear of offending him. The bed was comfy because it very rarely got slept on, aside from Jack or Jake on occasion. Truth was Robby couldn't remember the last time he had a guest over.
“Cheaper than a hotel,” she added. “Unless your up-tight.”
Suddenly he was thinking about it. You, in his place. You'd been around maybe once before, he re-called, un-able to re-count the circumstances that had you around.
“You'd be doing the girl I favour, I bet,” she continued.
Robby looked at the screen then back to her. “Has she... said something?”
“Not to me, but hey, she's been asleep the last hour. What do I know?”
Robby looked back down to the time at the computer, the numbers flickering by. He knew it had been longer than his half-an-hour. Really, he had no interest in waking you from your sleep unless he really, really had to. And if he had time to sit and scroll through hotels, you had time to sleep.
He let out a breath. “Apparently everything.”
She laughed. “Hey, you said it, not me. But if you can't put her up think I heard Santos offering up a sofa.”
Robby looked around the space, trying to find Santos or Whitaker to confirm. He didn't see either of them.
It was decided in his head then that he'd have to ask you to take up his guest room. He'd act it was all under the pretence of making sure you were well-rested, had a decent bed and your own space to sleep in, assuring you could get the rest and come in bright eyed and bushy tailed. Deep down he'd know, just to himself, it was because there was a seething bite of envy at the idea of Santos having you waking in her apartment, going home with you at the end of the day.
He dragged his hands down his face as Princess called out his name, demanding his attention.
What was a couple days, anyway.
“I need to talk to you about something.”
You looked up from your tablet, handing it over to Jesse as you stepped away from exam room six.
Robby stepped in Jesse's place, hands deep in his pockets, shoulders lifted high.
“Two hours,” you said. “I was asleep for two hours.”
“Sweet dreams?” he asked.
Yes. There had been dreams and rest. The blanket hadn't felt so scratchy and as tired as you were the noises of the Pitt were muffled in your mind. By the time you woke up your body felt lighter, you could practically feel the bags under your eyes retreat. Then you stepped out and there were new sets of patients, a different lighting in the place and the hour hand had moved all away around the clock.
“I dreamt there was a long que of patients waiting for the room,” you said. “A line like at Disney, except without the pay off.”
“They fast tracked to another,” he excused. “Can I talk to you now?”
He seemed restless, fists balling up in his fleece pockets and glasses tucked away in the front. His hair was tussled slightly, as if he'd already done a full day of work while you'd slept.
You waited for him to go on, watching his mouth open and close before he shook his head at himself, a light chuckle leaving him.
“I did some research,” he said, dragging out his words, in the way he did when he was nervous. You'd seen it when he was trying to let down every one of his flings, scared it was gonna end up loud in the middle of his ER. “Hotels in the area are expensive, I have a spare room, got a bed, it's big, my place is spacious and I'm hardly ever there. No garden but there's a balcony-”
Robby listed aspects of his apartment like he was putting it up for sale.
It took some time for you to realise what he was saying. A spare room, yours, he was offering. You caught the fact he'd looked up hotel rooms and suddenly you were imagining him, phone pulled out with the glow reflecting on his readers. Was he frowning at the prices? Was he rubbing at his beard in frustration, thinking which you'd prefer.
Was he hoping to find you a room so he didn't feel obliged to give up his own?
“That's- that's very kind of you, Robby,” you said softly, letting yourself down gently. “I- I can't do that.”
He frowned. “Do what?”
“Take your room.”
“It's not my room, it's a spare.”
You blushed, thinking that he thought you were thinking about staying in his room. “No! No, I-I get that, I just- I can't put you out like that.”
Robby rocked forward on his heels. “You wouldn't. Really.”
“I'm sure I could find somewhere cheap-”
“- you can't-”
“- or I can check around with friends-”
“- Santos only has a sofa,” he said, raising his brows.
“I-I have other friends.”
Robby pressed his lips into a thin line. “Like me?”
He was insistent. Had someone put him up to it? Had he seen how tired you were and felt bad?
Every morning you woke and before walking into work you took a shovel to the feelings you held for Robby and buried them deep, deep down, plunging a sign that read remain professional into the ditch of your own creation. You called him boss and cap, reminding yourself that's what he was. Of course a friend was another title too, but calling him friend and invading his space wasn't going to do much for your feelings. Or your nerves. And you liked to think you'd done a pretty good job in keeping both in check.
Robby rocked on his feet again, almost jittering. “I don't charge rent, you'd be saving some money.”
How many more excuses could you come up with? How long could you stand here going back and forth?
“How many bathrooms?” you asked.
“Just one.”
“You live in a quiet area?”
“Very.”
“You don't have a cat do you?”
He shook his head with a small smirk. “No. I had fish but lost them.”
You nodded, arms hugging yourself. Admitting yourself into his hands wasn't just a jump, more a leap. Denying yourself had been easier in work, when glimpses of Robby between procedures and patients was all you could gauge yourself on. In his space, you'd become full.
“Say yes and I'll put your stuff in my truck.”
Future regret bubbled up in your throat.
“Okay, fine,” you said, earning a slump of relief from him. “But I'm paying rent while I stay.”
He shook his head. “I don't need it.”
“It'll make me feel better,” you said. “I have to do something.”
Robby looked past you, thinking for a moment. “You cook?”
“Yes.”
“Okay then. While you're staying with me-” he jutted his thumbs at himself, like he was proud. “You can cook dinner, if you want.”
It wasn't a terrible service. More often then not you'd seen Robby slump his way out the place, mentioning something about a restaurant he was stopping by to pick up food that might last him a couple days. It would be like taking care of him and wasn't that what he was doing here? Taking care of you?
In a friendly way, of course.
“I will cook dinner,” you agreed.
“Great.” Robby seemed to relax in front of your eyes: his hands came out of his pockets, his shoulders shrunk and the crinkles at his eyes showed in a smile. “Your stuff's in my truck already.”
“Presumptuous,” you said, calling after him as he backed off slowly.
He shrugged. “Hopeful.”
But what did he have to hope for?
“Hey,” said Santos breathless and approaching you, moving your gaze from the pull of Robby's back to her. “I've got our labs back on that guy in seven.”
“Oh- er, great, great.” The tablet takes up your attention, but your mind lingers on the crows feet at Robby's eyes, the smile you saw briefly when you agreed to go home with him.
But Trinity Santos never missed a beat. “What was that about?” she asked in an uplifting teasing voice you were all too familiar with as she looked back at where Robby had disappeared to.
“What- what was what?”
“You and Robby, huh?”
“No. No me and Robby, don't make it weird.”
She smirked. “You're doing that all on your own.”
You carried yourself over to the nurses station, clocking Robby lingering in a corner, talking something over with Samira, so instead you distracted yourself with the tablet and charting. “He just offered me a place to stay.”
Santos's brows rose up high. “His place?”
You blushed under her analyses.
“Oh my god-”
“Don't- don't make it a thing-”
“It's already a thing,” she scoffed, leaning over and swatting at you. “You're staying at Robby's!”
“In his spare room, separate living completely.”
Santos leant back on the counter, looking around dreamily. “Suuurree, until you need the bathroom and just so happen to walk in on him, towel around his waist-”
“- Santos-”
“- it's all hot and steamy from his shower,” she continued. “And you just so happen to slip, right into his arms and- oh my- the towel falls.”
“You have too much time on your hands,” you said. “Go get Garcia for a surgical consult on twelve.”
Sulking, she did so, dragging her feet across the place while you were left to debate if the dent in your bank account was worth it to spare the dent in your heart.
A life with Robby was framed in different ways.
When you first stepped through his place, your case tugged in his hand and your bag slung over his shoulder along with his own, there was a thick layer of tension blanketing over everything, mystifying the tour he gave you. It didn't give in the morning when you both woke groggy from alarms, reaching for coffee. Through the day the tension sat between the two of you through patients and traumas.
It started to feel like a terrible idea.
Until you both went back to his that night and laughed about the couple that had super-glued themselves together, the teenage boy who got his head stuck in between balcony bars. You made mac & cheese, which Robby deemed the best he ever had but considering you only found kraft cheese boxes in his cupboards, you didn't think much of it.
Then the routine built, mugs of coffee in the morning, a hearty breakfast started by whoever was up earlier in the morning, taking turns in the bathroom with only the occasional awkward bump in to each other in between brushings of teeth.
It was one morning when he stepped out, a smudge of minty white toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.
“You've got a bit of-” you'd told him, gesturing to the corner of his mouth by your own.
He rubbed and missed it completely and your hand reached out first. It was like you were watching it outside of your own body, as your thumb swiped away at the corner of his mouth, scratching at his beard.
Every morning since then Robby had walked out with that same bit of smudged toothpaste and every time you spotted it, you got rid of it for him.
Feeling the heat of his breath dance along your fingertips.
The peppermint smell of him clinging like second skin.
The wet fall of his hair, droplets dripping down to your feet.
It made every morning harder, but made every one more the while.
In work, you had your own new routine between the two of you.
In the mornings everyone in the Pitt- including those that stuck around from night long enough- lingered to watch as you and Robby walked in side by side, heading straight for the fridge in the lounge.
There, Robby would pull out two containers of leftovers from the night before while talking about.... well, sometimes nobody could really tell what it was.
“- all I'm saying is that if it was real life they'd be shut down instantly,” Shen caught Robby telling you, shamelessly lingering in the door way with Abbot and Javadi.
“It's not real life, it's Disney.”
“It's a restaurant ran by a rat!”
“It's whimsy.”
Robby grumbled under his breath. “It's un-realistic.”
You laughed and as busy as you were laughing you didn't see the look Robby gave you, a smile of his own. A soft one, because when he was looking at you, nothing had to be loud. “Just wait till you watch Cinderella, the rats sew a dress!”
Abbot was first to clear his throat. “Good morning, happy couple.”
And Robby's expression dropped, passing a glare to his friend.
As distracted as he was with the glare, he didn't see the way your face fell. The disappointment that marred your features.
“Got anything fun for me?” asked Robby, clapping his hands and getting to business, taking the night shift attendings by the shoulders and dragging them out.
Javadi entered in, a sheepish smirk on her lips. “So, how's it going?” she asked with all the air of a girl needing gossip.
“It's fine,” you said.
It had been three weeks of living inside of his apartment, of his space becoming yours, of shows he'd never think about watching slowly enrapturing him.
“Just fine?” she asked. “Isn't this supposed to be the part where the two of you get together?”
It was a few beers kind of mistake to tell Javadi on your feelings for Robby. But she was a med-student harbouring hard feelings for Matteo and you'd been desperate to bond and suddenly it turned into Javadi shooting you looks across the floor whenever Robby got too close, and he was doing that a lot recently.
“No, no, that's crossing so many lines,” you excused.
“Yeah but, he invited you to stay.”
“As a friendly gesture.”
“And how friendly do we know Robby to be?”
With you, very. With others it was more a tough game to play to get Robby to show some sympathy.
Your mouth was left ajar, stuttering on words you couldn't even come up with when Princess drummed her knuckles on the door.
“Louie's in south nineteen, asking for you.”
Never had you been so thankful to be called away on a patient run, especially when it was one of your terribly concealed favourites.
But you didn't leave quick enough to not catch how Princess crowded in Victoria, asking her what the latest was.
You managed to skirt your way over to nineteen without any more fans asking you about your new living situations. You were more than happy to hide away with Louie.
“Hey, doc!” he grinned as you let the door shut behind you.
“Louie, it's been weeks, what took you so long?” you joked, taking the stool and wheeling over to him with a smile. Really, you'd been worried when he hadn't come in- counting two months down since his last visit. It didn't give you hope that he was doing better, it filled you with dread he'd given up entirely.
He chuckled. “Sorry, doc, been busy.”
“A good busy?”
“Always.”
It was one of those slow nights when Louie came in when you and Robby were working- a Tuesday night where you were just about to go home when you checked in on Louie one more time, finding him half way through a devastating story on his life.
You'd cried in the bathroom and Robby had silently handed you a tissue when you stepped out, cold water splashed in your face.
“Hold out your hand for me, Louie,” you said, watching him do so with a tremble you could have bet your money on. “Shaky, huh?”
“Well it is eight a.m,” he grinned.
“We'll start you with fifty of Librium, as always. Anything else bothering you, Louie?”
“I had some aching in my side, right there-” diligently he showed you the pain, wincing as he pressed down on the pain.
You tugged on gloves and did an exam, finding the are bruised.
“You been in any trouble recently?” you asked, knowing that if Louie ever was in a fight, it would never be started by him. He was happy to drink silently.
“Not that I remember, maybe with a stool,” he joked.
You smiled with him, testing out spots of his chest and asking him to breathe in, listening down the stethoscope. “Everything seems fine but we'll get an ultrasound in to check you over.”
He waved you off. “Don't rush, doc, I like to watch the people go by sometimes.”
You entertained him. “Course, I'll be back shortly.”
You got Perlah on the case, someone just as happy to see Louie as you were, the duo that took the best care of him. Then you were occupied with slowly ticking off the board, discharging simple cases, working harder on the demanding ones.
At some point in the morning Robby slid in next to you, taking his place casually.
“I think I win for most interesting case today,” he said.
Happily, you looked up from your charts. “I didn't realise it was a competition?”
“Competition keeps you young,” he said, head nodding side to side.
“I'm not the one that needs to be kept young,” you teased.
There was smirk of shock that gave way to darkening eyes and a straighter back when he pulled himself up.
“You wanna play that?”
“I'm playing that,” you said. “I'm surprised you don't have an old mans seat when you shower.”
“I didn't realise you thought about me showering.”
It took you so off guard your elbow slipped, taking down someone's abandoned coffee.
“Shit!” You cursed, clamouring to the shards and spilt liquid.
Robby was still chuckling to himself when he knelt next to you, collecting the bits of mug in his hands, taking what you had in yours to his also.
“I- I don't think about you showering,” you said, quietly. “Of course I don't, I just- I just meant- a joke. It was a joke.”
Robby inhaled, tilting his head to get a look at you. “Really?”
“Yeah, yeah, god, I-I didn't-”
Your name was cried out and the shards of China fell back to the ground as Perlah helplessly stood outside of Louie's room. Almost slipping on the coffee, you took off in a run, Robby hot on your heels as you burst through the doors.
“He just- he just started-” Perlah panicked among the blood.
He lay still, un-responsive and you didn't miss a beat in jumping up, pumping down on his chest with gloves, without a gown, just the need to save a life that had been drilled into you.
His blood got on your hands, under your nails as with every pump down on his chest, you pumped more blood out.
“Get an intubation tray, crash cart and suction, now!” Robby called as a flood of nurses assembled around you. He was intubated and a bag put in place, a nurse came in for suction and the heavy rolling wheels of the crash cart sounded.
It fell upon you muffled as your arms shook while pressing down on his chest.
“We can swap out,” Robby offered quietly from behind you.
“No, no, I- I got this,” you said through the gasps and slow bead of sweat beginning down your temple. “C'mon Louie, c'mon-”
Perlah stretched over, slamming down pads on his chest, under the gown that practically had his name on it from how often he visited. “Pads in place!”
“Hold compressions!” said Robby.
You backed up enough to get a reading, getting a dull feeling of Robby's hands on your arms as you trembled. “Still V-Fib,” you said, climbing off the bed. “Charge to two hundred!”
“Charged!”
“Clear!”
So it went on, maybe only for minutes, maybe for an hour. A continuous rhythm of your chest compressions, the push of epi, the constant let down of no pulse, the flow of blood. And Robby's eyes only fumble from you to check on Louie before returning to you.
Everyone in the room hung on the thread of the flatline.
“Do we push more epi?” asked Perlah.
There was a silence behind you but you could picture the slow shake of Robby's head. You'd seen it in dozens of patients, in several helpless cases.
“Robby?” you called out helplessly, without knowing what you were calling for.
He was slow in his approach to you but you could feel him closer, know he was reaching out. “We've done everything we can.” It wasn't harsh. It wasn't kind. It was fact and sometimes fact was neither thing.
His hand was gentle on your shoulder, not squeezing or pulling. Just there. It was enough for you to feel everything deep down in your bones, the pressure of trying to bring him back to life making you weak and Robby's touch helping you give up.
You didn't recall the calling of his time of death, or the stumbling out the room, the wiping down of his blood on your scrubs. You didn't know anything until you made it out to the ambulance bay, drinking in gulps of fresh air that seemed to poison you more then help.
It clamped down on your chest and choaked at your throat-
“Hey, hey- it's okay, you're okay-”
Arms were tugging at you, pulling you into a chest you'd grown knwon with.
You pushed back. “No, no, I'm bloody, I- I can't-”
“Shh-” Robby cooed.
He embraced you tightly, suffocating you into his chest like he was trying to tell the rest of the world to go away, to shield you from the hospital and ambulances would inevitably come by. Robby stood there, arms strong and protecting you. He rocked slightly, lips pressed to the top of your head like it was a natural thing to do. Like you'd never felt them there or anywhere else before.
“I'm sorry,” you sniffed into his chest.
“No, don't be- shh,” he whispered into you. “You did everything you could.”
“He's gone, he's gone,” you mumbled.
Robby held you until he felt he could let you go, which proved a while. By the time you'd dragged yourself back in, red faced and teary eyed word had spread about Louie. Robby remained behind you, a hand curling against the lower parts of your back as he guided you through to the scrub bin, daring anyone to stop and ask you what happened.
He was a dog ready to bite.
“Take some time,” he said in the same air he'd used to ask you to stay with him. With no room for arguments.
You changed scrubs, met Perlah in the middle of the nurses hub for support. When Louie's body was took to the viewing room, Robby stayed stuck at your side, fingers brushing yours as he let everyone who wanted to say goodbye, say it.
By your side he stayed for the rest of the day, with biting breaths and lingering looks. His touches became every other moment, every spare second he knelt next to you, checking in.
“I'm fine,” you told him repeatedly as the day went on, as new patient names clouded your mind and traumas stole your attention.
“We'll get out of here, tonight,” he promised, hand edging closer to yours. Closer to something he wouldn't be able to take back. “No cooking tonight, we'll pick something up.”
“I can- I can cook-”
Robby shook his head. “And you can pick the movie.”
You smiled, though it was tainted from the pain. “Even if it has talking animals?”
His eyes rolled playfully as he sighed, pushing himself up. “If you must.” His hands were gentle on your shoulders as he squeezed, moving by.
When you looked back up you weren't surprised to see the fleeing eyes of Dana over her glasses.
She knew you'd caught her but only turned and walked off. You didn't know how you knew she was still smiling, but you knew.
By the time you and Robby got home- back to his- the sky had darkened and the Thai was procured on the drive back.
He'd let you shower first, knowing you still felt the need to scrub the phantoms of the day from you. You'd been so desperate you'd left your own wash bag in your room, your own robe there. So you bathed in Robby's signature smell, washed your hair in his shampoo that wasn't a two in one.
You wrapped yourself in a towel that was fluffy and smelt like him, wiping down condensation from the window before letting yourself sit with the grief.
It was never a good idea, alone in your own apartment to let the day haunt you. In Robby's place, surrounded by a smell that was all his, you safely let yourself remember the wobble in your arms, the pain in your heart and ache in your body.
You stood, re-tucking the towel around you when the door burst open at once.
“Shit- shit-”
You grasped at the towel as it slipped down your body, clutching it to your chest before it could expose everything.
Robby stood, frozen in the doorway, his lips parted slowly. “Shit- sorry, I thought you were done.”
“I'm- I'm finishing up,” you gulped.
Robby nodded, hand clenched on the door.
You watched his eyes catch a glance past your shoulder, seeing something there that had a blush creeping up his neck and ears. Something that made him bashful and looking away.
A chill ran down your body, from the toll of the day, the lack of clothing around you or the look Robby gave you.
“I'll, er- just...” you trailed off.
Robby closed his eyes, breathing deep. “Yeah. Yeah.”
The door inched closed slower. Before it shut completely you were sure Robby paused, sure you heard him inhale and sigh before you caught the retreat of his footsteps.
You body sunk in on itself, catching the electricity buried under your skin by just being looked at by him. At the idea that he could smell him on you.
It wasn't until you turned, catching a glimpse of yourself in the wiped down mirror that you realised.
Wiped down.
When Robby glanced behind you- to the mirror- he'd blushed at the sight of that part of you left bare. The slope of your back, the dimples that sat just above your ass and the curve of you.
He'd got a glimpse of it. Not just a glimpse by the way he paused- an eyeful.
“Fuck.”
It was bound to happen, maybe, with how long the two of you had been in co-habitation. But the day had been messy enough. Navigating the corners of yours and Robby's changed relationship.... you didn't have the nerve, though it felt alight by his look.
Maybe he hadn't seen anything, you told yourself as you dressed.
He probably didn't even notice, you said as you threw your damp hair up.
Just don't bring it up and he probably won't, you repeated as you stepped out.
When you came back out Robby was hiding in the kitchen, tucking himself right into the counter as he set up several dishes of all the food you'd ordered. His head was tucked low but there was a new sheen of sweat at the expanse of his neck still poking out from his scrubs.
“Sorry for taking so long,” you apologised, slipping into a stool across from him.
He shook his head and shrugged without looking at you.
“Smells good!” you said, reaching for the food that lay between you.
Muscles in Robby's jaw moved. Tightening.
You watched his tongue run over the bottom of his lip before he stepped back from the counter, a finger running over his lips as he excused himself quickly.
It was just a glimpse you thought you caught, something tightening in his scrub pants exenterated by his hands trying to be discreet in covering it (and failing).
Only when you went back to the bathroom an hour later, to brush your teeth did you notice the very, very cold setting of the shower. But if he didn't bring it up, neither would you.
Robby was only supposed to be passing. It had been ten minutes since he last caught a glimpse of you and he decided that was nine minutes too long.
He couldn't pinpoint when exactly the obsession started, if he wanted to call it that. It could have been when your things started to pile up at his, your favourite mug that you drank from sitting comfortably next to his every morning, or the cook books you went back to like it was your bible. It might've been before you'd even effectively moved in with him. Maybe when he saw the way you commanded a room around a trauma, never once doubting yourself.
Whenever it began it only increased with every good morning he got, every night and gentle touch he felt.
And finding you in that bathroom, a blink and miss it moment when your towel started to fall. The expanse of everything behind you that you were so un-aware of.
Robby felt dirty for the erection he supported most the night, even after the coldest shower of his life and taking care of it in his bed when you were sure you were asleep.
It had taken every bit of taught and measure self-restraint to keep his hands off you. You'd had a tough day, Robby throwing himself at your mercy wasn't going to help.
But it had been a week since then, a week of near misses and close calls in the bathroom the two of you were treating like a battleground. The splotches of toothpaste he let linger on him got further and further along his mouth, the playing clueless became more silly. The brushed past each other in the kitchen when there was plenty of room became more telling.
It was all supposed to be going somewhere.
“ - while she is playing house with her boss,” he caught Santos saying, hers, yours and Javadi's backs to him as he slowed his approach.
“It's messy,” said Victoria.
“Oh, would you- the two of you stop,” you said. “It's not like that.”
“No?” asked Javadi.
“It's not like what?” he heard the teasing uplift of Trinity's voice.
“Like what you're trying to say,” you argued. “Robby and I are friends, just friends.”
Santos nodded, head lowering. “Sure. Friends. Friends with house mate benefits.”
“What are house mate benefits?” asked Javadi, looking over to you enough that Robby could catch a grin.
“Oh, use your imagination,” said Santos. “One bathroom, two people, trips to get water from the kitchen, in nothing but skimpy little-”
Robby could practically see the face you were pulling.
“Oh, can we not talk about this?” you said. “Nothing like that has happened, nothing like that will happen. We're friends, just friends.”
Robby didn't realise how badly he must have wanted it to be more until he heard you dismiss it out of hand. Until he heard the mocking chuckle of his doctors at what you were saying. That nothing was ever going to happen, essentially admitting you didn't think about the escapade in the bathroom as much as he did.
Why would you? You probably thought it was odd and gross how he lingered. How he acted the rest of the night- withdrawn and ashamed- probably didn't help.
What? Did he think that after spending more time with him, living with him, you'd grow to care in a way he had for you. In a way he'd tried to ignore for months?
Did he really think he stood a fucking chance?
He was hyper aware of himself, standing there like an idiot with the fading mark of his heart on his sleeve. Soon somebody would call his name, his game would be up and the three of you would turn to him, catching him there.
Robby cleared his throat and shouldered between you and Victoria, practically tossing the tablet down. “Guy in five needs a surgical consult on a blood clot.”
Santos held up her hands to be clear of it and Javadi was walking away at once.
Robby watched you take it and he left.
It was time to start re-building his heart.
“Hey,” you said, quick to follow him. “I was thinking of trying a carbonara tonight, do you like it?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Cool. You know if we have parmigiana?”
“I have more pressing things to think about then what's in my fridge,” he said.
You were quiet for a moment and he hoped he'd scared you away. “Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure? Has something happened?”
“No,” he huffed, halting at the door to trauma two where a car crash victim was under the scope of three capable doctors. What was one more? “Now instead of pestering me can you go do you're fucking job?”
The flash of hurt in your eyes was almost enough to have him apologising. To have him cave and tell you he didn't want to just be friends, that he couldn't go a day without feeling you and being calmed instantly.
Almost.
Your lips pursed and you held the tablet up to your chest like it was a shield. “I will get right on that, boss.”
The tension that began at his house when you first joined him in the space of his walls falls returned, un-invited, with a vengeance.
After Robby's snap at you you figured it was a bad day, that things had piled up and him and he didn't want to talk about it. He still waited for you at the end of his shift, still drove you home but in a silence that was stale. He went to the bathroom first and you started on dinner, making two plates of the pasta you'd promised.
He never left his room that night and his dinner was still sitting on the counter in the morning.
It continued for three days. No blushing meetings outside of the bathroom, no movie's he'd fall asleep to and miss the end- though insisting he was only resting his eyes- it all stopped, quickly.
So quick you had no time to think of what had gone wrong.
“Hey,” said Victoria, lingering next to you as you went back to your search for cheap hotels that didn't have complaints of bug bites.
“Hey.”
“Your leftovers smell so good.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn't even pack lunch today,” she added, a small smile bitten back.
You huffed a laugh. “You can take Robby's, I don't think he's hungry.”
“Really?” she said. “He's usually very punctual about your lunches.”
He was, until a few days ago when you'd tried to find him to see if he was hungry, so you could sit down to your leftover together as you had done. But he'd brushed by you, telling you he wasn't hungry. He did so every day you asked.
“Has something happened?” asked Victoria.
Yes, something had clearly happened but you didn't know what.
“No, just.... Robby being Robby I guess.” You shrugged it off but the indifference hurt because it wasn't just Robby being Robby. You'd found a different Robby, the one that wasn't snapping and grumpy every day, the one who coaxed you to your room when you were too tired to move from the sofa, the one who let you hum along to the songs in the movies you'd pick, the Robby that made you coffee just the way you like. You'd never even had to tell him.
“Oh. I'm sorry,” she said. “You know if I didn't live with my parents I'd let you stay, of course.”
You smiled. “I know. Thanks.”
The hotel you settled on wasn't in the top ten in the city and it was nearly forty minutes out of your way. Earlier mornings were a small price to pay.
You let Robby drive you home without conversation, let him tirelessly switch from one radio to the other. Your fingers curled and un-curled against your knees in anxiety.
“My-urm- apartment is up and running again,” you said.
Robby's knuckles bleached white on the steering wheel. “Oh yeah?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I can get my stuff packed up and be out your hair.”
Robby didn't say anything. You glanced at him, seeing the tightness of his body and the eyes he kept plastered on the road. “It's late,” he said, mouth moving to say something else before he closed it again and thought. “I can give you a lift over.”
“You- you don't have to,” you said. The idea of one more tense car ride was enough to have you thinking about jumping out the moving vehicle. “I can book an uber.”
“It's late.”
Robby kept himself busy while you packed up the clothes you'd un-packed in the wardrobe in his room. He packed up your toiletries and your kitchen things that had slowly wound themselves in his cupboards.
You were already at the door, your case and bag standing next to you, your phone warming in your hand as you checked your hotel booking and uber confirmation.
Robby walked out from the bathroom, your toiletery bag in hand.
“I've got an uber booked,” you told him, quickly. “It's been a long day, I didn't want you to have to drive anymore.”
He nodded, slowly, handing you the bag. “Okay.” His hands retreated back to his pockets.
You loitered. You still had ten minutes before your uber on the way. “I'm sorry if I out-stayed my welcome.”
He shrugged, shaking his head. “However long it took to get your place fixed.”
“Still, I didn't mean for it to take this long.”
Robby didn't reply and his gaze faded away from you.
It was a heavy goodbye. The longer you'd stayed with him the little time you gave to thinking how leaving would work. You wouldn't be escaping him, no, he'd be stuck in your mind and lingering in the corner of your gaze. You'd still remember how he looked when he was falling asleep, how his shower smelt and the way he stretched in the morning.
They'd all be happy memories of another time.
You took it with you like extra baggage into the uber and into the two star hotel.
Robby knew he was ingraining himself into the night shift longer than he needed to but since you left a week ago his apartment was cold, empty and he loathed it.
He hated that there was no other noise, no other mug sitting next to his, nobody to talk to. Hated it so much he was choosing the taunting walls of the Pitt over heading back.
“You thinking of joining the night crawlers?” Jack asked, finding Robby stretching at the hub of the Pitt.
“Nope.”
“Oh. It's just, you're still here, so I assumed,” Jack teased.
“I get it,” said Robby in a sing-song voice.
“It can't be that bad, can it?” asked Abbot. “You see her tomorrow.”
Robby wished he could say he didn't know what Jack was talking about but it was painfully obvious to everyone that he couldn't deny it himself. There was no more coming in together, in fact, you'd been coming in late but he was doing his best to avoid you he couldn't talk to you to find out why. He no longer had a tub of well-cooked food or your teasing invitation to eat with you.
It felt like he had nothing all over again.
He looked down to the nurses counter, picking at a mark on there. “It's just...” he trailed, trying to think of a word to sum it all up.
“Yeah?” asked Jack, leaning next to him.
“Quiet.” He decided on.
Jack nodded, slowly. He glanced away before frowning at whatever he'd found. “What happened anyway? The pipes at her place were fixed so you just kicked her out?”
“No, she wanted to leave.”
“So you guys can't just, hang out?” he asked, holding his hands behind his back.
Robby made a pfft noise. “Hang out?”
“Well, Dana says-”
“- Dana-” he scoffed.
“Dana says the two of you can hardly look at each other,” said Jack. “Seems to be a change from what I'd heard before.”
Robby looked at him. “And what did you hear before?”
“You laugh,” he said, like it was a rare phenomenon. “Heard you joke. Saw you smile. Saw you happy.”
He thought about you, grinning with Santos and Javadi as you told them you were just friends, that nothing had happened and nothing was going to happen. He remembered how you looked at him first thing in the mornings and last thing at night, how you were- and still- were on his mind as he laid his head down and pushed himself up in the morning.
“She... she made it clear that nothing was going to happen between us,” Robby admitted.
“And you wanted more?”
Robby was still, the flecks of the stain coming off under his nail.
“Want more?” Jack corrected.
He nodded.
“And did you tell her that?”
It was rather annoying, sometimes, how well Jack knew him.
“I didn't have to.”
“I think you did. You still do,” said Jack. “Just talk to her man, tell her how you feel-”
Robby shook his head at once. “- no-”
“Robby. Brother,” said Jack with a firm pat on his back. “I've seen how you look at her. I've seen how she looks at you. Take it from me, it would be a waste to let that go.”
He didn't want to let it go, but Robby didn't know how to hold on either.
“Hey, big bosses!” Lena called. “Got major trauma's coming, hotel caught fire. We're the closest hospital, Westbridge can only take two traumas and ten minors.”
“Send them our way, I'll round up the crawlers!” said Jack already sliding into his professionalism.
“I'll hang around then,” said Robby, almost spitefully proving a point to Jack. That he didn't need to go home.
“I'm giving you an hour.”
An hour was all he needed.
A flood of people, most in their sleep wear, robes hastily thrown and tied up flooded in. Many were covered in ash, faces grey or pale. They were checked over for smoke inhalation, nobody got through without a stethoscope to their chest and back. There was a family of four who's father was being treated for bad burns. An elderly man with cancer that was put up to south eighteen, chefs from the small hotel kitchen that were being seen for burns, damage to their lungs and everything else.
“I told you! I told you!” one of them shouted, accent foreign to Robby. “That place is a death trap! It was just waiting to go up in flames!”
Robby stepped out and decided to let them argue, tugging of gloves and fetching another pair from the always stocked box on the wall. “Is that everyone?”
“Just one more, pulling up now!” said Lena, yelling over the chaos the ED had turned into to.
Just one more. That heavy set of exhaustion was starting to settle in his feet, making them ache. It was nearing one in the morning, in five hours time he'd need to be up and heading in.
He thought it was the need for sleep that had him hearing your voice.
“Mark Tellon, on his seventies, severe smoke inhalation and asthma attack. No signed nasal hair, his pulse ox is at eighty-four wet crackles bilaterally!”
There was no such thing as dreaming.
Robby stumbled at the sight of you in bottoms that were too long for you, in a cartoon character he couldn't name, in a shirt that drowned you. He guessed it was once white but was stained in ash and smoke, as was your face and hair.
You wheeled in the man with the paramedics and Robby stepped just ahead.
“What the hell happened?” he demanded.
“Hotel caught fire, quick evacuation, this is everyone,” you listed, clinically.
“You were there?”
You glanced up at him as the bed of the old man was wheeled by the two of you. He watched your face fall, smudging ash as you wiped at your forehead. “Er-”
Robby didn't care for the answer. Well, he did but not when your eyes were hazy, skin clammy and smoke and ash covered you. His hands climbed at your cheeks, holding you there and looking into your eyes. “Have you been checked over?”
“Urm, no I'm fine-”
“C'mon-”
“What? Robby!” you protested even as his fingers wrapped around your forearms, dragging you across the floor and past patients waiting for consults and doctors and nurses clearly rushed off their feet.
There was no spare room available but the family room so Robby took you there, where it was empty, and closed the door behind him.
You were stuck, again, alone with Robby. Exactly the place you'd tried not to be. But he'd closed the door behind him, zoned in on you with that tight crease of worry between his brows.
You stood there, holding onto yourself.
Robby made you follow his finger with your eyes, his other hand steadying your cheek as he watched you. “Any dizziness?”
“No, I'm fine.”
He took his penlight out from his pocket of tricks next, shining the light and checking your pupil response, you knew how it all worked and let him go through the motions. “You inhaled smoke?” he asked.
“Probably. I was trying to make sure everyone got out, first.”
There was a tut from his lips but a small upturn in his cheeks.
“Course you were,” he mumbled, ditching the pen light when he was done with it.
“Honestly, I'm fine, I'll just need a shower.”
Robby was already making his way behind you, warming up the drum of his stethoscope in the palm of his hand. Still, when you felt the brush of his rough fingertips skirting over the skin of your back and the metal pressing along, you shivered. “Breathe in.”
You took a deep breath in, Robby's eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.
“Breathe out.”
You did everything he said.
He moved so he was in front of you, sliding the stethoscope down the front of your shirt, closer over the drum of your heart.
Robby's eyes remained lower, not meeting your gaze. “Breathe in.”
Your chest expanded into his hand.
“Your heart's racing,” he observed.
You swallowed down the feeling of him so close. “Yeah. Probably. Been a crazy night.”
Gently his hands smoothed down your arms, sitting you down on the leather chairs as he set himself on the small coffee table in front of you.
“Want to tell me why you were at the hotel to begin with?” he asked, elbows rested on his knees and hands clasped together. “Cause I can come up with my own ideas and I don't like them.”
Lying to him had proved a silly task time and time again.
“My apartment isn't actually ready to be lived in yet,” you admitted, low in your throat and looking down to his hands. The only update you had from your apartment was that it would take another week, followed by a hopefully.
“No?” he said in fake disbelief.
You shook your head. “I just guessed I'd out stayed my welcome, you wanted to be alone.”
“No,” he said. “No, you didn't. You could've stayed.”
You eyed Robby. “You didn't really seem like you wanted me there anymore.”
You watched as he sighed, shoulders slumping.
Robby's fingers thread and un-thread. “It wasn't like that.”
“I mean did I- did I do something?” you asked, a spew of words ready at the barrel of your gun. “I thought we were okay.”
“So did I,” he said, bringing up his gaze and taking a deep, shuddering breath. “So did I.”
“Then what?”
Robby pushed himself up, hands flying to the back of his head and patting down his hair. His boots scuffed against the floor as he paced the area small and not built for pacing. “I thought things were going really well,” he admitted, hands making a weak gesture between the two of you. “I thought there were moments.”
“There were!” you opposed, quickly.
Was this a chance you'd been looking for? Was he wanting you to say there was something more? That the touches and everything else meant something.
He looked at you, arms pulling over his chest. “But we're just friends, right?”
There was a way he was saying it, a bite to his words like a dog barking, trying to make a point. Just friends.
With your head spinning you remembered another time of saying those words. You remembered Santos's teasing (really it was hard to pick one particular moment out from it all) and Javadi there too. You remembered their teasing grins, asking you about benefits-
And how Robby forced the tablet in between the three of you.
Your head hung, hands wiping away the stress. “Oh god.”
Robby waited.
“Oh god,” your voice came out muffled by your own hands. “Robby-”
“Yeah, I started to like you,” he said, trying to make it all seem like it was no big deal, body moving to shake it of. “I shouldn't, I know. I'm your boss, you're the resident, you were staying with me as a guest.”
“Robby, I-” you pushed yourself up, making your way around the table.
“- and you made it very clear to Doctor Santos and Doctor Javadi-”
“- they were teasing me, it was- it was nothing. I didn't mean it! I mean, they'd been teasing me for weeks, they were just annoying me.”
His body moved in his breath as looked at you. “You don't have to lie.”
“I'm not!”
“You lied about your place. Instead you chose a hotel, one that was a death trap, apparently.”
“I thought you hated me!”
“No, I want you!”
“And I want you!” you yelled.
“You didn't tell me.”
“Well, you didn't tell me.”
Robby scoffed. “Yeah, I'm the one who's supposed to have communication issues, sweetheart.”
Within seconds you had thrown yourself into Robby's arms, practically leaping atop him and kissing him. His lips were frozen, body waking up slowly as his arms curled around your back, holding you in. You could feel the scrunch of his noise and the scrape of his beard as he didn't kiss you back.
You pulled away, keeping your eyes down.
Just because he wanted you, because you wanted him didn't mean throwing yourself at him (literally!) was going to work.
“I-I'm sorry, I thought-”
His hands drowned your face as he pulled you back in, head dipping low to lick his tongue into you. He pressed his mouth into your, letting his tongue in your mouth. His hands tilted your head back, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he reacted to you at once.
Your hands tugged a hold of his hoodie, bending him further along you while his hands slowed down your body, cupping your backside and digging his fingers in.
Some noise made its way out the back of his throat, groaning into your mouth.
“Are we-” you said against his lips. “Mmp; are we doing this right now?”
“Doing what?” He mumbled, tilting his head to nudge your mouth open deeper.
You smiled against him. “Making out in the family room?”
“God, I hope so.”
His mouth was open, warm and welcoming as he kissed you harder, finding parts of you nobody had ever found before.
“I meant it,” said Robby against you, his tongue running over the tip of your lip. “I want you.”
You nudged your nose with his, arms coming to wrap around the back of his neck. “I mean it. I don’t- we’re not just friends, Robby.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, smirking. “I don’t think think friends kiss each other the way I’m about to kiss you.”
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50 ways to leave your lover. (6k followers celebration fic!)
(michael 'robby' robinavitch x ex-wife!reader)
The four times Robby tries to win you back after your divorce, and the one time he finally manages to lock it all down.
warnings: 18+, mdni! explicit sexual content, ex-husband!robby, robby's done some work pre-sabbatical in this universe, doesn't follow pitt s2 timelines, age gap (34/52), robby sleeps with his medical student (what's new?) oral (f receiving), protected sex, ditching dates for your ex-husband w/c: 5k
main masterlist // robby masterlist
Number one. Eighteen months post-divorce. The Abbot-Mohan wedding.
Stupid Jack Abbot.
Were it not his wedding day today, you'd seriously consider wringing his neck. The only thing stopping you is the prospect of widowing Samira after three hours of marriage.
Your first encounter had been right at the front door, where Robby and Jack were positioned to greet the guests.
This, you were prepared for.
Jack's his best friend. There was no way he wasn't going to be at this wedding. So, you plaster a smile across your face, and put on the show of a lifetime.
Jack's easy. You've always liked him. He was Best Man at your own wedding to Robby.
It becomes more of a struggle when your eyes land on the man you thought you'd be with for the rest of your life. "Michael," You nod curtly, decidedly not going in for the hug you had with Jack.
He holds a hand to his chest in faux-offence. "You wound me, sweetheart. I thought we put the animosity to bed with the divorce settlement."
There hadn't been much to settle. No children, and Robby let you keep the house. The only thing he let you give him was your engagement ring.
The sight of it made you sick. A reminder of all the ways you failed each other.
At the time, it felt like an attack - like he was trying to one-up you, prove that he could be the bigger person. Eighteen months on, you're endlessly glad you didn't have to try and find another place to live while your world was crumbling around you.
"You look good," he continues, and when your gaze meets his, you know he's being sincere.
"I should get inside," is your reply. "I promised Dana I'd grab seats for her and Benji."
And with that, your first interaction with Robby in twelve months comes to a close.
*****
Glancing quickly at the seating chart, your heart sinks when you see your name scrawled next to Michael Robinavitch. Normally Best Man is up beside the couple, but the Mohan-Abbots had opted for a sweetheart table.
Meaning you're doomed to four hours of your ex-husband's company. And what's worse: you're enjoying it.
Robby's always looked good in a tux, but the charm offensive is at its highest today - pressing a kiss to your cheek in greeting, dealing out the compliments in spades, and refilling your glass each time it starts to get low.
"Remember ours?" He asks, voice quiet as he leans over to you during the first dance.
"Of course I do. We danced to Roy Orbison and then my heel snapped halfway through, so I had to go barefoot for the rest of the night."
"That was a good day," He muses, expression unreadable as he watches Jack and Samira. He looks almost... wistful?
"Yeah, it was. Pity they weren't all like that."
Against all the odds, COVID had been one of the better times for you and Robby. Freshly married, where the work had been absolute hell, you'd found solace in each other.
Things were good, until they weren't. Until Robby couldn't outrun his demons anymore, and then stopped trying entirely.
"Yeah, uhm, about that..." He says softly. "I wanted to apologise."
This you weren't expecting. Arching an eyebrow, you turn towards him. "For what?"
"For everything," Robby murmurs, his gaze finally dropping from Jack and Samira to his own hands. He swallows hard, his jaw tight as he traces the line of his thumb. "For checking out. Giving up on us."
Your hand tightens around your wine glass, as you search his expression - looking for the catch, the deflection. You find none. "It's in the past now, anyway." Your voice is barely above a whisper. "We just... weren't meant to be. And that's fine."
"Mhm," is his only response. As if unconvinced.
You're not even sure you've convinced yourself, much less him, and against your better judgement, he talks you into a dance.
Were it not a wedding, you're positive you'd be able to resist him. But when it feels like everybody around you is perfectly happy and coupled up, you find it incredibly easy to slip back into Robby's embrace.
You still have some sense.
Keeping his hand firmly on your waist, rather than slipping downwards to where it used to settle, you try and think of anything but the man in front of you.
The potential melanoma that you saw in clinic last week.
Not the wrinkle lines that crease at Robby's eyes.
Your shopping list for next week.
Not how warm he feels against you.
The fact that you're running out of Black Honey.
Not anything to do with Michael Robinavitch.
You tap out after a ballad, unable to take the proximity to him anymore, and excuse yourself to go mingle with Dana and Perlah.
The rest of the night is spent willing yourself not to look back over at him.
*****
"You know, it'll be us next," Robby says, voice low as he watches you say goodbye to Samira.
"By us, do you mean your ex-wife?" Jack asks, eyebrow arched. "Because I hate to break it to you, brother, but you've already done that. And it went up in fuckin' flames."
"It would be different this time," Robby shakes his head.
"Yeah? How?"
"You'll see." Robby pats Jack on the back, and gets to his feet, moving to intercept you as you make for the door. The stairs down from the venue are pretty steep, and he clocked your Louboutins during dinner.
He bought you that pair on your honeymoon. He wonders if you remember.
"Need a hand?"
He can see that you're about to decline, before taking a sample step, and letting out a sigh. "Yes, please."
Robby tries not to let the contact get to his head too quickly as he slips an arm through yours. He hadn't even realised until tonight just how much he's missed you.
Truly.
The days after he moved out of your shared house had been some of the worst of his entire life. After about six months of no-contact, he'd finally decided that he needed to get his life together, and move on with things.
Get back on the horse, as Jack put it.
Except now it's eighteen months on from the divorce, he's been on exactly zero dates, and all he can think about is winning you back.
"This is purely because I can't walk in these shoes," You warn. "Nothing more."
Robby's jolted from his daydream and back to reality. Right. You don't want him back at all.
He's gotta find a way to change that.
Number two. Nineteen months post-divorce. A persistence.
After Jack and Samira's wedding, you're not expecting to see Robby again until they start having kids and you're invited to the baby shower.
That doesn't appear to be the case when you watch his motorcycle pull into the parking lot of your clinic exactly one week later.
A notch appears between your brows immediately, but you're still in the middle of a consultation - you have a feeling that your patient wouldn't be too thrilled with you leaping up to investigate.
Instead, you assure her that her mole has not, in fact, grown three centimetres since you saw her last week. It takes multiple pictures and two rulers before she'll even consider that it may be stress-related.
By the time you're finished, the last person you want to deal with is your ex-husband.
At least it's a paeds clinic after lunch. The children tend to be much easier to handle, and usually have straight-forward presentations. Eczema, contact dermatitis, or psoriasis for the teens.
All things you can do in your sleep.
But first, lunch. And getting Michael Robinavitch to leave.
He's leaning over the desk at reception, one of his more charming smiles plastered across his face as he talks to Pippa at reception. “I was just wondering if you knew when she'd be finish– oh, there she is. No need. Thanks for all your help.”
You've known Pippa for two years, and you've never once seen her crack a smile out in the lobby. She's practically grinning at Robby.
Uh oh.
This is bad.
Still scowling at him, you reach for the collar of his shirt and tug sharply, forcing him to fall into step behind you as you head for your office.
You don't need to air all your dirty laundry in the middle of your practice.
As soon as the door clicks shut, you're spinning on your heel. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Robby just shrugs. “You said you work Fridays usually. Thought you might like some company for lunch.”
“You know - ex-husbands don't usually just hang out with their ex-wives.”
“When have we ever been ordinary though?” He's exhaustingly chipper today - a far cry from his demeanour during the latter years of your marriage.
You take him in, trying to work out if this is all some big practical joke. After trying to tell yourself that the Abbot-Mohan wedding was a fluke, you grudgingly have to admit to yourself that Robby does look good.
He's got exactly the right amount of scruff going for him right now, he's lost the alcohol bloat, and he seems like there's less of the world's weight on his shoulders.
“I don't think this is a good idea.”
“Lunch is always a good idea,” He replies easily. “Three meals a day, and all that.”
There's no way out of this. Once Robby sets his mind to something, he's going to get it. Sighing heavily, you reach for your bag and jacket. “Only if you're paying.”
“Always, sweetheart.”
You fight the urge to remind him that your salary exceeds his by about 40k a year these days, with all the private work.
Even when you were married, you were still the official breadwinner of the family. Skin pays more than emergencies.
“And don't call me sweetheart.”
You're expecting some kind of quip, or snarky remark, but he just nods, and offers you his hand. “Got it.”
“We're not holding hands.”
Another nod, and he follows you out of the clinic and onto the street. You pretend to miss the looks exchanged between your staff.
A few of them know Robby already, and you're betting the ones that don't are wondering why you've been keeping him a secret.
“Noted. Hand-holding's more of a date two activity then?”
The expression on your face is nothing short of murderous. “This is not a date. It's lunch.”
“With somebody you've slept with many, many times before.”
Whatever illusions you'd managed to conjure of Robby after the wedding are completely shattered.
Because Michael Robinavitch is many things, but cool and suave are not amongst them. He's annoying and persistent, and a bad husband.
“I'm going back inside and ordering from Uber Eats-”
“No, no, no - wait!” A hand curls round your wrist, and you think that there might be a hint of desperation in his tone. “M'sorry, shit - just, don't go.”
“Why not?” Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you cross them both over your chest, and do your best to stare him down.
He swallows heavily, voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. “I miss you.”
"Robby," You sigh, but he cuts you off.
"We were in each other's lives for almost a decade - don't you think it's a little unnatural for that to have all disappeared? Surely we can be friends."
You have to bite back a scream. "If I remember correctly, it was you who didn't want to be friends."
"I didn't want us to break up in the first place!"
It slips out without thought, and you're suddenly regretting taking a lunch break at all. "I'm not doing this here," You start, but he beats you to the draw.
"Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He scratches the back of his neck, and glances around the sidewalk before his chin drops to his chest. "I've been doing the work. Going to therapy, no more alcohol, you name it. M'even taking some time off work to really get into it all."
The Robby you were married to would never have considered taking the blame for his actions.
"Can't undo the last decade, Michael," you reply softly.
"I know," he insists. "I know. Believe me. It's a well-discussed topic in therapy. I just... I'm trying to be better. And I want to try and make things right with you. One hundred percent platonically."
"You literally just called this a date," you deadpan.
He scoffs. "I didn't say I was perfect."
Number three. Twenty months post-divorce. Another man.
Apparently, you and Robby text now.
You're as surprised as anybody else, but in the time you've been separated, Robby's persistence appears to have intensified greatly.
Each Thursday, he meets you at the clinic for lunch, having bribed newly-qualified attending Frank to cover for him.
He offers to pick you up after nights out, which you accept more often than not (you hate getting Ubers when you're drunk).
Currently?
He's fixing your busted boiler.
You'd be lying if you said that you hadn't dropped it into a text because you knew that he would drop everything to come and fix it for you. Even with a sabbatical looming in just a week, his reply had been instantaneous.
Now, you're perched on the washing machine while you watch a sweaty Robby tinker around in the washroom.
He's already been warned that you have a date tonight, and therefore has to be finished by seven - complete honesty is the main policy of this tentatively developing friendship.
All you'd received in response had been a thumbs up.
That means he's furious.
Really, it had been a little mean on your part. But he doesn't have a claim to you anymore, and you need him to know that if he's going to still be in your life.
When you excuse yourself to the bathroom, you're not expecting your phone to be in Robby's hand when you return. "Roger from Hinge said he's going to be late tonight."
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Your phone vibrated. Thought it might have been an emergency."
You snatch it out of his grasp and scowl. "Why would an emergency text and not call?"
You both go to step at once, awkwardly colliding chest-to-chest. "Can I see a picture of him?"
"What? No!"
"Why not? Thought we were being honest."
It amazes you that Robby manages to somehow be the most serious man you've ever met, and also emulate a toddler with his petulance. You reach for your phone, and don't even notice Robby dipping his head.
His lips are on yours, and suddenly you're twenty-six again and making out with your attending for the first time after the worst shift of your life.
You'd already decided that Emergency Medicine was not for you, but that Michael Robinavitch absolutely was.
In your head, it was going to be a fling. Something sexy and secret for your final year of med school.
The wedding had been a surprise - you never thought that Robby was the type.
The 3 carat emerald cut bezel had told you otherwise. You'd never been able to build up the courage to ask him exactly how much money he spent on it.
The divorce had been an even bigger surprise.
Not to you, by the end. The last eighteen months of your seven-year-marriage had been decidedly less-than-stellar, to the point where couples counselling couldn't even make a dent.
After COVID and Pittfest, you didn't even recognise your husband anymore. You didn't recognise yourself.
While your mind might be surprised by the contact, your body certainly isn't, and you gasp into his mouth.
His hands are everywhere, hauling you closer to him, and you can feel your carefully-applied lipstick smudging across his cheek.
It's only after two minutes of kissing that you finally pull back, and surface to catch your breath. "Robby, I have to go - I have plans."
He's not quite so easily deterred, though. "Yeah, with a guy who looks just like me." You didn't even make it to showing Robby his photo, and yet he's right. Tall, dark, and broody - you've very clearly got a type. He leans in to kiss you again, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure when you melt into his touch. "You could have the real thing, baby. I'm right here."
That's the problem. Ever since you reconnected with him at Jack and Samira's wedding, it's like Robby has been everywhere.
He's practically inescapable.
He moves to suck a mark onto your collarbone, and you make the feeblest of attempts to push him off. "This is a bad idea."
"It's only a bad idea if we make it one," Robby hums, crowding you up against the kitchen counter, as you feel your willpower start to seep away. You have plans with Roger in thirty minutes.
But when Robby sinks to his knees in front of you, hiking one leg over his shoulder, you forget he even exists. “Say the word, and I will,” He mumbles.
There are many words that would end this right now.
Stop. No. Don't.
And yet, your lips can't seem to conjure any of them. You try and form each of the letters, but the only one that forms is an R.
Then an O.
Two B's.
And a Y.
He doesn't need to move your underwear to get you where you need to go. Kissing and nipping, licking and sucking - your grip on the doorframe tightens with every passing second.
Suddenly, you're struck with a vision of a morning with Robby, a week before you filed for divorce. A vision of what your future could be like if you let him in again.
The television hums in the background, something neither of you is watching. Dinner's been sitting in the oven on low for almost half an hour. The chicken is drying out.
You hear him sigh before he even rounds the corner into the kitchen.
"Hey." His voice is flat. Tired.
You look up from the sink. "Hey."
He drops his keys into the bowl by the door. Misses. Doesn't bother picking them up.
"Long day?"
"Mhm."
You wait for something more. Anything. But it doesn't come.
"You want me to plate up dinner?"
"If you want."
It's always 'if you want' these days. It's a Herculean effort to bite your tongue. "My brother called - asked if we wanted to come round next weekend."
"M'working." It's barely more than a grunt.
"You've worked the last six Saturdays - surely someone else could cover. Jack would cover. You could tell them no for once."
"I can't."
"You mean you won't."
"Stop!"
Your voice is the firmest it's been all night. Chest heaving, it's all you can manage to scramble away from Robby. He kneels where he is, hands hesitating where you were just a second ago.
"W-What's wrong? Did I do something?"
Your lip is trembling. “I don't think I can do this again. You hurt me so much, Michael. I-I mean, you're fucking leaving in a week-”
Robby's face falls.
“M'going on sabbatical, not leaving. I'm really trying to work the rest of my shit out. Let me do that, and then let me win you back. Please. I haven't done any of this solely to get you back. But I can't imagine being with anyone else.”
He folds his hands together.
"I spent a long time thinking providing was enough. That if I worked harder, put in more hours, kept the lights on, paid the mortgage..." He shrugs. "That was love."
"You stopped talking to me."
"I know."
"You stopped letting me in."
"I know."
Finally, you summon the courage to ask the million dollar question. "Would it be different this time? If we did it again?"
"Yes." He sounds so sure of his answer that you're almost envious.
But you're still not quite ready. "I hope you're not expecting me to sit at home for three months and wait for you."
"Never," he replies immediately, and you genuinely believe him. "I just want to be in the running again. And earn it. Properly."
Number four. Two years post-divorce. A date.
Robby. 22:01.
Just got back to town
What are you up to?
You hate your heart for doing a little flip as soon as it sees Robby's name flash on your phone.
Two years ago, the same sight made you sick to your stomach.
He had told you that he'd be in touch when he was finished with his sabbatical, but you assumed that meant you'd get a call a week after he was home. Not the same night.
Maybe Michael Robinavitch has had some character growth. Maybe he could be a good husband this time round-
No. You can't let yourself think like that.
You and Robby got divorced for a reason. Many reasons. More reasons than you got married in the first place.
He was married to his work, first and foremost. Never once did he stray, and he barely even glanced at the nurses and interns who would look at him with stars in their eyes, and yet you were still the other woman within your own marriage.
Then there were the self-destructive tendencies. The times when he'd hit the alcohol a little too hard after a long shift, and be almost unresponsive for hours as he slept it off.
Mostly, you think it was the refusal to try and help himself.
To try therapy. Properly. Not just a few meetings before calling it quits, but really making some efforts towards self-improvement. He couldn't do it for himself, and he wouldn't do it for you.
You couldn't handle the stress long-term. Of not knowing when he'd be home that night, or whether you were getting sweet, romantic Michael, or sour-faced Robby.
It had been the hardest decision of your life, serving him with divorce papers.
But it clearly all worked out for the better. You're both healthier apart, though happier is probably debatable. You like the peace that being single affords you.
So why are you considering letting him back in, after all the therapy and work to get over him?
"Is everything okay?" Mark's voice cuts through your spiral, and your gaze snaps up to him.
"Hm?"
"You get bad news or something? You've been staring at your phone for like two minutes."
Shit.
Your fingers start moving before you can consider your response. If Robby's matured so much, he'll be perfectly alright with this.
You. 22:04.
I'm on a date, actually
"Sorry, it was just work. Asking for a consult." Your smile is tight, and you're hoping he doesn't see through the very obvious lie.
If he does, he doesn't comment on it, and you return to your conversation about shares, or stocks, or something equally boring.
Robby had handled all the investment stuff while you were married, and now you pay someone to do it for you.
Finally, he heads up to the bar to get more drinks, and you slip your phone out again.
Robby. 22:05.
When will you be done?
I'll come and pick you up.
Miss my girl.
A text like that from anybody other than Robby would have earned an instant block. Unfortunately, despite his three months away, you're still not immune to the Robinavitch charm.
You never have been.
Besides - you'd already decided you weren't going to sleep with Mark tonight. He's a nice enough guy, but the deal had been sealed when you'd been discussing music, and he hadn't known who Patti Smith was. This man is not your soulmate. But going home alone would mean a date with your vibrator, and one orgasm at most.
Robby would double that, at least.
You. 22:21.
...Not your girl
But you can pick me up around 11.
You shoot him the address of the bar, and consider how you're definitely going to hell for this.
The rest of the date passes in half-time, so painfully slowly that you figure you must have a few new wrinkles than you did at the start. Finally, it's time to make your escape. To ease the impending blow, you throw down your half of the cheque in notes, along with a sizeable tip. "You know, I'm really sorry, but there actually was a work emergency. Thought it would be okay, but they need me in."
"A... dermatology emergency?"
"They're more common than you'd think - my colleague is coming to pick me up," You lie through your teeth. "But I had a really nice night."
Another lie.
You try to dart out so that Mark won't see you leave with Robby, but no luck. The motorcycle is pulled up to the curb with Robby leaning against it, a second helmet in his hands.
“I thought you were going to bring the car!” You hiss, throwing Mark an apologetic glance over your shoulder.
"Bike was what I was riding, and I missed my girl. Mark have a problem with that?"
"If he knew you were my ex, probably."
Maybe you and Robby do deserve each other. God, you're awful. Robby clips the helmet under your chin, and you pretend to not notice your date's gaze staring at you both while he waits for his car to be brought round.
"You ready?"
You nod, though you feel anything but. You've never liked the bike, much to Robby's chagrin. One of his favourite things is having you wrap your arms around his waist while he drives.
*****
Fuck, he knows you too well. It's almost unfair, that even after over a year of separation that he still knows you better than anybody in the world.
There are no pleasantries. No discussions. Just a beeline for the house, before clothes are discarded in a haphazard manner as you try and make it to the bedroom in one piece.
You don't quite make it there before Robby gives you orgasm number one. Torso on the top landing, he gets carried away on the staircase, leaving you totally seeing stars.
Thankfully, he's more than familiar with the house layout, and carries you the rest of the way.
“W-Wait - condom," You interrupt. Last thing you need is a baby to complicate matters. He reaches for the bedside table, complete muscle memory, but you shake your head. “Down one.”
He huffs a little, obviously put out at the change in what he still considers to be his home.
Of course, the fact that you have these at all makes his blood boil a little.
Not that you can't have seen other people.
You've been separated for almost two years, and were growing apart long before that, but god is he so glad to have you like this again. In the home that you both shared - on the bed that he paid for.
Like nothing ever went wrong.
Determined to put the memory of all other men to shame, Robby takes you around his cock, before giving you his fingers and tongue again. By the time you come down, you're more spent than he's ever seen you before.
You're barely awake as you curl into his side. "How was the trip?"
"Really great," he answers honestly. "Did me a lot of good, but I'm glad to be back. Missed you too much."
"Shouldn't be telling you this," you hum slightly, eyes fluttering closed. "But I missed you too."
Number five. Three years post-divorce. Forever.
“You have some white coming in,” You hum, fingers carding through Robby's hair where his head rests in your lap. The windows are cracked open just enough to let a breeze in, and you can hear the faint sounds of a lawn mower down the street.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm."
You separate a few strands between your fingers, tilting his head toward the light. "Right here. My favourite old man."
Robby scoffs. "That feels excessive."
"Well, you did marry a woman eighteen years younger than you. Feels like something you brought on yourself."
You think back to the man who used to come home after twelve-hour shifts, kiss you on the forehead, tell you he was just tired, then carry the weight of the world around in silence until it crushed everything else.
This version of Robby still has bad days.
Still wakes up anxious sometimes. Annoyed. Still gets overwhelmed by work. Still occasionally retreats to the garage or the backyard for half an hour when his head gets too loud.
The difference is that he always comes back.
And he lets you help.
Sure, it had been a little embarrassing announcing that you were back with your ex-husband - especially after all the shit that had gone down between you both.
But Robby had been right.
There's no one else you could ever imagine being with.
Despite all this, you're still shocked when the next words fall from his lips. "Marry me."
"What?" Your fingers freeze mid-motion, and you try to gage from his upside-down expression whether he's joking or not. You don't think he is.
"Marry me. Again."
"Holy shit," You breathe, head spinning. "What? Are you joking?"
He sits up, turning to take your hands in his. "Deadly serious, sweetheart. I uh, didn't really know what the etiquette was for this kind of thing - I know you liked your first ring, but that felt sort of like bad karma. So I was thinking, if you say yes, we could go shopping for a new one together."
A few years ago, you would have been making the biggest mistake of your life. Now, you don't feel a shred of hesitation. "Yes."
His face breaks into a smile. "Yeah?"
You nod, lip between your teeth as you fight back tears. "Fuck it. Let's get married again."
anyways (I say this as someone who is deeply critical of the united states government, military, unchecked capitalism, police, etc) I am SICK of people treating america as if it has no cultural value or positives so….. I love u 85 million acres (bigger than italy) of national parks. I love u harlem renaissance. I love u groundhogs day. I love u sweet tea and fried chicken and jambalaya. I love u apple cider donuts and maizes on crisp autumn days. I love u 95k miles of coastlines and new england fisherman and hand knitted sweaters. I love u halloween where millions of people dress up and give candy to strangers and carve jack o’lanterns. I love u small talk and small towns and potlucks and bringing over casseroles to your struggling neighbors. I love u cowboys and ranch hands and arizonian cactus. I love u appalachian trail and dirtbikes and divebars. I love u sparklers and fireflies. I love u mark twain and toni morrison and emily dickinson and henry david thoreau. I love u rock n roll i love u bluegrass and hippies i love u jimi hendrix and nirvana and CCR and janis joplin. I love u victorian houses and jonny appleseed and john henry and mothman and bigfoot. I love u foggy days in the pacific northwest and neon signs and roadside attractions. I love u baseball and 1950s diners and soft serve. I love u native american art and pop art and poptarts. I love u blue jeans and barbecues and jazz musicians
That ‘comment on your a03 work’ email hits like a line of cocaine every time. unmatched dopamine increase. shoutout to everyone who leaves a comment on fics. you deserve the world
With the nearly immortal lifespan of Faes, time was a funny thing. Many Faes split things between befores and afters. Before maturity, after maturity. Before the war, after the war. Before Under the Mountain, after Under the Mountain.
[Y/N] had anticipated many things when entering this ball. This was life after Under the Mountain. It was the first large gathering since Amarantha’s defeat. There were many befores and during trying to be forgotten. Many new afters trying to be created.
But she had not anticipated this. When she swept her gaze around the ballroom, she didn’t expect to meet his amber eyes and suddenly feel a tether binding her to him.
And at that moment, she realized she wanted to climb him like an ivy climbs a stone. Wanted to wind herself around him and leave no space between them. She fleetingly thought of her childhood crush, a youthful fancy beginning in a rose garden.
And by the look of his own shock of the sudden weight, he had not anticipated her either.
Rigid and tense, he seemingly took a moment to process, to adjust, before he slowly nodded at her. She didn’t need a bond to know to follow him out.
Their shoes made the only sound as they climbed the stairs. The silence dulling the ringing from The Snap and reality setting in heavy as a stone. Shrouded by the isolation, the truth of what the pull between them meant was clear.
A mating bond.
Mating bonds that were rare to begin with and yet theirs snapped at the same moment. An occurrence so infrequent that it was a myth within a myth. Viewed as a fairytale and a gift from the Mother telling of True Love.
So here they stood on a southern balcony. While old friends met each other again in the ballroom, they faced each other. It was as if they saw one another anew despite their centuries of existing within the same circles.
“I’ll make this quick,” began a voice as hard as granite. “Fate is a game played by the Cauldron but I dictate my own. So hear me and hear me well, this bond means nothing. It changes nothing.”
The words uttered by Eris Vanserra were nothing unexpected. Because if he believed this was a game then she wouldn’t lose. Whether the loss was her heart or her head, she hadn’t yet determined but she knew for certain she wouldn’t lose either. She had no need for a marriage, she convinced herself she didn’t need it after watching her father lose her mother. For all her best friend's belief in fairytales, she never thought she’d be here.
Looking at him, he seemed carved from the marble he was standing next to. Chiseled, hard and even his garments laid upon him as if they were created from a sculptor's hand. “We are nothing to each other.”
For all his arrogance and anger, she knew he was lying. Even before the mating bond, they meant something to each other. Unlike so many fae who tried, she didn’t forget their time Under the Mountain. She didn’t forget how warm and inviting Eris Vanserra could be when he let himself. And he let himself seek her out.
As if reading her mind, the amber in his eyes darkened deeper full of loathing and scorn. “You are nothing.”
[Y/N] would have accepted his statements if he had not made that last comment. The results of his words made her want to wrap around him and break his stone walls. Because ivy was invasive. It bred poisonous berries and housed wasps. Leave nothing but destruction in her wake.
“Nothing to say?” Eris watched her. She was as evergreen as when he first met her centuries ago. Before, twined by duty. The duty of nobility and court politics. During, twined by compassion. The compassion of safety and selfish desires Under the Mountain. And after, twined by fate. The fate of the bond of mates.
Ivy is a stubborn plant so she pulled. Feeling for the thin strands connecting her to Eris, she tugged. She couldn’t help but feel victorious as the typically unflappable lordling clenched his hand and bared his teeth.
“That doesn’t seem like nothing, Eris.” His eyes flashed her a warning but she had ignored him, continuing breezily. “I’ll be honest, a mate is the last thing I want or need.” She had grown up knowing her life partner was her best friend Lilli, a male would only be an addition.
“So I will happily act like this means nothing,” Smiling haughtily at him, she tugged the bond again, “that we are nothing to each other.”
She understood that Eris Vanserra was mean, vengeful and selfish. A male she had no need for in her life. And yet, Under the Mountain, he had shown her a side that she hadn’t seen since her youth. A side that stammered offering her an apple when she found him with her onyx cat Helia centuries ago.
But this was After, so she stepped forward and met his gaze with her own contempt. “But don’t ever think I am nothing, I am something you don’t deserve.”
Leaning in, her chest brushed against his, sending a path of fire down her spine. She watched as a shadow crossed his eyes as he glanced down at her lips. Perhaps, he wished that he could be ruled by his heart instead of duty or perhaps, he just wished her dead.
“Careful Eris, you’re not looking at me like you hate me right now.”
Eris smiled at her. Not a smile that spoke of coyness or cruelty, but of pleasure. He had always regarded her as an even opponent. Apparently, The Mother understood that as well. “Perhaps.” He chuckled slowly, his eyes drinking her in like she was the first sign of life in an empty castle.
The merriment had seemed to reach a crescendo as she reentered the ball. Accepting a glass of sparkling blue champagne offered to her, [Y/N] followed her heart.
She sipped the frivolity created in celebration for life Under the Mountain before linking her arms with fae she had been looking for.
“Where did you run off to?” The pout on her face did nothing to deter the beauty of Princess Lilliween of the Night Court. Lilli looked as if the night sat on her sheer skin, painting her in the shine of its endless expanse.
Leaning her head on Lilli’s shoulder, [Y/N] let out the breath she had been holding. “Remember when I had a crush on Rhys?”
“Oh no,” Lilli stiled, a very rare feat. “Please don’t tell me it’s back.” Lilli shook her shoulder and took [Y/N] hands in hers as they faced each other. “I know you and Rhys were each other’s lifelines Under the Mountain but Rhys and…” Lilli let the unfinished sentence speak for itself. They had both giggled and began to plan her brother’s wedding when he let them all know who Feyre was to him. An old crush resurfacing hadn’t been a part of their plans.
[Y/N] looked at her best friend, her true soulmate. She was so glad that this was after Under the Mountain and she could remember her again. They had centuries in front of them to make new memories together.
Laughing, she shook her head. “Mother no! I’m just reminiscing about when times were simpler.”
"Well, if we're reminiscing about crushes, remember that Summer Court male we met skinny dipping before I went to the Spring Court? Os..."
"Osman."
"Was he the one who Cassian fought with my pearl ring or was that Kan? Either way, I saw them both while you left me. Also let's not forget about your other earliest crushes, Apple Dick Vanserra." Lilli pinched [Y/N]'s cheek, "You were so young and impressionable."
Letting her gaze wander past Lilli, [Y/N] winked at the burning stare that had been following her since she walked back into the ball. With a sneer, Eris Vanserra raised his glass to her.
A wink to a sneer. Ivy and stone. A dichotomic pair.
A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! This can be a standalone but also can be read in relation with my other Eris fics of how their relationship continues.
Inspirations: The quote "I wanted to wind myself around him the way ivy claims stone" by Carissa Broadbent in 'The Serpent and the Wings'. Additionally, my eternal muse Brigette (@thedeviltohisangel), who also owns the rights of Lilli.
