we are fighting dreamers

Hi there! I'm Marcela, I'm 31 and I live in Brazil. Obsessed with TV shows, F1, videogames, books, movies and pretty much everything that makes my mind wonder and gives me fuzzy feelings, blog about a lot of random stuff and basically what makes me laugh and feel.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Hello, love your work so much it's gotten me through some tough moments recently, thank you for writing. Can I request a one shot or drabble where reader cries after coming home from work and James comforts her? (007: First Light just in case that wasn't clear :)

A/n: FIRST THAT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME! That is like the sweetest thing, second, I am so os sorry I missed this 😩

The front door clicked shut with a soft, familiar sound that usually brought a smile to your face.

Today, it didn’t.

Your work bag slipped from your shoulder and landed on the hardwood floor with a dull thud. You didn’t even bother taking your shoes off. The weight in your chest felt too heavy to care about muddy footprints or scattered belongings.

James looked up from where he sat in the living room, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a book resting open in one hand. He had been halfway through reading when he heard you come in.

Something was wrong.

He knew it before he even saw your face.

You were trying so hard to hold yourself together that it hurt to watch.

“There you are,” he said gently, setting the book aside. “Long day?”

You opened your mouth to answer and nothing came out as your lips trembled.

James was on his feet immediately.

He crossed the room in only a few strides, stopping just in front of you. His blue eyes searched yours, alert in the same way they became during missions, except this wasn’t professional instinct.

This was love.

“What happened?”

You laughed once and it came out as something painfully close to a sob. “I…” You swallowed. “I don’t know.” Your hands pressed themselves to your eyes and that was all it took.

The tears came without warning.

One escaped, then another, and suddenly you couldn’t stop them.

“Oh, sweetheart…” James didn’t hesitate. He wrapped both arms around you, pulling you firmly against his chest.

You buried your face into his sweater and broke as you clutched his sweater. "I’m sorry," you mumbled between shaky breaths. “I’m sorry…”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

Your fingers clutched at the fabric over his back as though letting go would make you fall apart completely.

“It was just…” You sniffled loudly. “Everything today.”

James rested his chin lightly against the top of your head as he rocked you. “Tell me.”

You shook your head.

“My brain wouldn’t…” You let out another frustrated cry. “It wouldn’t work today.”

His hand slowly rubbed comforting circles across your back. “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.”

“I kept forgetting things.” Your words tumbled out now that the dam had broken. “Someone would tell me something and I’d walk away and immediately forget. Then I’d remember something else halfway through another task and leave that one unfinished.”

James remained silent.

Listening.

Always listening to you.

“And everyone kept interrupting me.” Your voice cracked again. “And every interruption made me forget what I was already doing.”

You let out an exhausted laugh through tears. “I had like…six different thoughts happening at once.”

James smiled softly. “I’ve seen that look.”

“I hate it.”

“I know.”

“I was trying so hard.” More tears slipped free. “I really was.”

“I know you were.”

“No…” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I don’t think anyone there knows I was trying.”

James reached up, brushing a tear from beneath your eye with his thumb.

“I do.”

That simple sentence nearly started you crying all over again.

“I just…” You sniffled. “I felt stupid.”

His expression hardened, not toward you, but toward the idea itself. “You are one of the cleverest people I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t feel clever.”

“Because today was difficult.”

You nodded miserably. “I lost my favorite pen.”

“You’ll find it.”

“I already know where it is.”

“You do?”

“I left it in the staff refrigerator.”

James blinked. “…Why?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

The sheer despair in your voice was so genuine that for a heartbeat he tried very hard not to smile.

Then you looked at him.

“I also found my coffee in the supply closet.”

“You certainly travel creatively.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t.”

He kissed your forehead. “No, you don’t.”

You sighed against him, exhausted. “They looked at me like I was incompetent.”

James’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

He had stared down terrorists.He had been shot, poisoned, and nearly drowned.

But watching someone make you feel inadequate made him far angrier than any of those things.

“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve watched you restart a man’s heart.”

You looked up, lips trembling.

“I’ve watched you calmly explain complicated medical procedures to frightened families.”

Another kiss found your forehead.

“I’ve watched you remember birthdays, favorite meals, tiny details people mentioned months ago.”

His hand found yours.

“You care more than anyone I know.”

“I just wish my brain worked like everyone else’s.”

James gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t.”

You frowned. “What?”

“If your mind worked like everyone else’s…” He smiled faintly. “…you wouldn’t be you.”

You stared at him.

“You notice things other people miss.” His fingers intertwined with yours. “You make connections no one else does.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“You ask questions everyone else assumes aren’t worth asking.”

A tiny smile finally tugged at the corner of your mouth. “I ask a lot of questions.”

“You do.”

“I interrupted Q yesterday because I wanted to know why the stapler was magnetic.”

“…Was it?”

“It wasn’t.”

James chuckled. “I see.”

“I just wanted to know.”

“I know.”

Another long silence settled between you.

Comfortable.

Safe.

Your breathing slowly evened out.

James reached down and quietly untied your work shoes for you.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.” He slipped each shoe off with practiced care before standing again. “You’ve spent all day taking care of everyone else.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Allow someone to take care of you.”

Fresh tears threatened again. “You always know what to say.”

“No.” He smiled. “I’ve simply learned what you need to hear.”

You leaned into him once more. “I don’t want to think anymore.”

“Then don’t.”

“I don’t want to cook.”

“We’ll order something.”

“I don’t want to choose.”

“I’ll choose.”

“I don’t want to make any decisions.”

“You won’t.” His voice remained calm and certain.“I’ll handle everything tonight.”

You let out the deepest sigh of the entire day. “Can we just…” You hesitated. “…lay on the couch?”

James looked almost amused. “That’s all?”

“I just want you to hold me.”

He brushed another kiss into your hair. “I was rather hoping you’d ask.”

A few minutes later you were curled against him beneath the oversized blanket, your head resting on his chest while the television played some documentary neither of you were actually watching.

James stroked your hair slowly, rhythmically, the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear grounding you more effectively than any words could.

After a while, you mumbled sleepily, “I’m sorry I cried all over your sweater.”

He looked down at you with unmistakable affection. “My love…” His arms tightened just enough for you to feel it.

“I’ve survived collapsing buildings, poisoned cocktails, and hostile interrogations.” He kissed the top of your head. “I think I can survive a few tears.”

For the first time all day, you laughed.

A real one.

James smiled to himself.

That sound alone made every mission he’d ever survived seem easy by comparison. Tonight, there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than right there on the couch, holding the woman he loved until she remembered that one difficult day could never define her.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

An Angel and A 00 || James Bond ||

A/n: James Bond Smut that go requests! Reader is an Angel / works for Charlie in the Townsend Agency.

May have a second part if anyone wants it.

The resort glittered like something out of a dream—golden lights strung along palm trees, the distant hush of waves against the shore, and the kind of luxury that made everything feel just a little unreal.

James Bond...No...it was St. John Smythe tonight—fit into it seamlessly.

White t-shirt, loose beneath an open Hawaiian shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest ease without ever quite losing that sharp edge beneath it. A glass of something expensive rested in his hand, but his attention.

Was entirely on you.

You had caught his eye hours ago.

Light fabric brushing your skin with every movement, effortless, sun-warmed, dangerous in the way you smiled too easily at him. The kind of woman men underestimated.

James didn’t.

Not for a second.

“American,” he had noted earlier, voice smooth as he leaned against the bar beside you.

You had smiled, slow and knowing. “British.”

“Unfortunately,” he replied.

“Mm,” you hummed, sipping your drink. “You don’t sound sorry.”

“I rarely am.”

And that had been the start of it.

Hours of it.

Glances that lingered too long. Conversations that danced around truth without ever touching it. Questions asked like flirting but sharpened beneath the surface.

What brings you here?

Vacation.

Business?

Something like that.

Neither of you believed the other.

Which only made it more interesting.

Now, the infinity pool stretched out before you,dark water reflecting the night sky, the edge blending seamlessly into the ocean beyond.

His villa.

Private.

Quiet.

Dangerous.

“You followed me,” you said lightly, stepping into the water, the coolness a sharp contrast to the heat that had been building all evening.

“I invited you,” he corrected, setting his drink aside before slipping in after you.

The water barely rippled around him.

You turned slightly, watching him approach, your lips curving faintly. “You flirt like a man with an agenda.”

“And you don’t?” he countered smoothly.

Touché.

You smiled, stepping back just enough to make him follow.

He did.

Of course he did.

The water lapped softly around you as the distance closed, your bodies finally within reach. The tension that had been building all day snapped into something tangible, something heavier.

“Tell me something honest,” you said softly.

He tilted his head slightly. “That would ruin the fun.”

You stepped closer anyway. “Try me.”

His gaze dropped, slow, deliberate, taking you in like he had been wanting to do all evening.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said quietly.

“Since when?” you asked, your fingers moved to his chest.

“Since you tried to lie to me at the bar.”

You laughed softly. “You started it.”

“Did I?”

The water shifted between you, your fingers gliding down his chest. “Constantly,” you murmured.

That was it.

The last thread snapped.

His hand came to your waist, firm, pulling you flush against him, the water doing nothing to hide the heat of his body, the way his cock was already hard against you.

Your breath caught, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Careful,” you whispered.

“Not tonight,” he said.

His lips found yours, deeper than before, no more teasing, no more distance. Your fingers dug into his skin, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, your body reacting instantly.

You shifted, instinct taking over as you pushed him back just enough to guide him toward the edge of the pool, your hands firm now, confident.

He let you.

That was the dangerous part.

James Bond never let anyone take control.

But he was letting you.

For now.

“You’re bold,” he murmured against your lips.

“You like it,” you shot back softly.

“I do.”

You didn’t give him time to say more. Your hands slid down, guiding him as you moved, lifting yourself just enough to sink down onto him in one smooth motion.

Your breath broke instantly, your head tipping back slightly as you adjusted, your pussy tightening around his cock as the water shifted around you both.

James exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on your hips. “…Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

You smiled faintly, breath uneven. “Thought you liked bold.”

“I do,” he said immediately.

His hands steadied you, grounding you as you began to move slow at first, testing, feeling the way he reacted beneath you.

And he did react.

His head dipped slightly, his control slipping just enough for you to notice.

“You’re watching me too closely,” you teased.

“Occupational hazard,” he replied, voice lower now.

Your hips rolled again, slower, deeper, drawing a sharp breath from him that he didn’t quite manage to hide.

“Businessman?” you asked lightly.

“Something like that.”

You laughed softly, your hands sliding to his shoulders as you picked up your pace just slightly, the water rippling around you with each movement.

“Liar,” you murmured.

His grip tightened. “Takes one to know one.”

That made you pause, just for a second.Long enough to feel the weight of it.Then you smiled again, softer this time.

“Maybe.”

Your movements didn’t stop.

If anything, they deepened, your rhythm more certain now, your body responding to every shift, every reaction he gave you.

His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, his forehead brushing yours as his breathing grew less controlled. "You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“You followed me,” you reminded him.

“And I don’t regret it.”

Your lips brushed his again, softer now, even as your body kept moving, the tension building steadily between you.

The villa was quieter now.

The ocean still whispered just beyond the glass walls, the soft glow of the pool lights casting reflections across the room but inside, everything felt warmer. Closer. Charged in a different way.

You barely had time to steady yourself after the pool before James was moving again.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice lower now, roughened from earlier.

Before you could answer, his hands were on you—lifting you effortlessly, like it was nothing. A soft sound left you as your arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders, your legs curling around his waist as he carried you inside.

“You don’t waste time, do you?” you breathed, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“I’ve already wasted enough tonight,” he replied.

His tone wasn’t teasing.It was decided.

The bed met your back a second later, soft sheets a stark contrast to the cool water from before but you didn’t stay there long. Not with the way he hovered over you, not with the way his hands moved, already guiding you, already pulling you back into him.

“James—” you started, but it broke into a breath as he shifted, positioning you over him, his hands firm on your hips.

“Go on,” he murmured.

There was something in his voice, something that made your pulse jump.

You didn’t hesitate.Your hands braced lightly against his chest as you sank down onto him again, slower this time, your breath catching as your pussy tightened around his cock, the sensation pulling a sharp exhale from him.

“…Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his head tipping back slightly against the pillows.

You smiled faintly, breath uneven as you adjusted, your hands sliding along his chest, feeling the tension beneath his skin.

“You alright there, Mr. Smythe?” you teased softly.

His eyes flicked open immediately at that sharp, dark, aware.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re starting to sound like you know more than you should.”

You tilted your head slightly, lips curving. “Maybe I do.”

That earned you a look.But his hands tightened on your hips again before he could question it further.

“Move,” he said quietly.

You did.Slow at first, rolling your hips carefully, testing the rhythm, the way he reacted beneath you. His grip tightened instantly, guiding you, controlling the pace even while letting you stay on top.

“There,” he murmured, voice lower now. “Like that.”

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against him as you followed his lead, your movements growing more certain, more fluid.

“You like control,” you noted softly.

“I like this,” he corrected.

His hands pressed more firmly against your hips, guiding you deeper, steadier, the rhythm building between you. The shift pulled a sharper breath from you, your head dipping slightly as your body responded faster.

“John—”

“Don’t stop,” he said immediately.

Your lips parted in a soft breath, your pace picking up just slightly, the tension building again, quicker this time. His hands slid up your sides, then back down, never losing contact, always grounding, always guiding.

Your long hair fell forward with each movement, brushing against his chest, your face, the soft strands catching against your lips as your breathing grew uneven.

James noticed, of course he did.

His hand slid up suddenly, fingers threading into your hair before tugging it gently, pulling your head back just enough to expose your throat, your breath catching sharply at the sudden shift.

“There you are,” he murmured.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body reacting instantly, the new angle making everything feel deeper, sharper.

“John—” you breathed, your voice breaking slightly.

“I’ve got you,” he said, softer now.

His other hand returned to your hip, steadying you as he guided your movements again, his control slipping just enough for you to feel it in the way his grip tightened, the way his breathing grew heavier beneath you.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered.

“You didn’t seem to mind,” you managed, though your voice wavered.

“I don’t,” he said immediately.

Your pace faltered for half a second at that but his hand tightened in your hair again, not harsh, just enough to keep you with him.

“Stay with me,” he murmured.

You nodded faintly, your movements returning, deeper now, more certain, the tension building fast between you both.

Closer.

Every movement pulled another reaction from him, quieter than yours but no less intense. His jaw tightened, his grip firm, his control slipping in small, telling ways.

“You’re—” he started, then cut himself off with a sharp exhale.

You leaned forward slightly, your forehead brushing his as your pace stuttered. “What?”

“…Dangerous,” he finished.

You smiled faintly, breathless. “Takes one to know one.”

A quiet huff left him, almost a laugh but it didn’t last long.

Not with the way the tension coiled tighter, sharper, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that was no longer careful, no longer restrained.

Your breath broke first.

His followed not long after.

His hand tightened at your hip, pulling you down fully, holding you there as the rhythm faltered, then slowed, his forehead pressing to yours as both of you steadied as his grip tightened, his breath catching sharply as he followed right after you, his body going rigid beneath you for a brief moment before he exhaled, low and rough, his head dropping forward.

Warmth spread between you as he released inside you, his hold on you firm, grounding, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go yet.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then your strength gave out, your body slumping forward against him, your cheek pressed to his shoulder, your breathing uneven.

“Fuck,” you murmured weakly.

A quiet huff of a laugh left him, softer than anything he’d given you all night.

“…That,” he said, voice low but steadier now, his hand sliding slowly up your back, “was worth the trip.”

You smiled faintly against his skin, too tired to argue.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Just breath.

Just heat.

Just the quiet understanding that this, this wasn’t simple anymore.

Not after that.

Not after the way you both moved.

“…You’re not just on vacation,” he said finally, voice quieter now.

You stilled slightly.

Then smiled, faint and knowing. "Neither are you.”

His eyes flicked up to yours again and just a little more dangerous than before.

The bathroom was filled with steam, soft, warm, curling up from the bath as you sank deeper into it, muscles loose, head tipped back against the edge.

You should’ve been relaxing. Instead, you were staring at the phone in your hand.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

On the other end, Bosley sounded entirely too calm for the chaos he’d just dropped on you. “I’m not kidding. The target is in Vietnam, luxury resort, billionaire cover—”

“Yeah, I know that part,” you cut in, rubbing your face with one hand. “What I don’t know is why you’re telling me now that MI6 is involved.”

A pause.

“…Because,” Bosley said slowly, “we just confirmed their agent on-site.”

Your stomach dropped. “…Who?”

Another pause.

“James Bond.”

You went completely still. The water sloshed slightly as you sat up, eyes wide.

“…You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

Your mouth opened.

Closed.

Then opened again.

“…The British guy?” you asked weakly. “At the bar? The.... the Hawaiian shirt—”

“Yes,” Bosley said flatly. “That would be him.”

You stared straight ahead. “…I just had sex with James Bond.”

“Congratulations,” Bosley deadpanned. “Now Focus.”

Meanwhile.

James was lying back against the pillows, one arm behind his head, the other holding his phone loosely as he stared up at the ceiling.

For once…

He looked less composed than usual. “…Say that again,” he said slowly.

On the other end, Moneypenny sighed. “The Townsend Agency is on-site, James.”

His jaw tightened. “…And?”

“And,” she continued, far too calmly, “one of their top Angels checked in under a civilian alias this morning."

He sat up slightly. “…Name.”

There was a pause and then she told him.

James froze. “…You’re certain?” he asked.

“Positive.”

His gaze flicked toward the bathroom door, the faint sound of water still audible through it.

“…You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that the woman currently in my bath—”

“Is not just a tourist,” Moneypenny finished. “Yes.”

James leaned back again, exhaling through his nose. “…Of course she is.”

“You didn’t notice?” she asked, amused.

He huffed quietly. “I noticed she was lying.”

“…And still slept with her.”

“That,” he said smoothly, “is hardly a disqualifier.”

Moneypenny laughed softly. “Try not to get yourself killed, James.”

“No promises...."

The line went dead.

You stepped out of the bath, towel wrapped around you, still processing.

James Bond.

James Bond.

“Unbelievable…” you muttered, dragging a hand through your damp hair.

You reached for the door at the exact same moment he did.

It opened.

You both froze.

For a solid two seconds, neither of you said a word.

Then

“You’re MI6.”

“You’re an Angel.”

You both blinked.

“…Oh my God,” you said, half horrified, half laughing. “You’re James Bond.”

“And you,” he replied, far too calm for someone in the same situation, “are significantly more dangerous than advertised.”

You stared at him.

He stared at you.

You both started laughing.

Actually laughing.

“Are you kidding me?” you said, pointing at him. “All that flirting—”

“You started it,” he cut in.

“I did not!”

“You absolutely did.”

“You were the one leaning at the bar like you owned the place—”

“I often do.” James puffed out his chest.

You let out a breathless laugh, dragging a hand down your face. “I slept with my competition.”

“Is that what we are?” he asked, one brow lifting.

You paused. “…Technically?”

He hummed, considering that. “…Unfortunate.”

You snorted. “That’s one way to put it.” Your gaze then flicked to him, to really looked at him now.

Not just the man.

The agent.

And his gaze did the same.

Assessing.

Understanding.

“…So,” you said slowly, crossing your arms. “What now?”

James tilted his head slightly. “Well,” he said, voice smooth again but softer now, more aware, “normally I’d say we compare notes.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

His gaze dropped just for a second then lifted again, something dangerously familiar flickering there.

“…But given recent events,” he continued, “I imagine that might complicate things.”

Your lips twitched. “Might?”

He stepped a little closer, hand grasping your chin gently, "I don’t suppose you’re willing to go again,” he said lightly.

“…Round three then?” you teased.

James paused then huffed a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You are going to be a problem,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Yeah,” you said. “But you liked me before you knew.”

His gaze met yours again and that didn’t change as his arm then wove around your hips gripping the towel. “…I still do,” he admitted.

"Good."

[therealcap]

the flirting, the confidence, they're both HOT SHIT and they KNOW IT 10/10

[eurodynamic]

JAMES BOND 007 First Light (2026) dev. IO Interactive

[therealcap]

CLAIRE NATION WE RISEEEEEEE

[flork-of-cows-official]

burn out

[badpsychicadvice]

Internet hugs for anyone else out there dealing with burn out or other mental and/or physical issues that make it hard to interact right now

[rosierecs13]

⭒ Dr John Carter Recs

⭒ Masterpost ⭒ 02/09/2026

⭒ TV Shows Directory

OPERATION DR. CARTER | @er1nne

let him speak | @/er1nne

The New Regular | @fandom-imagines-stories

The bartender of the hospital staff’s go to place meets a new, and desperately in need of a drink, doctor.

After Hours | @halfpsychic

After a rough shift, Carter takes you out for something to eat.

Kiss It Better | @/halfpsychic

At age 24, John Carter needs to have all four of his wisdom teeth removed. When the day comes, you take care of him.

john carter x reader | @art-by-jas

reader and john are young parents and their son gets hurt at the park but no one at the hospital knows about johns wife and child

How Not to Ask Out Your Neighbor | @/art-by-jas

When you move into a quiet apartment building, the last thing you expect is to fall for your neighbor — especially one who wears scrubs, forgets to turn his t-shirt right-side out, and gets flustered every time your hands touch. But Carter is charming in a quiet, awkward sort of way… and somehow, coffee turns into something more.

Practice | @/art-by-jas

Carter lets you practice IVs on him.

John Carter taking an interest in a nurse on his first day | @/art-by-jas

Stitch Me Up | @butterflybuckethat

You needed stitches and that’s something Carter could do.

accidentally swapping outfits. | @dilflovingmisandrist

Silly little mini blurbs abt Carter and Reader exposing themselves to the rest of the staff after accidentally swapping outfits.

Say It Like You Mean It | @daughter0d3v1l

You think you've always secretly known Carter can't stand you for the same reasons you can't stand him.

MINE AND YOURS. | @love-quinn

john’s not sure it can get much worse than being sent to rehab by his coworkers. finding out he was evicted from his apartment and replaced by a pretty girl is a close runner up.

I love you | @writing-multifandoms

John confesses his love for the reader when reader gets injured

Snowfall | @dickgrcyscns

In which keeping a marriage secret is really difficult. Especially when the both of you are bad at secrets and it’s been months of you working around everyone.

Paging Dr. John Carter, MD: Mildly Jealous | @a-cross-the-universe

First Time Dad Nerves | @yourlipstogodsears

you tell Carter you’re pregnant and he handles it in the only way he knows how… focusing on himself and his career.

Your daughter gets an ear infection and her dad treats her | @forever-ev

a love lost | @booksandteaandtears

you broke Carter's heart when you were teenagers, now you've unexpectedly arrived in his ER.

Savoir | @chrys-lism

john carter hates your relationship with your boyfriend for more than one reason.

Secret Santa | @/art-by-jas

During a chaotic holiday week in the ER, Carter starts acting strangely around you—showing up early, staring, and stumbling over himself—until Carol and Susan point out the obvious: he’s completely in love with you, and you secretly feel the same. Everything becomes clear at the Secret Santa exchange.

Sleepyhead | @/art-by-jas

Your and Carter’s new relationship has not allowed for much intimacy, but one morning, he decides it is time to make the most of his day off.

Calling Dad | @thatsthatbridepresso

LOVESICK AND PRESUMPTUOUS | @/love-quinn

carter knows he gets on your nerves constantly, but he also thinks you might like him. kind of a dangerous leap to make about someone who is not only his coworker but also his roommate.

WHITE CHOCOLATE MACADAMIA. | @/love-quinn

carter’s crush on one of the peds nurses is so bad it’s almost embarrassing. if you call not being able to get through even a single interaction without her laughing at him almost embarrassing.

MEMORY LOSS. | @/love-quinn

this thing between you and john is still fairly new, but he already knows he’s completely obsessed with you. and, well, he’s not exactly good at keeping things like that to himself.

carter with a girlfriend who is just so sleepy | @/love-quinn

body heat | @/halfpsychic

A ‘housewarming party’ gone wrong. Carter sleeps over the night your apartment’s heating breaks.

picking favorites | @sanguineterrain

An unfortunate encounter with a waffle iron leads you to Cook County's ER at midnight. You hope you don't run into your roommate John... he tends to worry, and you're sure he'll prioritize you over more important patients.

[therealcap]

Saturday plans, thanks hun

[er1nne]

dr robby helps you in a time of crisis ♡

author's note : throwback to when john carter needed help putting in a IV, more john carter specific fics to come! enjoy

(do not copy or plagiarize, original work)

The Pitt is wrecked.

Not in the literal, structural sense—but in that raw, unspoken way that lingers after everything goes wrong all at once. The adrenaline’s drained, but the chaos hasn’t cleared. It hangs in the air like smoke—thick, invisible, choking. Voices bounce down the corridor, overlapping—code calls, short tempers, the dull whir of overworked machines. Someone’s arguing about intubation two beds down. Someone else is crying, quietly, behind a curtain.

Your scrubs are streaked with blood and iodine—not yours. You don’t know whose anymore. You stopped keeping track two hours ago. The sleeves are damp, the collar stretched, and you can still feel the ghost of someone’s pulse under your fingertips from the last room you left.

You push into a curtained trauma bay, closing the partition behind you with a soft swish—just to shut the noise out for thirty seconds. The patient on the bed is sedated, intubated, and still. Chart says stable, but barely. You’ve been told to place a second IV. Routine. Simple.

But your hands are trembling.

You breathe in slow through your nose, eyes on the tray. Alcohol swab. IV needle. Tape. You know this. You’ve done it a hundred times. Your fingers twitch slightly as you glove up.

You’ve done this before. It’s fine.

You find the vein. Clean the site. Draw back.

Then hesitate.

Your angle’s off. You know it is. But your body won’t move right. The hum of The Pitt is still in your head, buzzing like static, and your chest feels just tight enough to throw you off.

“Too shallow.”

The voice cuts through the fog before you hear the curtain open.

You flinch—not from the words, but from the timing.

He says nothing else at first—just stands beside you, his presence like an anchor dropped in the middle of the storm. Steady. Centered. The air around him seems quieter somehow, like the chaos of The Pitt can’t quite touch him here. Like it doesn’t dare.

You swallow hard. Your fingers twitch on the catheter, your grip not as solid as it should be. The room feels too warm and too cold all at once, the hum of the vitals monitor sinking into the ringing in your ears.

“I’ve got it,” you manage, voice stiff, barely hiding the shake. Not defensive—just too tired to pretend. You don’t even believe yourself.

“I know.”

He says it like fact. No judgment. No pressure. Just something still, quiet, and sure. Like he does know. Like he’s seen it before.

He steps closer—not crowding, not performing. Just there. And somehow, that’s more grounding than if he’d grabbed the needle himself.

His hand lifts, slow and precise, and his fingers brush the back of your wrist. Barely a touch. Just enough contact to steady the axis of your grip.

“Anchor deeper,” he says quietly. “Let the vein come to you.”

You blink, nod, reposition. Your body listens to him faster than your mind can keep up.

The needle slides in—clean. Smooth. Blood return.

You exhale like you’ve been underwater. Your shoulders ease down from where they’d been locked near your ears. You press the tape over the IV, gentle now, almost reverent with how deliberate your movements are. Like the whole thing could fall apart if you breathe too loud. You peel off your gloves slowly this time, not in frustration or embarrassment—but with care. Like you’re coming back into your body.

Robby doesn’t say told you so. He doesn’t step away. He just stays there. Standing beside you. Watching the monitor with that same unreadable calm—the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

You glance up at him, eyes flicking sideways.

“Thank you,” you say, softer now. Real.

“Good stick,” he says. Low. Almost too low to catch over the beeping monitor.

It lands soft—like a compliment passed between breaths. Like something he didn’t mean to say out loud, but did anyway.

Your chest eases. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the way he said them—steady, quiet, like he meant it. Like it was okay to take a moment and acknowledge something done right.

You glance at him, just long enough to check for judgment, critique—something. But it’s not there. He’s composed, calm. Just watching with the same quiet focus he brings to everything else. Not clinical exactly, but measured. Level. Like he sees you—not just the task.

You hesitate, pulse steady now but your throat tight. “Thank you, Dr. Robinavitch.”

The name hangs awkwardly in the air between you. Formal. Too formal. You know it the second you say it.

But he doesn’t correct you right away.

He just holds your gaze a second longer than necessary, head tilted slightly—like he’s deciding something.

Then, finally—voice low, deliberate, just above a whisper: “Robby is fine.”

You barely have time to process it before someone calls his name from outside the curtain—sharp, urgent.

He turns toward the voice, already moving, already slipping back into motion. But right before he pulls the curtain aside, he glances back at you with a tight lipped smile—quick, unreadable, and gone in a breath.

And just like that, he disappears down the hall. You let out the air you didn’t realize you were holding.

Just enough to breathe again. Just enough to feel yourself settle. Then you turn back to the patient—heart steady, hands quiet.

But the space beside you still feels occupied.

[beardedmrbean]

[theman]

I GOT A FUCKING RAISE THE POTATO WORKED WTF

[tattooedzombigirl]

This potato works. Every. Fucking. Time.

[jayalaw]

I need good news. So tired

[jadis17]

I would like to see the crabs dance

[why-did-you-reblogblog]

Why did you reblog?

POTATO PLEASE HELP ME BROTHER

guide the holy potato to other souls

other (share with class?)

Voting ended onJan 24

[rr-after-dark]

"If." - Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: Robby’s always kept his five daughters close to his chest, but a serious accident sends them all out of orbit. An exploration of family dynamics, forgiveness, gratitude, and connection.

Tags/Notes: kidfic, aged down robby (early 40s), wife!mom!reader, girl dad robby, angst/whump, hurt/comfort, siblings fighting and making up

Content: descriptions of various injuries, car accident, also a couple rated M scenes

A/N: after the absolute numbers my last fic did (thank you!!) i know this one’s gonna flop but I LOVE HER she is very beautiful TO ME. and i’m proud of myself for finishing a wip i started literally months ago regardless. and also i forgot langdons son is called tanner bc im dumb <3

Word Count: 8.7k

Part One: I’m Sorry

You wake up to the feeling of your husband kissing your shoulder and neck softly, no urgency or pressure on his lips. He’s whispering sweet nothings into your skin – I love you, you’re beautiful, you’re everything to me – and the soft scratch of his overgrown beard tickles your skin. He hasn’t been trying to wake you, but you don’t mind. It’s perfect compared to the alarm that’s going to blare within the next hour, based on the sunrise beginning to threaten the winter horizon.

“Mmm. Morning, baby.” You stretch your arms above your head and Robby responds by wrapping his arms around your waist, holding you tight against his body. Realizing you’ve actually gotten a full night’s sleep, you lace your voice with gratitude, roll your ass against his morning wood, and purr, “You did the overnight all by yourself? That’s hot.”

“Ain’t my first rodeo,” he teases against your ear. Robby tugs down your sleep shorts and massages his way over your hips and ass, his hand greedy but still lazy and sweet. He slips his fingers between your thighs, toying with your pubic hair, and murmurs, “I know there’s no better way to earn morning sex than to take care of the baby while you get your beauty sleep.”

“You’re a very smart man, Dr. Robinavitch,” you praise as you shift your hips back to give him better access. Your eyes flutter closed as he slowly circles your clit, knowing just how to touch you after so long together. It’s not long before your body warms up and you let out a breathy moan, keeping your volume low.

Robby feels your pussy getting slick and coos, “Fuck, I’ve missed this pussy so goddamn much.”

“Since when?” You roll your eyes even as you encourage his every touch. “We had sex before bed.”

He kisses the curve of your shoulder and murmurs as he pushes his first two fingers slowly inside of you, “I can’t miss my favorite girl overnight? She’s so wet for me. Clearly missed me, too.”

You start to melt as he curls his fingers against your walls, methodical and steady. “Can’t argue with you there.”

Then the sound of your two older daughters hissing at each other down the hall interrupts your happy floaty thoughts. 

You groan in defeat, “Why are they up so early?”

“It’s already six,” Robby whispers back, not wanting to alert the girls that the two of you are awake lest they try to involve you in their fight. He reluctantly removes his fingers from your pussy, licks them clean, and tentatively begins, “Should we go and…?”

“It doesn’t sound too bad yet,” you reply, flipping over to snuggle into his chest, where he immediately wraps you up in a familiar embrace. “I wanna be with you a few more minutes before your double.”

He kisses the top of your head and sighs contentedly, “You’re such a sap.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

You manage to steal away three full, blissful minutes of cuddling with your husband before the teenage tornado in the hall picks up to lethal speed, threatening all structures in close proximity. Two high-pitched screeches pierce the relative quiet in tandem, both wielding the one word they think can rain terror on their opponent: “Mom!” 

You lean your head back and sigh heavily, “Do I have to go out there?”

“On the plus side, we made it to-” Robby checks the alarm clock “-6:07 before the start of today’s war.”

“Better than last week.” Groggily sitting up and grabbing your discarded pajamas off the floor while the girls’ argument grows in volume, you gripe, “Do you think it’s too late to put them up for adoption?”

Robby sighs and laughs as he tugs on his sweats. “I’m sure there are orphanages that take 16-year-olds somewhere. Might even give us a tax benefit or something if we throw in the 14-year-old, too.”

“But then who would we embarrass in public? Each other?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I couldn’t bear it.”

“Me neither. I’ll take the baby, you take the teens?”

Faux-exasperated, he pouts, “I have to take the teens just because you have the breastmilk?”

You pat his chest affectionately and give him a quick kiss, perching on your tiptoes. “That’s just how the cookie crumbles, daddy. We can ask our lactation consultant about switching roles if you want; you’d be amazed how far science has come.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Robby heads through the bedroom doors in his sweats and you follow just behind him, ducking into the nursery instead of down the hall to the teens’ shared bathroom where the first front of WWIII is playing out.

Seeing their dad instead of you, the girls shut their mouths and look at their feet.

Robby speaks low and gently, “I’m not gonna suggest peace, but can we at least keep it down out here when we fight? Your little sisters don’t have to be up for school for another hour and your mom pushed out a human person twelve weeks ago, so she should get to sleep in, but now the baby’s up because of the yelling.” They both mutter something close to an apology to him, still glaring at each other. Arms crossed over his chest, Robby puts on his best Serious Doctor Robinavitch face and asks, “So what’s going on here?”

Tanner clenches her jaw and gestures dramatically to Maggie. “Kind of obvious, isn’t it?”

He looks at her flatly. “Humor me.”

“Her clothes.”

Robby inspects them carefully and realizes both teenagers are wearing jeans, a white tee, and a black silky camisole layered over it. He remembers you wearing similar outfits back in the naughty aughties. He’s not crazy about the inch of midriff exposed on Tanner, but you’ve put in a lot of time convincing him that it’s developmentally appropriate clothing and it’s not her fault she had to inherit his height, so he bites his tongue on that front. Slowly, after a minute of consideration, he offers, “You…match.”

“Exactly!” Tanner groans, “She saw me in this and immediately put on that.”

“And?”

“Dad, seriously? I know you’re fashion blind, but I can’t go to school wearing the exact same thing as my freshman baby sister.”

Robby sighs, “So go change.”

Tanner scoffs again; Robby’s wondering when her sounds of exasperation started sounding so much like his. “Why should I change? She’s the one who copied me in the first place.”

“How about you both change?”

Maggie crosses her arms over her chest and bites back, “I’m not changing. I like this outfit. I look better in it than you anyway.”

Before Tanner can freak out at that one, Robby raises his voice and both his sands slights. “Woah, there, let’s not launch the nukes at this hour.”

You emerge from the nursery with Daisy sleeping against your chest, her mouth open and her expression totally content. Both the teens love the baby, so they soften slightly. Relief washes over Robby; this isn’t really his area.

Unable to resist and seeing a clear path to resolution, you smile at your eldest daughters and say, “You two look adorable. I remember when we used to put you in matching outfits all the time. Aw, maybe we should pick something like that out for Daisy and take pictures before school!”

Maggie shrieks defiantly, shoves into her bedroom, and slams the door.

Tanner crosses her arms over her chest, glares, shakes her head, and then ducks back into the bathroom.

Robby loops his arm around your lower back, plants a kiss on the top of Daisy’s head, and chuckles, “That was a diabolical move, hon.”

“They’ll both change,” you reason with a shrug.

The closest bedroom to you creaks open slowly, a tiny figure emerging from the dark that’s interrupted only by her nightlight. Rubbing sleep from her eyes as she clutches her tattered baby blanket, seven-year-old Susanna pushes open her door and asks, soft and sleepy, “Why are they mad today?”

Robby sighs and tells her, “They’re teenagers. They’re made of being mad.”

She nods her head and reaches up for her dad’s arms. Robby’s getting too old for it, but he still pulls her up onto his hip. She leans on his shoulder and mutters, “I’m never gonna be a teenager.”

Robby kisses the top of her head. “Good plan, mouse.”

You give him a look and then tell Susanna, “Yeah, you will be. You’ll fight with Evie over stupid stuff the same way Maggie and Tanner fight, but then you’ll hug and make up and be best friends again by the end of the day because we’re family. And what does that mean to us?”

She yawns and mumbles, “Hope-oh-no-no.”

Robby laughs but smiles tenderly, correcting, “Ho’oponopono. What’s that mean, princess?”

She snuggles into his chest, props her thumb in her mouth (a habit you’ve been unsuccessfully trying to get her to kick for the better part of five years), and mutters around it, “I’m sowwy. I wove you.”

After another yawn, her voice drifts off into nothing and her breathing gets heavy again. Robby’s always had a magical ability to get anyone to fall asleep in his arms. He takes a deep breath of her feathery dark hair, cherishing the few remaining moments he’ll have of picking her up, and then takes her back into her bedroom, tucking her in for another hour of sleep.

Tanner emerges from the bathroom with her hair sleekly parted, sharp eyeliner and glossy lip applied. She’s always been much cooler and more stylish than you ever were at her age; Robby worries about her becoming conceited, but you see the artistry and skill behind her interest in fashion and makeup. As she stuffs her backpack right in the entryway to her bedroom, you walk up behind her and muse, “Maggie just thinks you look cool, T.”

“Because I do,” she huffs back. “But that doesn’t mean she can copy me; she should grow her own personality.”

“She’s trying to. Right now, she’s looking around at everyone else trying on little pieces of their personalities to see what fits. Remember when you were her age and you wanted to wear my perfume and my shoes all the time?”

“Well, yeah, I thought you were the prettiest woman in the world.”

You narrow your eyes teasingly. “Thought?”

Tanner snorts. “I think you’re the prettiest woman in the world, mom, and I wanted to be like you.”

“So what do you think that means about your sister copying you?”

Tanner purses her lips rolls her eyes — but then she crosses the call, knocks on Maggie’s door, and calls gently, “Hey, Mags, I’m sorry, alright? You looked really cute. You want me to help you pick out something to wear? You can borrow one of my shirts.”

After a minute of shuffling around, Maggie reappears with shiny eyes and red cheeks. Swallowing hard as she pretends to still be mad, she offers, “Fine.”

An hour later, with the older girls ready to go out the door and the younger two just waking up, you’re a whirlwind. You set the table for the whole family, make lunches, and half-supervise Susanna and Evie’s morning routine. They’re generally speaking old enough now to pick out their own clothes, but you still check in to make sure they don’t grab anything that would lead to a call from a teacher. Robby has the baby strapped to his chest, looking far too hunky in his black scrubs as he scrambles eggs for seven, while you make sure all the girls have what they need for the day in their backpacks. It’s routine now, practiced, but you’re still methodical about each step.

As the girls pile into the kitchen, Robby plates up eggs and hasbrowns and fruit for each of them, handing over your plate first. One thing he’s always insisted on is eating breakfast as a family since it’s the only time of day you’re all reliably at home. Once everyone’s sitting down and relatively quiet, you give the day’s marching orders: “Dad’s working a double, so I’m on chauffeur duty tonight. Tanner has yearbook club after school, so Maggie, you’ll have to find some way to entertain yourself before I can pick you up after.”

Maggie grumbles some sort of annoyed approval; they all know the drill when Robby has long, unavoidable shifts.

You go on, “Evie’s school has a half day today, so-”

“What?!” Susanna’s mouth falls open from the injustice of it all. She’s adorable and cute when she’s all sleepy, but once she’s had a hit of orange juice, her personality is the size of a semi truck. “How is that fair? I have to go to school all day and then still go to my soccer game? That’s bullshit!”

Robby chokes on his juice, trying not to laugh. “I told you to stop saying that, kiddo.”

“Uncle Jack says it all the time!”

“Uncle Jack is a grown-up.”

“Uncle Jack says that-”

You clear you throat and say, “Uncle Jack isn’t your father. You’ll get in trouble at school if you talk like that, and if you get in trouble you can’t do soccer.”

She pouts but nods. You haven’t yet explained to her that Evie goes to a different school because she’d been bullied at the public school for being autistic. It’s not an easy thing to explain to a bubbly, protective seven-year-old who thinks her nine-year-old sister is the coolest person alive because she can name every type of bug native to Pennsylvania.

You take a deep breath and continue with morning announcements, “Like she said, Susanna has a soccer game tonight and we will all be going, so we’re-”

Tanner scoffs and protests, “I have plans with Luke and-”

“And you should’ve checked the family calendar before you decided on that,” you interrupt, pointing to the whiteboard covered in sticky notes that rules everyone’s lives. “We’re all going to your photography showcase this weekend, so you’re going to Susanna’s soccer game. We show up for each other here. I’m even gonna take everyone to dinner beforehand, so it’s not the end of the world.”

Mischief flickers in Tanner’s eyes. A bargaining chip. She asks, “If I have to flake on my friends, can I at least drive us to the game?”

You glance over at Robby; he’s the one who’s always hesitant to let her log practice hours now that she has her permit. He gives a reluctant, tight-lipped grimace with his nod. “Sure, it’s not far.”

“Hell yeah.”

Robby narrows his eyes. “Tanner.”

“Heck yeah,” she amends with a cheeky smile.

Susanna gives her oldest sister a punch on the arm and a gap-toothed smile. “I’ll even score a goal for you.”

Maggie snickers, “Your team’s actually gonna score a goal for once?”

Susanna’s next punch to her other sister’s arm is much less friendly. She furrows her brows, looking way too much like Robby, and screams, “That’s such bullshit!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose as Daisy starts to squirm against Robby’s chest. He just looks at you and smiles softly while they start arguing back and forth. Next to you, Evie tugs on your tee’s sleeve and asks quietly, “Can I take my breakfast and go watch Bluey?”

Knowing she just needs some peace and quiet, you brush some butter from her cheek and sigh gently, “Yeah, sweetheart, go ahead.”

The other three don’t even notice her making a silent escape to the living room, too wrapped up in complaining at one another. It’s amazing how Susanna can match wits and volume with the girls who are twice her age. It only ends when Robby’s watch beeps. He starts collecting empty plates as he announces, “Alright, Team High School, get your butts in the Audi. I won’t be participating in any arguments about who gets shotgun. You have two minutes before I drive to the hospital without you.”

Tanner and Maggie both launch out of their chairs and toward the door, already definitely arguing about who gets the heated seat, which comes with control of the radio. The ability to turn off Robby’s favorite station that mainly plays Rush and Eagles is a huge privilege.

As their voices receded into the garage, Robby places the dishes in the washer and then turns to you. He touches the top of Susanna’s head and offers, “Wanna hold your sister for a minute, Suz?”

Susanna wrinkles her nose. “So you can kiss Mommy?”

Robby raises up his hands like he’s been caught. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, buy only because she’s being cute right now.”

“Same rules I follow,” you chuckle while Robby relocates Daisy from his chest to her big sister’s arms. He’s careful to remind Susanna how to support her head and neck, always protective and anxious as a dad even when they’re sitting perfectly still. When he stands up straight, you lean up on your toes and link your arms behind the back of his neck. “My turn?”

“Your turn,” he laughs, bending down to kiss you fondly. “Love you. Be safe today.”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply with an eye roll, “I’ll be safe on the couch with my baby while you deal with gunshot wounds and scalpels for twelve hours straight.” You cut off his response with another kiss and then poke him sternly in the chest. “Eat a full lunch and a full dinner. Snacks every other hour. Actually take bathroom breaks and your fifteens.”

He sighs at your sweetness, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I know, I know, gotta take care of myself so I can take care of everyone else.”

“That’s right. See you tomorrow, Dr. Robby.”

Part Two: Please Forgive Me

Jack Abbot shoves into the Pitt an hour before he’s scheduled with panicky eyes that expertly scan the entire area. He jogs up to the nurse’s station where Dana’s about to question him when he demands, “Is Robby here? Did he leave early or something?”

Dana touches his forearm and searches his face. “Dr. Abbot, are you alright?”

Jack rambles out, still looking over her shoulders in case his best friend walks by, “I couldn’t sleep and I had the scanner on and I heard about a multi-vehicle with a light blue Lexus TX.”

“Yeah, EMS called it in. Sounds like it’s gonna be gnarly. Multiple casualties in the field. A handful of ambulances are a couple minutes out, but we’re fully staffed and- What? What’s that face about? What’s going on?”

“That’s just- that’s what Robby drives.” Jack lets out a deep breath as he sees Robby’s lumbering form cresting around a corner, snapping off exam gloves and beelining for the closest vending machine. “Just a coincidence, I guess.”

Dana snorts as she goes back to charting. “Robby drives a Lexus?”

“Yeah, and I thought- I was worried that- You know how I get.” He shakes his head dismissively and Robby walks toward him with a curious look in his eyes. Jack pulls him into an unexpected hug, clapping him on the back and muttering, “Jesus, brother. Anxiety had me thinking you got in a car crash; sorry about the hug.”

“I’ll never say no to a free Jack Abbot hug,” Robby jokes. Pulling back, he offers Jack a cup of coffee and presses,  “I heard there’s a crash coming in; why’d you think I’d be out driving when you know I’m scheduled today?”

Jack shrugs, takes the cup, and tells him, “Crash has a light blue TX in it; I know yours is a custom wrap, so I figured the odds there’s more than one here are-”

Deathly quiet, Robby interrupts, “I didn’t drive the TX today; I took the pickup. Tanner has the Lexus. Tanner has the Lexus.” As that settles hard on Jack’s shoulders, Robby grips him by the arms, fingers digging in, and asks, “Did they say the plate on the scanner?”

Jack’s stomach turns as he whispers back, “JKA-”

The blood drains from Robby’s face as he turns around, jogging out of earshot before Abbot can even finish. Dana looks curiously at Jack and clarifies, “Someone’s borrowing Robby’s car and crashed it? Who’s Tanner?”

“Tanner’s his oldest daughter,” Jack explains, barely able to move himself. His first goddaughter, who he helped deliver in the middle of a snowstorm during med school. “Robby’s wife always- She makes all of them go to Susanna’s soccer games and sometimes they let Tanner drive. I should- I should go out there and get ready. He’ll want me to take care of them if he can’t.”

Dana’s mind reels as two of her senior attendings run off.

Robby has always been incredibly private. Says it makes it easier for him to be the boss if nobody knows what’s going on at home or in his head. But, like everyone else at the hospital, she’d assumed he was a single hermit from the…everything about him. No wedding ring, no leaving early for parent-teacher conferences, nothing to make anyone believe he has a very, very full life at home. It’s surprisingly easy to keep things incredibly vague in an environment full of chaos and constant teaching, brushing off questions and never revealing anything. He wasn’t legally required to explain that his vacation time is for anniversaries, that his sabbaticals are paternity leave, that his strict adherence to leaving on time is to make it home for family dinners and helping the girls with math homework. So he didn’t. The one time he’d made a comment about kids – saying Jake was the son he never had – it made everyone think he didn’t have a family instead of the reality that, in fact, he was just drowning in daughters.

The transponder crackles again on her deck, repeating the message for the entire ED to prepare.

Multiple casualties in the field. Ambulances en route.

Dana yanks Shen to the nurse’s station as he’s strolling by, sipping his third coffee of the night. “John, you’re going to have to run point tonight, okay?”

“Is Robby-”

“His wife and daughters were in the crash, apparently. Don’t know if he’ll be working.” She takes a long breath and scans the shift board, mentally filling in gaps and making decisions. “We’re going to have to keep our shit together no matter what.”

Robby’s been in the ambulance bay with Jack for a count of 78 when the first two ambulances wail to a stop at the far end of the concrete, leaving plenty of room for the coming onslaught. He tries to process the scene in front of him. His brain seems to have shifted out of doctor mode. None of it makes sense. The EMTs are moving fast, too fast, for him to follow. The sirens and noises take over his mind. His heart slams over and over and it’s louder than anything else.

Seeing her dad before she sees him, Tanner launches out of the first ambulance. As the EMT tries and fails to grab her, she sprints toward the Pitt’s doors and tumbles into Robby’s arms, practically knocking the wind out of him with the force of her body. She's already babbling as he blinks hard to recognize her presence, “I’m so sorry, dad, I- I don’t know what happened and- and now the car is totally wrecked. I swear I used my blinker and checked my blind spot and-”

“Honey, hey, it’s alright.” He kisses the top of her head over and over, clutching her hair like he’s waiting for her to slip through his fingers. She’s the first thing that’s felt real since he heard about the incoming crash. Unable to release her, he assures, “None of that matters right now. We’ve got insurance; it’s just a hunk of metal. Now where are your sisters? Where’s your mom?”

She collapses into tears again and Robby holds her tight, heart slamming against his ribs as he scans the incoming ambulances while they stop and unload. The EMT gives Robby a pointed look and he nods, pulling back from Tanner and meeting her eyes. “You need to go back to the ambulance so they can check you out some more and decide what the hospital needs to do, okay?”

“What? No!” She clutches Robby’s sleeve in a stubborn hand and says, “I’m fine; I need to help you find everyone and make sure they’re okay.”

Robby’s stomach drops to his feet when she confirms what he’d feared; the accident had been on the way back from Susanna’s soccer game, all the Robinavitch girls in the stands cheering her on.

Which means you were in the car.

You were all in the car.

His whole world in that $90,000 pile of crumpled metal he’d bought for you because it was the safest SUV on the market last year.

Robby takes one slow, deep breath. It’s time for him to be brave for his girls, no matter how impossible that feels. He cups Tanner’s cheek and insists again, “Sweetheart, you need to go with the EMT now. So many invisible things can happen during accidents and- and I need to know you’re safe. I need to know where you are. Everyone else is going to be coming right here, okay? You don’t have to look for them; you just have to listen to the doctors and do what they say.” He presses a soft kiss to her forehead and urges,  “Please, T. I promise I’ll come find you as soon as I know anything. I love you.”

Tanner nods slowly and sniffles back her unending tears. “I love you, too, Dad.”

She hasn’t said that in a long time – too ‘grown up’ and easily embarrassed – and Robby’s heart splinters even more. His brave girl, his first baby, who’s always tackled the world head-on, is scared and small and searching for his strength. He gives her one more hug before sending her away while another set of ambulances arrives.

Then pieces of his world start to roll by on gurneys. Everything moves in slow motion while Robby stands there in the bay, useless, not a doctor right now. Evie goes by first, her eyes open and frantic but her head held down with a strap across her bloody forehead. Suspected concussion. She makes eye contact with Robby but doesn’t speak, rolled by too fast for either of them to process. Then it’s three strangers in various states of distress and injury. And then Susanna, tiny and frail in her green soccer uniform when she’s usually larger than life. She’s not conscious as far as Robby can tell and that’s what brings him back to the present.

Robby unfreezes and follows the gurneys even though his legs feel like lead. Suddenly Jack’s by his side again and he’s talking rapid-fire and Robby isn’t hearing anything as the EMTs start telling him what’s going on. All he can see is the unnatural angle of Susanna’s shin, cracked and bleeding, and something sharp sticking out of her abdomen. The lack of expression on her face. He can’t stop picturing Daisy, so small despite being overdue, and her ‘baby on board’ sticker on the back bumper that wouldn’t do anything but let them find her body faster than-

No.

No, don’t go there.

He hasn’t even realized he’s stopped moving, Evie’s gurney going through the floppy doors toward the imaging wing. He’s still floating in space, lost and out of orbit with his family flung on different paths. Where’s Maggie? She probably would’ve been in the front seat, always fighting over getting to sit there. Multiple casualties in the field. Robby can’t breathe. Where are you? Where’s Daisy? Multiple casualties in the field. There are too many people here and it’s too loud and too bright. And he sees Susanna on the other side of the ED, conscious now but wailing in pain and covered in blood and surrounded by Robby’s students. The sound of her pain alone is enough to strangle him. 

Jack’s hand crashes across Robby’s face.

Hard.

Ears ringing, skin burning.

Jack’s eyes are serious and dark and urgent. “Stay with me, brother. We need you right now. Your girls need you.”

Robby can barely form a coherent sentence and he feels his knees starting to give. He’s only seen half his family alive so far. And he can’t think about anything else. His voice sounds foreign, far away, aching.  “Where’s Maggie and where’s- where’s-”

Jack guides him to the ground instead of trying to keep him on his feet. “Breathe, Michael. Breathe.” His pager is going off non-stop; he’s needed for another trauma, another body, another family falling apart. He shoves his water bottle into Robby’s arms and says, “We’ll send someone with an update about everyone as soon as we can. I know this is a fucking nightmare right now, but I swear I’ll-”

“Dr. Robinavitch?”

It’s Mohan, who looks even more scared and unsure than Robby, holding six clipboards stacked on top of each other.

Six.

Six charts.

Six people.

Robby’s chest finally begins to loosen. Six charts means six living patients. No matter what, you’re all here. You’re all in his hospital being cared for by his people.

Mohan goes on, “I’m so sorry, but we need you to sign some consents so that we can-”

Robby takes the clipboards and pen from her hand. He swallows hard and manages to find Dr. Robinavitch somewhere inside the shrapnel of his gut. “Walk me through it, kid.”

Jack gives one more squeeze to Robby’s bicep and then jogs back across the ED to wherever he’s needed next as Mohan joins Robby on the floor instead of asking him to stand up. She could use the moment of rest, too. “I’m really sorry it’s me talking to you instead of someone more senior, but they’re all busy with-”

“Walk me through it,” he repeats, “like any other family member, alright?”

She whispers, “You’re not any other family member.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ll critique your bedside manner after.”

“That might help,” she admits with a nervous laugh. “Okay. We’ll go from most to least urgent.”

“Good. Take the consents from me as you get them; never waste time.”

Mohan swallows and nods. “The car was hit squarely on the passenger side. Margaret-”

“Maggie.”

“Her, ah, her school ID says Margaret. Maggie was sitting in the area of highest impact, and her injuries correspond with that. She’ll need multiple casts, but, ah, but the big thing is that we need to start a craniotomy right away. She has a brain bleed known as an intracerebral hemorrhage; we need to drain the bleed and repair the vessels.”

Robby goes white and sweaty. His brain switches into autopilot because he can’t dare process how serious that is. What it could mean. How, in a few hours, he may not have five daughters anymore. “We can’t do a stereotactic aspiration?”

“Unfortunately, the size and location of the bleed rule out less invasive treatment methods. We need to be aggressive in treating this.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Your delivery. Good.” He scribbles his signature across five pages on Maggie’s chart. Samira runs it to central and the machine of the hospital takes over. “Next.”

Mohan continues on, fatigue thick in her voice, “When it comes to Evelyn-”

“Evie.”

Mohan gives a sad sort of smile. “Right. Evie. She was sitting directly behind Maggie, so she got the next most impact. There’s still lots of imaging to do, but we’re looking at a myriad of fractures, mostly minor, but she does have a break in one of her forearm growth plates that could impact long-term development of the limb.”

“A little stiff, Samira,” Robby tells her. “Try again.”

“One of Evie’s breaks could lead to her arm growing abnormally, so we’ll need to monitor that closely over the next year. Most growth plate fractures do heal normally, though.”

“Better. Other breaks?”

“On the right side of her body, she has different levels of fractures from her shoulder down to her hip, essentially. We’ve located four fractured ribs, a break in her collarbone, and several through her wrist and forearm. One of the consents is for an ortho specialist to come down and fit her for a custom cast; she’s going to have to be out of school for a while.”

Robby sighs and rubs his hands over his face. Exhaustion weighs his features down, but there’s nothing he can do except go through. He signs.

It feels never-ending as Mohan continues, “Susanna is conscious, responsive, and generally in good condition, but she’s going to need surgery to remove multiple foreign bodies and to set the bones in a complex tibial fracture.”

The part of his brain that wants to teach is keeping him occupied from the horror of it all, stabilizing his voice and increasing his focus. Dr. Robby asks absently, scratching away at each form, “What are the foreign bodies? You should usually just say the object if it isn’t privileged or, y’know, embarrassing.”

“It’s mainly glass pieces. The largest is a few inches, but there are a lot of smaller shards. It’s going to be an intricate debridement.”

“Which means?”

“It’s going to be a lengthy, very precise surgical process to ensure we successfully remove all pieces,” she corrects, letting out a relieved breath when Robby nods his approval. “We’re very lucky that there don’t seem to be punctures to any of her organs, but we won’t know for sure about some of the larger pieces until we have a sterile field.”

Robby looks up at Mohan for the first time since she started. “How’d she get punctured by so much glass from the backseat?”

“The sunroof fell inward under the weight of another vehicle,” she explains quietly. Mohan stills Robby’s shaking hand and tells him, gentle and human, “The EMT told me that she was in the lowest impact part of the car. Her injuries were sustained after the crash.”

Robby’s brow furrows. For the first time, he actually doesn’t follow. “What does that mean?”

Mohan touches his shoulder, comforting and sure, as she explains, “Susanna maneuvered herself however she could over the baby’s car seat when she saw part of the car about to collapse. She knew her leg would get crushed and that she was going to get covered in glass. But she moved to save the baby’s life.” Wiping a quick, unexpected tear from her cheek, Mohan murmurs, “You should get her an ice cream or something for that.”

Robby gets choked up. When did he start crying? The sob is aching. How could he have raised someone so brave she would do that? So brave she would put her life on the line? Scared and hurt and seven years old and already saving lives. When Mohan gives the next chart to Robby, he steadies himself with a few deep breaths.

“For the other three, I just need some basic forms signed.”

“Thank god,” Robby mutters, flipping through the pages and signing haphazardly. He always cringes when family members don’t take the time to look at their consents, but now all he cares about is getting this done. Getting to his family.

“Tanner mainly has soft tissue injuries – bruises, some sprains – and she needed stitches on a few cuts. Otherwise, she was incredibly lucky. My main concern for her is psychological; it’s incredibly difficult for such a new driver to feel safe again after something like this. She’s going to be dealing with a lot of guilt. Make sure she gets the help she needs as soon as possible.”

“That’s a good thing to say, kid. Really good. A lot of doctors would skip that.” Robby makes a mental note to ask his therapist for recommendations for an adolescent specialist. Then he asks, softer than Samira’s ever heard her boss, “My wife? The baby?”

“Daisy was in the low-impact zone as well, thankfully, and clearly your wife’s a pro mom because she was properly secured to protect her head and neck. We only suspect a concussion, which is really the best possible outcome for an infant so young in an accident this serious. We have her in a private room for observation.” At last, Samira smiles, just happy to have a little good news to share. “And your wife is over there with her. We took some imaging and bloodwork to be safe, but for now the worst seems to be a few minor lacerations from helping the girls.”

Robby sighs, gratitude and grief in equal measure through his body. “Can I head up there and see them now?”

“Of course, Dr. Robby. Room six,” she tells him, trying to seem sure. “Keep your pager on; we’ll keep you updated on everyone’s treatment.”

“Thanks, Samira. Good job.”

Before she can say anything else, he’s jogging across the ED floor, dodging gurneys and triage stations and questions. The pediatric rooms have never felt so far away, but his legs manage to keep carrying him even as every step shakes.

The hospital is quieter with each foot away from the chaos of the emergency room. The moment he pulls open the door to pediatric six, that eerie quiet is replaced by the most wonderful sound he’s ever heard. Singing.

It’s you.

It’s you and you’re holding his kicking and screaming and beautifully alive baby in your tired arms.

Sitting on the loveseat that overlooks the infant-sized vitals setup Daisy's been removed from to nurse, you gaze up at him with so much emotion in your expression. Relief, he realizes. Relief that he’s here with you. You’ve been crying and so has he, all your eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He surges forward as you whimper, “Michael.”

Your breathless voice is a mitzvah in and of itself. Robby falls to his knees in front of you and presses his head into your thighs and feels the realness and the life of you. Daisy is screaming her little head off and it’s pure music, the melody of her lungs working and her heart beating. Robby envelops you both on the loveseat, taking the baby’s weight from you, and weeps.

And weeps.

Late that night, you try to sleep with your head on Michael’s shoulder on the couch in Maggie’s and Evie’s shared hospital room. Susanna’s fast asleep, her head in your lap, neon green leg cast propped up, mouth lolling open. Daisy is in a hospital bassinet with Jack watching over her. Visiting hours are over, but it turns out some people are willing to look the other way for the chief attending and his family.

Tanner hasn’t left Maggie’s side since she came out of surgery. The doctor had spoken too fast to you and Robby out in the hallway, leaving Tanner straining to hear even snippets. Brain bleed. Surgery as successful as possible given the extent and severity. No timeline on when she’ll wake up. If she’ll wake up.

If.

It’s the worst word Tanner’s ever heard.

You’re the only one awake to hear what Tanner’s whispering, over and over, to her little sister: “I’m sorry, Mags. I’m so sorry. Please wake up. Please, please forgive me.”

Part Three: Thank You

You’ve been home for five days now with Daisy and Susanna, doing almost nothing but sleeping, eating, pumping, and crying. Jack’s been staying over, too, helping out with making the house accessible for Susanna and for Evie when she’s able to come home.

In the evening, you hear the garage open and close.

You look up at Robby with broken hope in your eyes. Did Maggie wake up?

He shakes his head.

You tilt your head to the side. Is Tanner with you?

He shakes his head again and crawls onto the couch next to you, taking Daisy onto his chest and breathing slowly until he can speak. His fingers twine with yours as he tells you, “Evie can come home tomorrow if we’re ready.”

“We’re ready,” you reply, somehow still sounding eager in your constant exhaustion. “Jack and I finished with her new bedroom setup downstairs today.”

“Good. That’s good.” Robby kisses the side of your head and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything and then some,” he replies softly. Daisy grips his beard with her grabby hands and he lets her, smiling sleepily at her wide eyes. He brushes some of her wispy dark curls and adds, “Thank you for this perfect baby. Thank you for our family. Thank you for-”

“I already spent the whole day crying, Michael,” you cut him off, wiping your wet cheeks. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Never doubted it for a second.” His warm brown eyes flick over to you before returning to Daisy’s, a mirror of his own. “I love you so much. All of you.”

Jack appears in the living room archway, silhouetted by the hall light. “Susanna’s out after four grueling rounds of Slow Mo The Soccer Sloth. Now give me that baby and go to bed.”

Robby frowns. “I just got her. Wait your turn.”

“Nuh uh,” Jack protests, stretching out his arms for his tiny niece. “You have access to cute baby time whenever you want; this is my vacation. You need to rest with your wife. The kid and I will enjoy Goodnight Moon on our own, thank you very much.”

Robby nods and hands off Daisy, who immediately yanks Jack’s earlobe. Bless him for not minding or complaining.

As Robby helps you to your feet, you start to tell Jack for the hundredth time, “There’s fresh breastmilk in-”

But Jack raises his hand to cut you off. “I’m a pro, mama, don’t worry. You two get as much sleep as you can; I’ve got breakfast set, too.”

“You’re an angel,” you sigh sweetly, giving both Daisy and Jack a kiss on the cheek. “You should think about switching careers.”

He smiles as Daisy gives him a wide-eyed, wondrous giggle. “If I could make six figures entertaining this munchkin, I’d consider it.”

Robby clasps his shoulder and says, voice deep and true, “Thank you, Jack. You know how grateful I am for you?”

Jack nods slowly and then gives Robby a one-armed hug. “Yeah, I do. Get some sleep, brother.”

As Jack takes the baby to the kitchen to warm up her next bottle, Robby walks just behind you up the stairs. Even though you’ve felt totally fine since day three, Robby continues to be protective, keeping a hand low on your back to stabilize you. He helps you get ready for bed and you let him dote and spoil, savoring his adoration and tenderness.

While Robby works lotion into your back, sitting behind you in bed, you ask him, “Did Tanner say anything today?”

“Not to me,” he replies softly. “Dana told me that she took a shower and ate all the food the nurses brought her, so that’s good.”

“Still talking Maggie’s ear off?”

“About everything and anything,” he confirms. “If I were in a coma, listening to Tanner talk about Luke’s cute butt when he plays lacrosse would definitely wake me up so I could puke.”

You let out a barking laugh and slap his thigh hard. “Michael!”

Pressing his forehead to the curve of your shoulder, he mutters, “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.”

“I know,” you sigh. “Me too. How long do we let her stay at the hospital?”

“Until Maggie wakes up.”

“What if-”

He shakes his head and snakes his arms around your stomach, insisting, “Until she wakes up.”

“Okay. Until she wakes up.” You turn around, adjusting so you’re in his lap instead of between his legs, and time your breaths with his. “She’s a good sister.”

“Yeah, she is. They’re all so good. Like their mother.” He kisses your forehead and then holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You ready to go to bed?”

With a slightly pained look, you sigh and nod.

Robby sees right through you, of course. Twenty years together will do that. “What is it?”

You sigh and admit, “My boobs are swollen and my haakaa is downstairs and my baby is having a bottle in her nursery.”

Robby chews on that for a second and then smirks a bit. His cheeks going red, he rubs your back and says,  “It’s funny; I feel like it would be weird to offer to suck on your nipples like I haven’t done it a million times before.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not sure,” he replies. As you lift your tee up and toss it to the side, baring your naked breasts to him for the first time since the accident, he mutters, “Something about it being wrong to think about your boobs while our kids are-”

You shut him up with a kiss, warm and firm and begging. “My therapist told me this morning that it’s more important than ever to focus on our relationship.” As Robby groans, throwing his head back so you can kiss up his neck, you breathe out, “She said that couples who prioritize intimacy during stress and tragedy have significantly reduced rates of divorce.”

He almost laughs. “Were you worried about us getting divorced?”

“No, obviously,” you huff as Robby tugs his own shirt off and begins kissing across your chest, staying a few inches away from where you need most. “I just missed you. I need you. We need each other.”

Gripping your hips and grinding up against your ass, he teases, “So this ‘swollen breasts’ thing was just a ruse to get me to pay attention to you?”

You give him a conspiratorial smile and suggest, “How about you start sucking and find out?”

Amid your teasing and gasping and knowing, Robby finds a perfect escape in worshipping every healing inch of your body. The intimacy is a lifeline, an anchor, a need. It lets him sleep. Lets him rest.

You wake with a start to the sound of Robby’s phone. His hand shoots out to stop the piercing sound as you groggily flip to your side. He mutters, speech thick and slurred with sleep, “It’s the hospital.”

He turns on speaker phone and a woman’s clear voice comes through: “Dr. Robby?”

With the phone on his chest, Robby rubs his hands over his face and sighs as you snuggle up against his arm, “Mohan? What is it?”

“Maggie’s awake.” Without saying a word, Robby launches out of bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and starts snatching clothes for both of you from the closet. While he’s shimmying on sweats and brushing his teeth, Samira asks, “Robby? You still there?”

You pick up the phone with teary eyes as Robby pelts a cozy sweatshirt at you. “Yeah, he’s- he’s getting ready to go. We’ll be there soon. Is she scared?”

“No, actually.” You hear the tentative smile in her voice. “I think Tanner’s got that covered.”

That makes your heart so warm it might burst. “Thank you, Dr. Mohan.”

While tugging on shoes, Robby asks, “Is there anything we need to know about her condition before we get there?”

“She wants to see her sisters,” Samira replies tenderly. Then, she adds, “And she’s asking for pancakes.”

Dressed now, you ask her, “Can we have those ordered to the hospital?

“I think we can make that happen, Mrs. Robinavitch.”

An hour later, you’re all hugged and cried out while Maggie examines herself in the handheld mirror Samira offered her. Robby’s next to her, unable to stop touching her arm or her back to prove to himself she’s awake and alert. You’re at the end of the bed with Daisy knocked out on your chest and Susanna’s between Maggie’s legs, half-asleep but smiling. They even helped Evie transfer to her new transport chair so she could hold Maggie’s hand.

With a teary pout, Maggie observes, “They shaved half my head.”

“You had a pretty serious surgery,” Robby sighs, rubbing her back and once again checking over the intense line of staples holding her scalp together. “You’ve got battle scars now.”

“It looks badass,” Tanner tells her, expression serious and full of a kind of agony Robby had hoped he could protect her from forever. Then she pulls her dark hair up and reveals the undercut she’d given herself in the hospital bathroom four days earlier, claiming she knew it would help. It’s choppy and you know you’re going to have to clean it up with her dad’s electric clippers, but the way Maggie stares at it does wonders. “Look, I did mine, too.”

Maggie breaks into a small smile as she reexamines her hair in a new light, this time envisioning herself being the girl with the undercut and survival story. “Badass.”

After a few moments of silence, she sets the mirror down, chews on her words for a second, and then tells Tanner, “One of the last things I remember is fighting with you. I don’t ever wanna fight like that again. Not if- not if it’s the last thing we might get to talk about.”

Tanner shakes her head vehemently and replies, “I’ve been thinking about that too, Mags. And I- I wanted to say thank you for being so annoying. Thank you for fighting with me.” Tanner laughs through tears, brushing Maggie’s hair out with careful fingers to avoid tugging her scalp staples, absently braiding it just to be with her sister. “I get now that you bug me because you want my attention and that you want my attention because you think I’m-” her voice breaks but she keeps smiling through it “-you think I’m worth something. So thank you.”

Maggie winces as she pulls Tanner into a tight hug. “Let’s keep fighting forever, then, okay?” Then she turns to Susanna and Evie and points to them like a Disney villain. “And don’t think the two of you are getting out of that, either.”

You and Robby make knowing eye contact over your daughters’ heads. Ten thousand more quiet mornings interrupted with screaming matches.

You can’t imagine anything better.

Part Four: I Love You

The next morning, Robby’s going over a mountain of discharge paperwork with Dana as she finally scoffs and shakes her head. “Five daughters, huh, cap?”

He just smiles and shakes his head, expression fond. “Yup.”

“A 16-year-old and a three-month-old?” She looks down the bridge over her nose, over her glasses. “At the same time?”

“Yup.”

“How many of them did you plan?”

Robby cuts her an amused, almost conspiratorial glance. “Two.”

“So did you need someone to explain how condoms work? We’ve got that sexual health presentation series coming up for the local middle schoolers; it’s a popular show, but I bet I could swing you a ticket.”

“Alright, alright.” Robby crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the nurse’s station. “Look, we had Tanner way too young. I wasn’t even out of med school, but we decided to figure it out. Thought we were done after Maggie, but sometimes you take your wife on a trip for your ten-year anniversary and the timezones make her forget the pill and, y’know, Evie happened. We thought she should have a sibling closer to her own age.”

“And the new baby almost a decade later at, what, 45? Another accident?”

Robby shrugs and tells her, “I thought we were way too old for another baby, too, but…Well, look at her. Look at them.”  He gestures affectionately at you across in the waiting room, nursing Daisy while Susanna sleeps with her head on your shoulder. Tanner’s pushing Evie around until she laughs and Maggie’s giving the directions. All his girls getting antsy, ready to go home. You catch his gaze and give him a wink. Robby squeezes Dana’s shoulder and explains, “You find a woman like that and there’s no such thing as an accident. There’s only love that keeps growing.”

[therealcap]

this is what dreams are made of

[divorcedfranklangdon]

could not believe what he was seeing

[starg0ld]

[twilightown]

CAUSE EVERY TIME WE TOUCH I GET THIS FEELING

EVERY TIME WE KISS I SWEAR I COULD FLY

CAN’T U FEEL MY HEART BEAT FAST, I WANT THIS TO LAST

NEED YOU BY MY SIDE

[miseducatedmelanicmuse]

[ponyosmom35]

Dr. Micheal 'Robby' Robinavitch

Dr. Robby x fem nurse reader

Synopsis: Robby falls in love with a young nurse and fights it every step of the way. But when you know, you know.

Warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, angst, fighting, slow burn, blood, gore, medical inaccuracies, pittfest, panic attacks, mentions of suicide.

Pre season one:

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen |

season one:

7 am |

[therealcap]

this is ART

[skymouth]

tipping point — michael robinavitch x reader | part 2

Since the incident, things are different between you and Robby. Something has to give.

(Something finally does.)

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader Word count: 15k+ Tags: Reader is multilingual; Yearning; Injuries; Stalking; Justice systems; Inaccurate legal proceedings; Jealous Robby; AFAB reader; NSFW content (Oral receiving; P in V sex); Gun violence; Shooting. Notes: I fear I lost reader’s personality part way through writing this. Hopefully it’s not noticeable idk. This isn’t my best work and I’ve been trying to rework this so long that I’m lowkey hating it now. TP2 is now my least favourite child lmao

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 TBD | Series tag.

Cross posted to AO3.

Three days into your mandated time off from work, Robby shows up outside your apartment.

You look through the peephole before opening the door for him.

You both blink at each other—you hadn’t been expecting him, and somehow, he looks surprised to see you on the other side of the door.

“Dr Robby,” you exhale. You feel incredibly dressed down, even though you’ve never once been dressed up while in the Pitt. Varying levels of barefaced, tired, and hair up. It’s different when you’re lounging in your ratty loungewear than your scrubs, you think.

“Hi. And it’s just Robby,” he says, a little breathless. You live on the third floor to an at least 70 year old apartment building—there are no elevators. But it was cheap, and the landlord treated the apartment like dead weight; happy to unload it onto some unsuspecting tenant.

“Uh—come in.” You shuffle back, inviting him into your place. “Oh, um, shoes off, please.”

“Sure.” He toes off his shoes while you nudge some spare guest house slippers towards him.

It feels awkward, the strange song and dance of work colleagues outside of work. He’s known you for a little longer than six months now. Through work, he feels somewhat he’s well acquainted with you, yet somehow, knows very little about you.

“How are you?” Robby asks.

You head over to the kitchen, filling up the kettle to boil. “Bored, mostly. Feels like I’ve been given all the time off in the world, and I’m just… bored.”

Robby grins, following you. “Sometimes I think our brains aren’t wired for not working. Too much adrenaline.”

You chuckle. “You want tea?”

“Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

“Probably chamomile.” You take out the box of tea bags you’ve stashed in your cupboard. “It’s supposed to help you sleep.”

Robby pauses, studying your face. “Is it working?”

You duck your head. “Not really.” Brain too preoccupied with resurgent fears to sleep. And when you do manage to welcome the unconsciousness, it’s fitful. You’re never able to remember the nightmare that’s startled you awake. Only the dreadful feeling that you can’t outrun anything.

The only sound is the kettle boiling.

“You change your bandage yet?” he asks, after a moment.

“I am also a doctor, Dr Robby.” You’re more than capable of the aftercare of stitches and bandages. Have sent patients home with the list of care instructions multiple times in a day, across the week.

“It’s just Robby,” he says again. It feels weird to upkeep the titles when he’s not in the hospital, even though he’s worked relentlessly for it. “Can I see?”

“Just—give me a second.” When the kettle’s done, you pour out two mugs, dunking the tea bags in. You let them steep. Shuffling towards your first aid kit, then to the stool that he’s parked in, sitting in the one next to him.

“Have at it,” you say.

“Thank you,” Robby says, maybe a little too earnestly. Not seeing you at work after waking up from a hazy dream that reminded him that your heart had stopped—despite the knowledge that he saved you—brought upon a sense of impending doom. He needed to see you, needed to make sure that you’re still alive under his hands. He hasn’t told you that you died. It’s not something that he wants to relive.

It’s quiet as he works, like he’s back in the ED. This time, without all the bright lights and the machines and the bustle of nurses and doctors.

His thumb is a gentle thing, digit gliding over smooth skin under the wound.

You shiver.

“Does it hurt?” Robby asks.

“No,” you manage to utter out, barely breathing. Head angled up so he can work. Examining every inch of his face while his attention is on your neck.

“You sure?” There’s a furrow between his brows, moulded by worry from the tremble to your frame. He looks down to meet your gaze.

You feel frozen. Staring, drawn into those expressive brown eyes that carry the world within them.

You rise and he falls.

Lips almost touching.

Robby’s thumb absentmindedly strokes back and forth over your pulse.

Your mind is filled with buzzing static; white noise. Hovering closer to him. Your breath hitches.

The sound disrupts the moment.

He remembers himself. Clearing his throat as he rights his posture. Avoiding eye contact as he busies himself, rifling through the first aid kit. “You’ll have to come in to get the stitches out.” He takes a bandage, sticking it over the sutures.

“I know,” you say, impossibly small and quiet. You’re not sure he even hears it.

Harried motions, a whirlwind that takes him towards the front door. Guest slippers off, his own shoes on. “I’ll—I’ll see you. Around. At work.”

You don’t move from the kitchen, watching him flee like this is—like you are—something terrifying. “Yes, sir.”

Robby opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but closes it. Nods. “Okay. See you.” Door opens, stepping out. Then, softly, “I’m glad you’re okay.” Attention drifting back onto you. Lingering.

The door closes.

You sigh, turning back to the kitchen counter to pack away the first aid kit.

You empty out one of the mugs of chamomile tea, keeping the other for yourself.

Your first day back is accompanied by a message from Dr Ellis. You send off an hours late response and pocket your phone, coming in from the stairwell to head into the ED. You’re at least 30 minutes early.

“Nuh uh, I get first hug.” Ellis bodily shoves Shen as soon as she sees you, wrapping you into a hug.

“What the fuck?” Shen demands, mouth parting in a betrayed expression.

“She messaged me as soon as midnight hit,” you explain, arms awkwardly wrapped around Ellis. Your bags swing—your usual tote bag, and your care packages of extra food to make up for the fact that you weren’t in. They’re filled with an increased amount of tupperware and thermos.

“Some of us were busy working at midnight,” Shen scoffs.

“You snooze, you lose, loser,” Ellis says.

Shen, at least, has the decency to wait until Ellis detaches herself before he also latches on.

“I missed my boba buddy,” Shen says.

“You couldn’t get it yourself?” you ask.

He stretches back, lifting you.

You don’t want to admit it, but you’re sure you’ve let out some kind of undignified sound. Your feet don’t touch the ground for a solid three seconds.

“It’s not the same, pookie.” He lets you back on your feet, taking your tote bag from you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” He’s rifling through your belongings like a raccoon.

“You’re a grown ass man.”

Shen makes a victorious sound, grabbing the boba. “I knew it.”

“Uh uh, and who said that was yours?” Ellis asks.

He turns to you, smug. “Is it?”

You sigh loudly. “I hate proving you right.”

Shen cackles, poking the straw into his drink. Who else would want matcha flavoured boba half an hour before their shift ends, despite the fact that they have yet to sleep all night?

“Still distracting my doctors, I see.” Dr Abbot, again. He looks a little more amused, entertained by the antics of his doctors. And it’s good to see you back—everyday that you weren’t in was a reminder that the PTMC almost lost one of their own.

He saw you briefly when you came in during his night shift, needing your stitches out. He can’t remember exactly, but he’s sure that Dr King had been the one that had taken them out. If he found it weird that you hadn’t come in during the day shift, he didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, well. You know me,” you say.

Abbot’s hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing. “It’s good to have you back, kiddo. Tweedledee and Tweedledum over here wouldn’t shut up about missing you.”

“Is that so?”

“Dibs on being Tweedledee,” Ellis says.

“I can’t be dumb,” Shen gapes, crestfallen.

You grin, shaking your head. Part of you wishes you could transfer into night shift just to keep up with their tomfoolery. Alas, replacing Dr Langdon means sticking to his day shift schedule. “Dr Abbot, before you go—” you pipe up, just as the older attending turns to leave, “I have dumpling soup for you.”

“What the fuck?” Shen asks. He stares at you.

“For me?” Abbot asks at the same time.

With Shen still holding onto your bag, you grab one of the insulated food jars to pass over to Abbot.

“Seriously?” He gingerly takes it from you, disbelieving.

“This one’s for you, specifically. And the lovely Dr Ellis gets—” You take out another food jar.

Ellis opens up the container, mouth dropping open in delight. “Stir fry noodles. Hell fucking yes, dude.”

“This is a hate crime,” Shen sighs dramatically, shaking his head.

“I’m two seconds away from showing you a real hate crime,” you tell him, staving off a large grin.

He makes a face at you, because he’s five years old.

“Go stick to your boba, kid,” Abbot laughs. He holds the food jar to his chest, like it’s something precious.

You spy Dr Robby over Abbot’s shoulder, watching from a distance. You think he seems tickled by whatever the hell is happening, but he’s better at hiding it. He starts towards the direction of the break room.

“Um—give me a second to put everything away,” you say. You’re early, but you have food that would fare better in the fridge. You quicken your pace to fall next to Robby. “Dr Robby.”

He greets you as you do him. “It’s good to have you back,” he says. Even he has to admit that the atmosphere in the Pitt has been different when you’re not here. In six short months, you had made everyone value your presence.

When you enter the break room, he beelines towards the coffee machine, and you to the fridge.

You take out the large tupperware container. “I made fried rice for everyone on day shift. If you don’t have any dietary requirements.” You briefly hold it up when he looks your way before tucking it into the fridge.

“I’ll be sure to let everyone know.”

“It’s for you too, Dr Robby.” You stick in your other containers. With your bag mostly empty, you close the fridge door.

Robby’s watching you, leaning against the counter.

You idle by the fridge, unexpectedly feeling insecure under his analytical gaze. Especially when it flickers to the side of your neck. You shift, tugging the collar of your shirt up like it can hide it. If you could have gotten away with a turtleneck underneath your scrubs, you would have. Alas, the weather’s too warm for that.

“I should—um, go. Lockers,” you manage out.

“Okay,” Robby murmurs. You can’t parse out the expression that he has on his face. Pinched, maybe.

You pass by, and he straightens from the counter. His hand on your shoulder, burning. His proximity reminds you of the two of you in your kitchen, some nights ago.

Your mouth dries at the memory.

“Just—” Robby starts. Licks his lips; your eyes inexplicably drawn to the movement. His thumb strokes against the bone of your shoulder. Even though it’s over the layers of your clothes, you’re certain you feel it scorching against your skin. “Ask if you need help, okay? A second opinion, diagnoses, extra pair of hands, more eyes. Anything. Please.”

You blink, nodding. “Yeah. Yes, sir.”

His fingers flex against your shoulder, before he lets go. “See you out there. Thank you for the food.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’ll… see you.” You’re not sure if you exit the break room before or after the end of that sentence. Fuck, you’re so awkward.

Lockers—your belongings stashed away, stethoscope around your neck. Then into the ED, where Robby is now conferring with Abbot.

You hear your name called.

Then Javadi is propelling towards you. “Hi!”

“Hi—oof.” You manage to catch her before she bowls you over. You rub her back. “It’s good to see you, Dr Javadi.”

“I’m so glad you’re back.”

“It’s good to be back.”

Dr Santos and Dr Whitaker get in at the same time. When they see you, they head towards you. They hover—close, but not going in for a hug. “Thank fuck you’re back,” Santos says, her arms crossed over her chest.

“That bad?” you ask.

“Yes,” Javadi agonises, where she’s still attached to your side.

“It’s only been ten days,” you say.

“Ten days too long,” Whitaker says.

“They didn’t get an acting senior resident in,” Santos says, pitching her voice lower. Eyes skate towards Robby and Abbot.

“Dr Ellis pulled a few doubles. Same with Dr Yeo.”

“Good thing you like Dr Ellis,” you note, grinning as you fix your gaze on Santos.

Santos rolls her eyes as Whitaker chuckles into his fist. “She’s a good doctor.” Santos elbows her roommate.

“She is.”

“I’m missing something, here,” Javadi mutters, low enough that only you can hear.

You rub her back again.

“No love for the old gal, huh?” Dana’s voice from somewhere to the side.

“Dana! Come join the hug,” you say.

Dana squeezes into your other side.

“Is Dr Collins in today?” you ask.

“Yeah. You’re still at least 20 minutes early. She’ll probably be another five.”

Santos and Whitaker take that as their cue to head towards the lockers.

You’ve give yourself time to settle in.

Robby hears you first, before he sees you.

“What?” You blink, a furrow between your brows as you mingle with Dr Santos at the desk near south.

Robby has the belated thought of wanting to smooth it away, thumb against the grooves on your skin.

“Dude, your heart fucking stopped,” Santos explains. “It was so weird seeing you like that—”

Robby interrupts both of you, calling both your names. “If you have time to chat, you have time to check on your patients.” He looks at Santos—an easier target to face.

Santos salutes him, making herself scarce. She knows the disapproving dismissal when she hears it.

You, on the other hand, feel like you’re reeling. You were dead. Sure, you knew you had been injured. You knew you lost consciousness. But they never mentioned anything about losing your pulse. Robby never mentioned anything about it.

Your gaze gravitates towards him, to find that he’s already looking at you. “Robby, I—”

“Don’t,” he says. Pleads, really. “I can’t have this conversation.” As much as he is expounds upon fated timing on the mortal coil when he reassures his students that they’ve done all they can after losing a patient, he can’t broach this with you.

With God given hands, he would have pillaged the afterlife to bring you back.

And he did.

And for some reason, he doesn’t want you to know.

Your lips part like you want to say something, disagree, maybe. Demand your right to know what happened to you.

“Please,” he whispers.

Your mouth shuts, teeth sinking into the plush of your lower lip. Face creasing. “Okay.” With a nod, you make your rounds down to the rooms in south.

In the down time after a few more traumas, you head back up to the nurses’ station in north, using their computers to look at your chart. Robby is less likely to hang out up here—more inclined to busy himself in near central.

“You sure you want to do that?” Kim’s voice. Her hand over yours, stopping you from moving the mouse any further.

“Kim,” you sigh. You tilt your head, turning to her instead of the computer monitor in front of you.

There’s a frown on her face. “What are you trying to find out? You survived. That’s all you need to know.”

“I died.”

“Yeah. And it sucked. For everyone. Like—really, really sucked.”

You turn away, staring at the keyboard instead. Kim’s hand is still over yours. “I don’t—I just wanted to know.” And you’re not even sure why.

“Talk to Dr Robby,” Kim suggests.

You snort. “I’ve tried. He shut me down.”

“Because it sucked for him too.”

You dip your head into a nod. If Kim isn’t willing to let you take a peek into your file of what happened that day, you’re sure the other nurses have already been tasked to keep an eye on you. “Sure,” you agree, even though you have no intention of talking to Robby about this, specifically. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want to, and you don’t want to push him into it.

Kim pats your back, taking your hand to lead you away from the desk. “Back out there, Doctor.”

In another attempt, you find Dr Collins by the central desk. She’s typing notes on the computer.

You inch over.

“Yes, Doctor?” Collins asks, when you’re close enough to her. She’s been watching you not so surreptitiously try to vie for her attention.

“You were there,” you say. Not quite posed as a question. “When I… when I got hurt.”

Her face softens, less guarded. Eyes flicker down to the side of your neck, where you know she observes the raised scarring. It’s been a point of focus—subjected to unspoken looks by other staff, questioned by patients that think there’s a cool story involved. “Yeah, I was,” Collins says, despite the non-query.

“I died. Right?”

Collins draws in a breath. “I shouldn’t really—”

“Because of Robby?”

Lips press into a line. She sighs, a slow nod in response.

“Tell me. Please. Kim wouldn’t let me check my file. And Robby’s probably scared all the other students from telling me.” You know Collins would be exempt from that. “I want to know.” You don’t quite know why. Some kind of morbid curiosity, a sick fascination with the knowledge that you escaped death. Maybe something deeper, needing the secure knowledge of your survival.

“You were gone three minutes,” she says, eventually. “Robby did compressions.”

You swallow.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A quick response.

“Does it hurt?” She gestures her chin towards your neck.

Your fingers are running over the healing scar. You didn’t even notice; your hand drops. “No. No, nothing hurts. I’m okay. Alive.”

Collins looks sceptical, but doesn’t probe any further. “You know,” she starts, “you’ve got the whole hospital to talk to if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” you say. Earnest.

By the end of the work day, Robby finds you before he leaves. You know he has a tendency to disappear after a shift. You don’t quite know where he runs off to, and you haven’t yet explored the hospital of all of its hiding spaces.

“Can we talk?” Robby asks, leaning against the locker next to yours as you shove your things into your bag. His own backpack is already strung across his back.

“Depends. What about?” You click the locker shut, making your way to the break room.

He falls in place next to you, matching your strides. “You wanted to talk. Before. About… when you were—hurt.” His words are almost gritted out, like it pains him to acknowledge what happened to you.

You take the empty containers from the fridge, leaving behind the larger tupperware of fried rice. Surprisingly, day shift hadn’t finished it. “You didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to force you.”

“Kim told me you tried to look at your file.”

You close the fridge door, harder than necessary. You let out a sigh. “And?” You’re already suspecting that Collins told him as well.

“And Collins told me you talked to her, too.”

Great. It’s not a fair judgement to make, but you feel a little miffed at her loyalty to Robby. It makes sense—you’ve only known these people for a little over six months now. They’ve been working with each other for years without you.

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Robby asks. His arms are crossed, peering down at you. Scrutinising.

“I… I don’t know.” You suck in a breath, casting your gaze elsewhere. “Would you believe me if I said I want to know how much time he took from me?”

Robby’s attention still remains on you, despite the fact that you refuse to look at him. “Is that the truth?”

You shrug, shouldering your other bag. “Maybe.”

The door opens—Mateo comes in, failing to fight a yawn. “Oh—hey.”

Robby waves, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey,” you say. “There’s still food in the fridge if you still want some.”

“If I want some? Of course I do.” Considerably more energetic, he heads for the fridge.

You and Robby step away from it, heading for the door.

“You’re literally an angel,” Mateo says.

“Please make sure it gets finished,” you add.

“That would be my absolute pleasure.”

You grin, calling out a farewell before you exit the break room. Again, Robby follows as you make the parade of goodbyes with your coworkers. It’s silent between you two as you head to the underground staff parking lot.

“I moved because of him,” you finally say. You’re idling at your car, next to the driver’s door, car keys in hand. It chirps as you unlock it. You hadn’t realise he’s been walking you to your car.

“You said,” Robby says, voice low. There’s that pinched look on his face again.

“I uprooted my whole life—left everything I knew. Everyone. Because I was… scared,” you admit. “And I don’t know—maybe knowing that he took three more minutes of my life means nothing—”

“17 seconds,” Robby interrupts.

“What?”

“It was three minutes and 17 seconds,” Robby says.

You swallow past a viscous thing in your throat. “You counted,” you realise. Down to the last second.

Robby gives an exhausted twitch of his lips. “Of course I did.” He would have counted to the last millisecond, if he could. Noted it down, internalised those moments.

“Robby,” you breathe.

“I…” He doesn’t know if it’s a conscious decision to move closer, but he does so, fingers pressed against your pulse point. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you,” he murmurs.

You wonder if he knows the racing of your carotid is because of him. “I’m still here.” Your voice comes out equally soft.

“Yeah.” Stepping further into your space, fingers shifting. Palm splayed against your cheek, thumb brushing against warmed skin.

You let out a shuddering breath, leaning into his hand.

His eyes flicker between yours, gaze diving down to your lips.

Oh, you want him to kiss you. So, so badly.

Impossibly close.

You hear the click of the car door opening behind you.

Lips brush against your forehead before Robby steps back. “Get home safe,” he says, quiet.

You look at him, more than an arms length away. You can’t help feel the disappointment clog your throat. You’re sure it reflects on your countenance—you’ve never been much for poker faces. Instead, you nod, lips pursing. “Yes, sir.” You get into your car.

He doesn’t move until you drive away.

You’re about a third into your fourth shift back when Gloria arrives in the ED.

At first, everyone assumes she’s there for Robby. Her presence in the ED always means some kind of discussion or review with an attending. Shen talked to her once in his newly established role as an attending, and she now actively avoids him. Robby kind of wants to know what Shen did.

“Dr Robby,” she says, finding her stride beside him.

Robby tries not to sigh too loudly. “What can I do for you, Gloria?” He’s eyeing the rooms, the trauma bays, trying to find someone that needs an extra pair of hands. Anything to get him away from the impending conversation, really.

“I need to borrow one of your doctors.”

Robby frowns. “Who?”

When she says your name, Robby pauses, pivoting to look at her. “What for?”

She stops, raising an eyebrow. “You know I can’t tell you that, Dr Robby.”

Robby sighs, looking up at the board. “Central 14,” he says after seeing your name attached to the patient. He leads the way, where you’re talking to a young child on the bed, her mother sitting to the side.

Robby knocks on the opened door, drawing your attention.

“Dr Robby,” you say. Your expectant gaze wavers when you see the chief medical officer accompanying him. “Gloria.”

“Gloria wants to talk to you,” Robby says.

You feel like a student being called up to the principal’s office, with no knowledge of what you’ve done wrong.

Robby looks just as confused about the request.

“Sure. Let me…” You turn back to your patient. “Lily, I have to go, but I’m going to leave you with Dr Robby, okay?” You stand from the stool, but Lily snags your hand, something fearful crossing her face.

“Don’t…” she whispers, horrified.

“It’s okay,” you promise, voice soft, sinking back into your stool. You smile at her. “Listen, I’ll come back, but I have to go. Dr Robby looks grumpy but I promise, he’s just a soft little teddy bear inside. He’ll take really good care of you, okay?”

Lily looks over your shoulder, no doubt scrutinising him. Her dark brown eyes turn back to you. “You’ll come back?” she asks.

“Yes,” you say.

“Promise?”

You hold out your pinky to her. “Pinky promise.”

She wraps her respective digit around yours. “Okay,” she says, still sullen, but willing to let you go.

You stand from the stool, and Lily’s mother, Mrs Tran, stands with you.

“Thank you,” she says in Vietnamese. She shakes your hand. “Really, thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” you assure, responding in the same language. “It was really nice to meet you, Mrs Tran. Please, take a seat.” You usher her back into her chair.

At the door, you press the chart into Robby’s hands. “Lily Tran, six years old. Came in for severe abdomen pain.” You go through your differential diagnoses. Then you nod towards her mother. “And Huong Tran, Lily’s mom. I’ve been calling her Mrs Tran. She can understand you more than she can speak. Slow down, use less complex words.”

“Got it. Thank you, Doctor.” There’s something soft in his eyes as he regards you.

You feel yourself falter at it. The whole—whatever it is—has been confusing. Moments where you’re close, moments where you think he might finally make the first move, and yet. Nothing. Professional camaraderie maintained at work, whilst he gets close and personal in between. Walking you to your car; brief moments in the break room when you stock up the fridge, ensuring no one else is in there.

You walk with Gloria. “Am I in the doghouse?” you ask.

“No. You haven’t done anything wrong.” She leads you to the elevator. Presses the button that takes you up to admin and records, where her office resides.

You see Princess eyeing you as she passes by. You make a face at her. Send help.

Princess’ look says, You’re on your own.

The door slides closed.

You feel blank, weighed down by nothing and everything all at once. Staring at Gloria from where you’re perched on the opposite side of her desk. The office chair creaks as you shift.

“We’re doing what we can to increase the security team around here. More staff. More roaming,” Gloria says.

“But you can’t do anything about him.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t. We’ve looked at our avenues while you were away. Your best option is pressing charges against him. Under Pennsylvanian law, it’s a felony to assault a healthcare worker. We’d be with you, every step of the way.”

It’s a step, you know. Reports, court, lawyers—a long process. And then what? The maximum he’d get is 10 years, or a fine, depending on how his lawyer argued the case. Based on how shit transpired in LA, there’s no evidence to prove this was targeted. Texts, notes, phone calls—none of it meant anything to the police when there was no way of proving his identity behind it all.

This would be tried as a random attack.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally say.

Gloria slides over a card. “This is our legal’s team contact information. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you.”

You pocket it without looking. “Thank you, Gloria.”

“I wish there was more we could do,” she adds, apologetic.

You smile, wry. “We both know men like him don’t face legal consequences. Not really.”

Something aged and pained settles in Gloria’s eyes. She’s seen it all—vulnerable people slipping through the cracks while men like Matthew remain untouched by a system that protects their own. “I’m sorry,” she offers.

You haven’t interacted with her much outside of the hiring process, and you’ve heard everyone bemoan her presence in the ED. An easy target to aim ill will towards. But right now, seeing her commiserate with you, you think she seems just as human as you. Worn down, tired of a society that protects only those that look like them. Everyone else cast aside. You and her, regardless of your contribution or hierarchy.

“It’s not… it’s not on you, Gloria.” You know it’s the truth, even though you both wish more could be done. The hospital could ban Matthew Williams from accessing their other services and flag his name, but if he came through the doors of the PTMC as an emergency patient, everyone would have no choice but to attend to him. The most they could do is ensure you and him never crossed paths while he was present.

“Let me know what else we can do for you. Whatever your choice is.”

“Even if…” You pause. “I left?” It’s not something you’re heavily considering, but you know it’s a choice. A backup plan. Running, again. Another state. Another country. Across the sea.

“Even then,” Gloria promises. “Recommendation letters, references—you name it. You have our support.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s head back down.”

Robby notices that you’re gone for almost the whole hour.

He finds Princess and Perlah by the desk near the elevator that you had taken up with Gloria. “You heard anything?”

Princess looks up at Robby, sharing a look with Perlah. “Nothing yet,” she says.

“Probably talking about important stuff,” Perlah adds.

And that’s concerning to him. He’s worried, yes, but he also needs you back on the floor. They didn’t expect to suddenly be down a senior resident in the middle of their shift.

He doesn’t know when you come down with the elevator, but you and Gloria round the corner. You head to the bathroom. Gloria hovers by the door.

Perlah narrows her eyes, studying.

Princess nudges Robby towards Gloria, intentions clear. “Go,” she hisses.

“What’s going on?” Robby asks as he shuffles forward.

“Just give it a minute,” Gloria says.

“I can’t have you going around upsetting my doctors, Gloria.”

“I am not—” Gloria pauses to take in a breath. Like she’s centreing herself. “I cannot tell you anything.” But if you want to tell Robby yourself, then that’s your prerogative, she ends up relaying.

You come out of the bathroom, a little surprised to see Robby outside as well.

He frowns. “Are you—”

“Robby!” Dana calls, across the north nurse station. “Two traumas incoming!” She’s got a phone in hand.

“Alright! Get set up! Let’s go, people.” The ED comes alive. He looks back at you, still with that furrow between his brows.

“Put me in, coach,” you say. There’s no way in Hell you’re sitting this one out.

Robby hesitates. Then, “Trauma 2. Take Dr Santos with you.”

“Yes, sir.” You take a second to meet Gloria’s questioning gaze, nodding. Then you’re off, snagging Santos from central.

You’re okay. You’re going to press charges against Matthew Williams. Even if it takes a year from now, you’re going to push.

“You know,” you say, grabbing your containers from the fridge. Every end of shift, a routine. You taking your tupperware home, Robby accompanying you to the walk to your car. “Gloria told me you volunteered to walk with me.”

What you don’t say, is that you felt stupid after she told you. The pieces clicked into place. Robby wasn’t walking with you every night because he realised his feelings after almost losing you, or whatever dumb fantasy you were entertaining. It was because this was a safety plan that the hospital enacted after realising you had an active stalker.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say. “She said they’re upping the security guards. They can walk me.”

Robby shoots you a look, like he’s offended by the mere suggestion. “I can walk you.”

“That’s not your job.”

“It’s not,” Robby agrees. “But I want to.”

And—seriously. What the Hell are you meant to say to that? “Oh. Yeah, sure.” The conversation ends awkwardly, and again, you make your rounds to say goodbye to everyone before taking the elevator down to the parking garage. Sub-basement level—swipe card access only.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Robby starts, “but you can talk to me. About anything.”

You nod. “I’m… pressing charges,” you say, once you reach your car. “Against Matthew Williams.” You might need Robby on the stand, you realise. A doctor’s opinion on what happened during the attack. On the severity of the injury that was inflicted onto you.

“Yeah?” Robby keeps his face impassive. “That’s good, right?”

“It’s—” you chuckle, humourless. “It’s for violence against an on-duty healthcare worker.”

Almost imperceptible, a frown on his face. Corners of his lips tugging down. “And nothing else?”

“Nothing else,” you confirm. “Nothing else will stick in court. Not against men like him.”

“What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t act like that. You’re a smart man, Dr Robby.”

Robby relents. Quiet settles. Outside the parking garage, cars beep and roar among traffic. “What now?”

“It takes however long it takes,” you say. “Months. A year. Maybe longer. They might bury it. They might not. I—I don’t know.”

Disillusionment at its finest. He wishes he could provide more hope in his wizened years. But no. “I’m sorry,” he says instead.

You shake your head, a tired movement. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“Let me know if there is?” Robby asks, and it sounds like you’d be doing him a favour instead of the other way around.

“Okay,” you say. It’s not sure thing, though. Even you don’t know what you need to commence the case.

“Thank you,” he says. His hands shoved into his pockets, standing aside.

You’re left staring at each other for the still moments that pass between. You feel embolden, maybe. You’re not sure what possesses you to take the two steps to get into his space.

You hear him inhale sharply.

You rise up, lips against his cheek. His beard scrapes against your skin. “Good night, Robby.” Back down, taking a step back.

“Uh,” he says, aptly. “Good—good night.”

You get into your car. Holy shit. You did that. You kissed him on the cheek. It’s a juvenile thing to be freaking out over, but you are.

He watches you get into the car, watches you wave through the window and drive off before his brain even rewires.

Weeks pass. You meet up with the PTMC’s team of lawyers and settle on a hearing in the meantime.

“Mr Williams made a generous donation to the PTMC last night,” Gloria says.

A few times a week, before the start of your shift, you’re up in her office with the lawyers assigned to your case. Annalise Keating and Wes Gibbins of K & G Law Firm—an adoptive mother-son duo that you have a feeling owe Gloria a few favours.

You think the proverb about the fury of a scorned woman describes Annalise. She’s extremely competent, and Annalise is as tenacious as Wes is empathetic. As long as you tell them everything they need to know, they can protect you, she had said. Of course, you folded, telling her about your experience with Matthew Williams.

“He’s trying to bury this,” you realise.

“We’re not saying that,” Annalise is quick to correct.

“Officially,” Wes adds. “But unofficially…”

Your lips purse. Even if they won’t verbally admit it, you know you’re right.

“Based on records we have access to, he’s also made several donations to LA General,” Annalise continues.

“How long ago?” you ask.

Wes rifles through a document folder. “They stopped six months ago. But he had regular payments spanning June to September this year.”

You feel your heart stutter. “That’s how long he was…” Texting and calling your phone with private numbers. Leaving unmarked notes at the hospital. Escalating to letters dropped off in your mailbox. Not to mention your parents—you ran as soon as your mother had called, asking about a strange man that showed up to their front door, asking about you.

Four years into your emergency residency, and it felt like the stars aligned when the PTMC were willing to take you in after losing their R4.

Four years worth of connections you made in the hospital, gone; your whole life upturned. You sold your car, trekked to Pittsburgh on your savings and spare cash your dad stashed into your suitcase after he accepted he couldn’t change your mind. When your mother concluded that the police really weren’t going to do anything to protect you.

You’re too scared to even text your parents, despite changing your number. The constant what if ringing in your mind. What if he somehow knew how to track their phones? What if he was still tracking them?

But he’s in Pittsburgh now. With you. Even though the thought terrifies you, you’re comforted by the fact that he isn’t in the same city as your parents anymore.

“We’ll do what we can,” Annalise says, as they shuffle their papers, getting ready to leave. Whatever favour they owe Gloria must be mountainous, since they get here earlier than your 7 AM start.

“Thank you,” you tell them, following them both. It’s nearing the start of your shift. “Really. I know you’re doing a lot for me. This isn’t an easy case.”

“There are no easy cases,” Wes remarks, grinning at you. The elevator dings. You all enter.

“That’s the fun of it.” Annalise adds. Her smile turns kind when she faces you. “You’re a tough one, Doctor. You’ll get through this too.”

You wish you could believe her words. You smile in response, anyway. “I appreciate it,” you say.

No one bats an eye when you walk out with them. Gloria had made her rounds on their first appearance, letting everyone know exactly who they were, and if any staff saw them wandering the hospital floors, they should be redirected to her office, no appointments necessary.

This is what Robby tries to keep in mind when he sees you. Annalise walks ahead towards the ambulance entrance, Wes lingers where you are, halfway between central desks and the doors that lead outside.

“Maybe when this is all over, we can get a drink,” Wes says.

Robby looks up from the computer he’s standing in front of.

You blink. Oh. Wes is cute, you have to admit. But you never considered him as anything other than your lawyer. “Isn’t this case supposed to take a while?”

“Lucky me, then,” he say, the corners to his lips tilted upwards. “Either way, I get to see you.”

You can’t help the responding grin that stretches across your face. He’s got a boyish charm to him. And sue you—you haven’t felt this kind of attention in a while. Open. Someone that’s directly asking you out. Not trying to woo you in the darkness, and treat you like a coworker in front of everyone else. “You’re still my lawyer,” you remind.

“My mom is your lawyer. Officially.”

“Pretty sure the G in K & G is for you, Counsellor.”

He smirks. Leans in close, lips next to your ear. “Maybe it has something to do with that old guy that’s staring at me like he wants to bury me six feet under?”

Do not look. Do not even entertain turning around to see if he means Robby. You’re pretty sure it is. “Um,” you say, head ducking a little, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Maybe. Sorry. It’s—complicated.”

Wes shrugs, easy. “Well, if you ever get sick of complicated, you do have my number.” He steps back, winking. “See you, Doctor.” Then he walks away.

You watch him leave. Shit.

Out of nowhere, Perlah sidles up to you. “So,” she says.

“Do not,” you say. You make the mistake of looking at her face—she looks exactly like a cat that has the cream. Like you’ve made her entire day.

“I’m not saying anything.” Perlah has her hands up. “But that smile on your face is definitely telling me something.”

“Nope. Goodbye, Perlah.” A quick turn of your heels, fleeing to the break room. From the corner of your eye, you definitely spy Robby at central. He had to have been listening. If Perlah knew what was going on, Robby would have too.

You don’t think you can survive his crabby mood on top of everything you’re dealing with.

The end of your shift, like routine, brings Robby walking alongside you. Lingering outside your car.

Robby reaches out like he’s going to cup your face again. Like so many instances before, of soft moments between you, stolen when no one else can bear witness to it. Days of this, weeks of this. Quiet and unknown.

You move away before he can make contact.

His lips thin out, fingers twitching.

“What is this?” you ask, soft and unsure and—tired, you think. Tired of the confusion. You’re running yourself ragged between work and meeting up with Annalise and Wes. Not sleeping well, forgoing attempts at sleep by pretending that you can live vicariously through the food you’re making to feed everyone else in the ED.

Convinced something has to give, floating in limbo. A forever lurch in your stomach in the downward trajectory of the rollercoaster. People treating you like you’re not able to take care of yourself—not able to walk to your Goddamn car on your own. You don’t want more uncertainty piled on. You’re exhausted. You feel it heavy within the hollow matrix of your bones. Weighted.

And this time, you’re the one that’s reached the tipping point.

“We don’t have to do this—” Robby starts.

“What is this, Robby? There is no this. What are we even doing here? What are you hoping for?”

He furrows his brows, like this is inconveniencing him. “I’m not trying to push anything—”

“Then figure it out!” Your raised voice echoes in the parking lot. You take a steadying breath. You’re usually not prone to outbursts; confrontation makes you cry—you tend to avoid authority figures. Somehow, Robby is incredibly adept at bringing it out in you.

You rub at your eyes, stemming the tears. “I’m tired, Robby. I’m not sleeping; I’ve got shit to deal with. I got asked out by someone that made it clear that he actually liked me, but somehow, I’m hung up on you, and I can’t even tell if you want—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

His lips are on yours.

Robby.

In your space, pressing you against the side of your car.

Finally. Fucking finally.

His weight and warmth enveloping you. One hand on your waist, the other slotted to the side of your face, like it belongs there. Like it always belonged there, and you were only denying him his right.

The rough scrape of his beard, his teeth tugging your bottom lip.

Your breath hitches.

He shifts his leg between yours.

You sigh out a moan, thighs bracketing his knee.

“I,” Robby says, and his voice is hoarse. “Want. You.” Kissing, stealing your air. He had envisioned waiting for the right moment, whenever that was. Some kind of softness in your shared first kiss. Asking you out first, maybe.

Instead, you have a way of pushing his buttons, nudging him to the edge of his patience. Even now. Even here, like this. He really shouldn’t have expected anything less from you. Reminding him that that punk lawyer of yours asked you out? Yeah, of course he’s seething.

“Robby,” you utter out.

His hand drifting under your shirt. Across the skin of your belly. Hand roughened and warm. “You drive me insane, you know that?” Fingers dipping under the elastic waist.

You gasp, hand wrapping around the wrist of his straying attention. “Robby,” you say. Chasing air. Breathing heavily.

“What?” And by the darkening of his eyes, you have a feeling that he would have no qualms about having you right here and now, up against your car. In an echoing parking lot that any staff member could enter. Anyone could come in and out for shift change.

Lips attached to your neck, tongue wet and heated against your skin.

“Not here,” you pant. “Not—fuck, mmm, Robby—take me home.”

“Mine or yours?”

“Fuck. I don’t—I don’t care.”

He laughs, soft and proud of himself for reducing you, usually so smart and capable, into a mess that stutters through your thoughts. “Mine, then.”

You can’t get into your car fast enough.

You end up in his bed. Legs apart, his face buried between your thighs. “Robby,” you moan, fingers curling into his hair.

He groans, a noise that vibrates through you. Tone low and deliciously spent. Even though he’s the one enacting pleasure on you, he’s the one that feels on the edge.

“Fuck.”

His tongue doesn’t stop, alternating between rings around your clit, up and down, side to side. And his fingers, bigger and longer than yours, buried inside. Digits angled, massaging against that spot inside you that makes you see stars.

“You’re going to make me come—” Thighs squeezing, grinding up into his face. The sudden release of that feeling in your stomach that he’s been making you chase for the past 20 or so minutes. Moaning aloud, nothing bashful in the sounds you emit. You’ve seen his house—gated. Standing alone. You could be as loud as you wanted and his neighbours would be none the wiser.

“God, Robby, fuck, fuck fuck, you’re—” Bitten off moans.

He’s still going. Fingers sliding out. Mouth lapping at your entrance, tongue pushing into the sticky mess. Tasting you. He groans aloud. His thumb nestles against your clit, rubbing circles.

He’s going to kill you.

“Robby,” you huff. Bending your leg, foot against his shoulder. Pushing. “Robby, get up here and—mm, fuck—fuck me.”

Robby relents. Getting up from the bed, taking off his shirt. Cock straining under fabric. “Who knew the Pitt’s sweetheart had such a dirty mouth?” By the smug lilt to his question, you have a feeling he knew. Hoped, at least.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at the nickname. You’ve definitely heard it floated around, and yes, you’re very aware that it arose from you bringing food in for everyone. But what else were you meant to do when all everyone cared about was comparing you to their precious Dr Langdon?

You crawl towards where Robby’s kneeling on the bed. Help him with his pants. You look up at him, pushing your tongue to the inside of your cheek. “You want to see what else I can do with it?”

Robby’s hand bunching in your hair, groaning. “Fuck, you drive me insane.” Tugging you up to kiss you again. Nudges you back onto the bed, his body laid atop yours. “As much as I would like to, not tonight.”

“Not going to last, old man?” you ask.

He laughs, something rough in his throat. “Definitely not.” Lips grazing, soft and almost reverent against the line at your throat, above your carotid. Gentle kisses against the scar on your neck.

You gasp, fingers digging into his hair. Flexing.

He hovers. “That okay?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “Definitely.”

Kisses it again, once. Twice. Then detaches himself from you, reaching for the bedside drawers where he keeps his condoms. Rolls it on, returning himself to you. With one hand, he guides himself to your entrance. Rubs the tip of him against you.

“Robby,” you say. Voice bordering on a whine. Becoming desperate for it—for him.

“Yeah, I know.” He sounds so fucking smug. Pushes the fat head of his cock into you. His other palm flat next to your head, against the bed, leaning above you.

Your breath stutters. “Oh, God.” You grip his forearm, something keening in your throat. “Oh my God, Robby.” He’s fucking big. You feel him stretching your entrance.

“You’re—fucking Hell, you’re so tight.” He moves the arm you don’t have in a death grip, thumb circling your clit. “Relax, honey. I got you.”

Your hips buck up, taking another half inch of him inside you. You’re both moaning around it.

“Fuck me,” he breathes. He pulls back a centimetre, then pushes himself in, slowly. Torturously.

You’re groaning. “Robby,” you huff. “Fuck, you’re—you’re too—”

“You can take it,” he hushes, confident. Lands a kiss to the side of your neck, under the scar. Rolls his hips in again, then out.

“It’s been a while,” you confess, feeling your face flood with heat. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but you certainly hadn’t been too keen on trying your hand with dating since those messages started appearing on your phone. When you got to Pittsburgh, you did nothing but work.

Lips finding yours. Reassuring. His thumb still pressed to your clit. Unhurried, despite the desire that permeates, that heaves his chest with short bursts of air. “Been so long you forgot how to take good dick, huh?” he asks. Fucks his cock in further.

You moan—at his words, at the feeling of him stretching you out. “Robby.”

“You’ll learn. One of my best fucking residents for a reason.”

Fuck.

Robby grunts, his hips jerking forward on its own accord. You cry out; he stills, huffing. “Fuck, you liked that one, didn’t you?” Panting. Lips on yours again.

You feel like you’re going to combust, fire pooling under your skin. Exposed for Robby to see, to know everything about you like this.

“Need you,” you say in between kisses.

“I know,” he says. Slow thrusts, and then—finally. Cock fully sheathed inside. He groans lowly.

Squeezing his arm, hand on his chest. “Wait—just, hah, wait. Wait—mmh.”

He tries to pull out, but you’re grabbing hold of his waist.

“Wait. Stay,” you murmur. “Just give me a second.”

Robby lets out a ragged breath, forehead against your chest. The hand previously on your clit trails to the side of your thigh, rubbing up and down the length of your flesh. Patient. Waiting, just as you asked.

Your walls fluttering around him, accommodating the feeling of him inside you. “Jesus Christ, you’re big, Robby. I can feel you.”

He grips your thigh, nails indented into skin. “You gotta stop talking like that if you want me to wait.”

“But you are—”

Silencing you by claiming your lips. Pushing his tongue into your mouth. Exchanging air and spit. Robby trembles with the effort it takes to not fuck into you like this. Underneath him, sounding so pretty while you struggle with the size of him.

You grind your hips up into him, stuttering through a breath.

Robby makes an audible sound, half groan, half growl. “Jesus.” Control dwindling by the second.

“Okay okay, move, Robby, fuck me.”

You barely finish the sentence before he’s thrusting into your tight heat. One of your legs hooked around his back. It’s sloppy, not at all graceful or coordinated. His thumb circling your clit again. Your walls convulsing around him.

“Wanna feel,” he huffs, “how tight you get when you come around me.”

And that rising wave in your stomach again. Crashing tides, falling, lapping. “Coming, coming coming.” Breathy and drawn out. Robby keeps fucking into you until he grunts, low and strung out. You feel his dick twitch inside you, and then he groans something fierce, falling over the edge of his own release.

Bowed over you, forehead against your collarbone. “Fuck,” he murmurs.

“Robby.”

“Mhm?”

“Kiss me. Please—”

His lips are on yours again. Head lifted, pressing into you. Your hand against his cheek, fingers rubbing against his beard. “Stay,” he whispers, when you part for air. “Please.”

So you do.

The next morning, you’re up earlier than your usual time.

“You don’t want to head in together?” Robby asks, voice rough with sleep.

“I have food in my fridge for everyone,” you say. You’re putting your scrubs on, from where they’ve been discarded haphazardly around the room last night. You’ll need to shower as well.

Robby chuckles, sitting up to watch you drift around his space. “Always taking care of everyone.”

“Someone’s got to.” You draw closer to the bed, intending on giving him a parting kiss.

He pulls you on top of him, into his lap. Fingers pushing inside your still wet warmth. Thumb against your clit. And makes you come again. Shaking apart on top of him, grinding into his hand.

“There we go,” Robby murmurs into your ear. Fingers still pumping in and out of you. “Told you you’d learn how to take it. Gotta teach you how to be used like this.”

You’re shuddering, gasping, your hips rolling down. “Robby,” you moan.

“My best fucking resident.” Robby mouths a line down your neck, focusing on the scar again. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Side of your head pressed to a broad shoulder. Catching your breath.

“You should head out,” he says, after you’ve ridden through the aftershocks. “Don’t want to be late.”

“Fuck you,” you wheeze out, barely coherent enough to gather your thoughts.

“Tomorrow.” You don’t even have to see his face to see that smug grin across his lips.

You snort. Grab his wrist to stop the movement of his fingers, lifting yourself off of him. Kiss him again. “See you in there.”

You don’t do anything that strays from your usual routine—you come in at a different time than Robby, after ensuring you showered and brought along food. Disperse among the night shift to hand them their goods.

And yet. Abbot narrows his eyes at Robby during handoffs. Looks at where you’re talking to Shen and Ellis at central. Then back to Robby. “Good for you, brother.”

“What?” Robby asks, blinking guilelessly.

Abbot just snorts, shaking his head. Continues with the handoff. If Robby won’t say anything, he won’t either.

The rest of the PTMC clock it within two days.

On the third day, during shift change, Ellis takes your elbow as soon as your arrive and drags you into the break room.

“Dr Ellis,” you say, surprised. You use the abrupt opportunity to place your containers of food in the fridge.

“You know I like you, right?” she asks, phrased as a question, but not.

“We’re friends,” you hedge. Outside of the food that you leave for her, you like to think that you’re actually friends. Have finally built a rapport outside of coworkers and co-residents.

“Exactly,” she says. “So, as your friend, I want to say this as a means of looking out for you.”

You frown. “Say what?”

“Dr Robby,” she says. Eyes moving between yours to ensure she has your attention. It feels like something she’s picked up from Abbot. “How much do you—?”

The door opens.

“There you are,” Shen says. He’s boba-less—Ellis had grabbed you before you could give him the drink.

“Get in. Close the door,” Ellis hisses.

“Oh, is it intervention time?” He does as asked, door shutting. He pulls out one of the chairs around the table.

“What intervention?” you ask.

“Dr Robby,” Shen says, somehow wisely and cryptically at the same time.

You’re so sure you look bewildered. Clasping your hands together, looking between them. “One of you guys need to start making sense. Right now, please.” You settle on Ellis, usually the rational, logical one to Shen’s antics.

She sighs. “We,” she says, giving Shen a pointed look, “just want you to be careful with him.”

You blink, mouth falling open. Turn to look at Shen. Then back towards Ellis. “Are you giving me the shovel talk right now?”

“No!” Ellis says. “Fuck, no. Look, he’s just… got a bit of a reputation. And we want you to be careful.”

Your mouth closes, lips pressed into a line. Trying not to laugh.

“What’s with that face?” Shen asks.

“You know,” you start, trying so so hard not to laugh in their faces. You don’t want to besmirch their good intentions, and whatnot. They’re so sweet. “Dana had this talk with me after my first three weeks here.”

“Oh, thank God,” Ellis breathes out, relieved. The burden lifted from her shoulders. This is not a talk she wants to be having about her colleagues.

“Thank fuck for Dana,” Shen says.

You end up laughing, shaking your head. “Aww, I knew you guys liked me.”

“I just want my boba.” Shen stands from the chair. His low effort intervention deed now done.

You take it from your tote bag, tossing it at him. He catches it before it hits him in the head. Then you pull them both into a hug. “I’m never letting you guys live this down.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Ellis huffs. Her arm wrapped around you.

“Fuck off,” Shen says, but he accepts the hug.

You don’t bother trying to hide the grin that overtakes your face. Planting grandma-level of obnoxious kisses on their cheeks, despite their half-hearted complaints.

The door opens.

Robby pokes his head in to call out, “We’re doing rounds,” then stops. Taking in the scene with a questioning raised brow. “Everything okay?”

“Yep,” Shen is quick to answer.

“Totally.” Ellis, a beat later. Not suspiciously at all.

You cackle as you leave the break room. Robby shoots you a bemused look. You shake your head, grinning. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later ends up being at your apartment, where he insists on doing your dishes after the low effort dinner of leftovers.

“Are we casual?” you ask.

Robby looks over his shoulder from the sink. “No?”

“Wow. Are you asking or telling me?”

“I don’t know why you’re asking me.”

“I don’t do casual,” you say. It’s something you’ve learned about yourself, when you were in your college years, attempting casual hookups for the first time. You always got woefully attached, no matter how hard you tried to distance yourself. Your ego always telling you you were the exception, not the rule. “I realised I never really… clarified before—you know.”

“We’re not.” Clean dishes on the rack, drying his hands with the designated hand towel hanging on the cupboard below the sink. Robby folds his arms, leaning against the sink, hands cupping his elbows. “Where is this coming from?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile at the memory of Ellis and Shen from the morning. Idiots, you think, fond.

Head tilted, eyes narrowed, corners of his lips twitching. “This have anything to do with what happened in the break room?” Amusedly curious, not accusing.

You laugh out loud. “No,” you lie, poorly.

“Uh huh.” Stepping towards you, standing right in front of you. Looking down while you look up. His hand against your jaw. “Are my doctors feeding you bad intel about mean, old Dr Robby?”

You grin, kissing his palm. “Well. Depends what you consider bad.”

Robby snorts. “Yeah. I’m sure there’s a bunch of rumours and bets floating around.”

“They’ve been floating around for a while, Robby.”

He frowns. “Really?”

“Dana wouldn’t have talked to me about your seven weeks thing, otherwise.”

Robby blinks. “She—what?”

You’re not sure what prompted her to, but three weeks after starting at the PTMC, she told you to be mindful of Dr Robby. That he was a great doctor, and a good man, but he had a thing with relationships only lasting seven weeks, after Dr Adamson passed away. And you knew about Adamson, heard other nurses talk about him, saw his portrait in the hallway.

“You have a habit of seven weeks,” you relay.

“Is that why you were so weird with me? Before—all of this?” he asks. Tipping your face up, pad of his thumb grazing the scar again. Proof of life. Again and again and again. As long as he needs the reminder.

“No,” you say, but all of a sudden, the room feels too hot. Too thick with something other than the banter. All you can think of is him in front of you, the rough skin as he thumbs the raised line.

“Robby,” you manage.

“Yeah?” Distracted. Eyes roaming around your face, taking in the sight of you south of him while he stands. He can’t really be blamed for his thoughts straying.

“I mean it,” you whisper, clearing your throat. “I can’t do casual with you.”

“We’re not,” he promises, soft. His hand moves to the back of your nape, fingers curling around the width of it. “Come here.” Gentle urge as he tugs you up.

And you go. Willing and soft, pressed against him.

His lips on yours. His kisses feel heavy. “Nothing about how I feel is casual,” he says.

You nod, eyes darting between his. Look at him like you’re begging him—the universe—for it to be true. Creases between your brows.

“You.” Lips to your forehead, on the grooves of furrowed skin. “Drive me insane.”

“They’re going to talk about us.”

“They already are. I don’t care. Even if Gloria made up some bullshit about how we shouldn’t be together—I’d choose you.”

You feel prickling behind your eyes, sweet words you want to believe. “Robby,” you sniffle.

“It’s true,” he murmurs. Delicate, like he wants for nothing else than for you to trust him, to find yourself worthy of this.

“Take me to bed.”

You’re leaving Trauma 1, Javadi on your heels.

“And I thought it was a date,” her voice settles somewhere in the breathless and high range. “I got there and he had all these people there, and I had no idea who any of them were, and I think I freaked out and tried to run away and—”

“Baby girl,” you say, resting your hands on both her shoulders. Wait for her eyes to meet yours. “You gotta stop.”

“Stop?” She blinks, wide-eyed and endearing.

“Everything that you’re telling me right now, is telling me that he’s not interested.”

“But—”

“Girl. Victoria,” you deadpan. “That man wanted someone to come cook while he hosted his friends. And you did that. For two whole hours.”

“Whoa, what’s this?” Santos asks, sidling up to the two of you. She’s leaning against the desk, interest piqued by drama.

“A date,” Javadi manages.

“A failed one,” you add.

“Ugh,” Santos says. “Men.”

“You,” you say, attention back on Javadi, “are not allowed to do any more swiping or meeting up without my say so.”

“Seriously?” Javadi asks.

“Yes, seriously. You just played mommy to some fuck ass who didn’t know how to use his grill. Ask more questions. Get more answers. Don’t be afraid to say no if his idea of a first date is to come over so you can just ‘chill’.”

“But what if I don’t get another date?”

“There will be plenty,” you say.

“Start dating girls,” Santos says.

“Not helpful, Dr Santos,” you add.

“Oh, come on. Wouldn’t it be easier if we only dated women and left the men to fend for themselves?”

“Right. Was it easier for you when you moved in together after a month of dating, and then was left with a two bedroom apartment that you could barely pay the rent for?”

Santos’ mouth drops open. “I’m going to kill him. That’s not his business to spread.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault your roomie loves talking to me,” you say.

“Fuck you. You have a Pitt-wide bet about your current relationship, so the only actual long-term man in your life followed you from LA. The same one you’re pressing charges against because he almost fucking killed you!”

“Whoa!” Javadi exclaims, gobsmacked by the audacity. Her eyes are rounded, darting between the two of you.

You maintain the stunned silence for all of two seconds before you break. “Holy shit,” you wheeze out in between laughter.

“Whatever,” Santos says, turning her attention up to the board.

“Fuck, you really got my ass, huh?” You hold out a fist towards her.

She’s bites her lip, refraining from grinning as she fist bumps you. “Don’t ever come for me again.”

“Yeah, you got it, Dr Santos.”

“I’m still killing Huckleberry,” she says.

“Yep, totally. Have at it. We will not be missing him.” You would, but honourable sacrifices need to be made. You are not crossing Santos again.

“Doctors,” Dana says, slipping into the small huddle you’ve created under the board. By the grin on her face, she’s definitely heard what you guys were discussing.

“Hi, Dana,” you say.

“You guys parked in underground today?”

“Yeah,” you and Santos say.

“I—got a ride,” Javadi says. “My mom,” she adds at the look you shoot her. At least it wasn’t from her shitty date.

Dana peers down her glasses to read the registration scribbled on a sticky note, alongside the manufacturer and colour.

“That’s mine,” you say, frowning.

“Shit,” Dana huffs. “Someone busted your windows in, kiddo.”

“You’re kidding me.”

Dana nods towards Ahmad, who has been following Dana at a distance. “Ahmad was patrolling.”

“Fuck,” you say.

“I’ll come with you,” Ahmad says. He relays something into his radio.

“Thank you,” you tell him. Then, to Santos, “I’ve got a patient in Trauma 1. Get Dr Robby if it gets worse, okay?”

“Got it.”

“Dr Santos.”

“I got it. Get Dr Robby. Don’t do shit on my own.” She salutes you mockingly.

“Thank you,” you call out, following Ahmad down to the sub-basement parking lot.

“Any other cars get smashed up?” you ask as he leads the way.

“No. Yours is closest to the outside, though. Alarm could’ve scared them off. You have anything important in your car?” Ahmad ask.

“Just registration,” you say. Spare shoes, spare clothes. Nothing vitally important, outside of your car registration details.

Glass crunches under your shoes. Your car, just as you left it this morning, sans windows. Broken, shattered pieces scattered on concrete ground.

“Can I take a look?” you ask.

“Depends. If you want to press charges, it’d probably be better to leave it alone.” He gestures towards the roof. “We’ve got cameras. I’m sure police can run it back and see who did this.”

A random burglary in the PTMC staff parking lot registers as unusual to you. It doesn’t click until it’s too late. You’d think after being on edge for so long in LA, after fleeing to Pittsburgh and living in paranoia, you’d be a little faster, a little more conclusive, even if it’s not always correct.

But.

“Wait—” you say, pivoting on your feet to turn to Ahmad.

You hear the unmistakable click of a gun safety being pulled.

“Step away.”

“Get back.” Ahmad’s voice. Tight.

And Matthew Williams, with a gun pointed straight at Ahmad. “Don’t move,” he says, when he sees Ahmad going for the weapon on the side of his belt.

Fuck. The windows were a diversion tactic and you fell for it. It had been so peaceful, even with the meetings with Annalise and Wes. They were so sure, so confident that they’d be able to get something to stick on him.

“Hi, again,” Matthew says, grinning. His gun still aimed at Ahmad, but his attention on you.

You’re frozen, eyes flickering between him and the gun. Unsure where to look. You feel helpless with a weapon brandished in your proximity. You lick your lips, shuddering out a breath. “Matthew,” you say.

“I wanted to see you.”

“I’m right here,” you say. Your neck throbs, you feel sweat seeping through your pores. You remember Javadi calling for security, forcing his hand to act early. You can’t let that happen. Not when Matthew’s finger remains on the trigger. Reactive. “You want to talk, right? With me?”

Matthew’s face flexes, like he hadn’t been expected you to understand him. “Yeah. I do.”

“So let’s talk.”

“Don’t—” Ahmad starts.

“Shut up!” Matthew’s slowly flagging arm, straightened, pointed at Ahmad again.

“No!” Instinctual, reckless steps bringing you closer to them.

The gun aimed at you, now. Matthew’s nostrils flaring. Chest rising and falling faster. He’s getting agitated.

“Listen to me, if you want to talk to me, just put down the gun and we can talk,” you say. Hands up and out. “Please. I promise I’ll listen to you. You just need to put down the gun and let him go.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” Matthew says.

“I’m not,” you say, shaking your head. You can feel your heart thudding away in your chest. The tears that burn your eyes.

You can tell Matthew’s wavering. Your gaze remains resolute on him. You don’t dare look anywhere else. “Please.”

The gun falters. His hand lowering.

You see a blur of the blue security uniform.

Ahmad.

A loud bang.

Echoing in the parking lot.

“Shit.”

“Ahmad!”

You’re on him, hands pressed against his upper right chest. Pressure. Ahmad groans under you. Blood, warm and viscous seeping beneath your palms. Blooming.

“Let me see your back. Ahmad, let me see.”

Ahmad lets out a concerted grunt as he rolls to his side with your guidance.

“No exit wound. Bullet’s still inside. Okay, back down.” And your hands are pressed against the wound again.

“Get off of him,” Matthew says, somewhere behind you. His voice is beginning to sound frantic.

“No.”

Footsteps stepping around. Matthew in front of you, gun pointed at you, now. “Stop that.”

“Come on, Ahmad, I’m going to get us some help.” One hand still on the bullet wound, the other unfastening his radio.

“Stop!”

Ignoring him. Maybe it’s a stupid gamble to take, but you don’t think Matthew would shoot you. Scare you, definitely, just as he is now. But not shoot you. He’d have done so already.

Blood coated fingers slipping against the black surface. You press the button. You know it goes to the small hospital dispatch room and to the radios the other security guards have. True to Gloria’s words, there were more guards in the hospital now.

“Mayday, mayday, hospital staff in distress. Gunman in sub-basement parking level 2, east side.”

“Stop that!”

“Shots fired. Security down. I repeat, Ahmad is down—”

“Stop touching him!” The gun shoved in your face.

You flinch. But you don’t budge. You can’t. If you do, Ahmad dies. He bleeds out. You cannot let that happen.

The radio crackles. “We’re coming to you.”

Radio discarded, both hands on top of Ahmad again. “Just hang in there. We’re getting you help.”

“Get off of him!”

“No!” Face upturned, glaring. Chest heaving. Tears, angry and bright. Tracking from your eyes. “You’ll have to shoot me too,” you say, staring down the barrel of the gun. He won’t do it, you think. As twisted as it is, you don’t think he ever intended to hurt you. Your neck feels raw.

Ahmad makes a protesting noise.

Matthew’s jaw tightens. He aims behind him.

Another loud bang.

You flinch at the noise, hunching over Ahmad.

The muzzle of the gun, fiery hot.

Jammed against your cheek.

You cry out.

Heated metal pushed into flesh. Twisting.

Dermal layer burning.

Yelling.

Do not move. Hands on the wound.

Ahmad reaching, swatting weakly at Matthew’s ankle. It does nothing.

Matthew moves away, pacing. “Look what you’re making me do,” he says, frenetic. “I just wanted to talk.”

You’re sobbing. Tears clouding your vision, stinging your cheek. Second degree burn, maybe. Hard to tell the severity. It stings. Your whole cheek feels like it’s on fire. Heaving breaths. Trapped.

“Drop the case,” Matthew begs. “I just wanted you to drop the court case.”

You shake your head. You can’t see if Ahmad eyes are opened or closed. “Ahmad, come on, stay with me. They’ll be here soon.”

“Look at me!”

“You need to go!” Gaze turned up again. Glaring. “If you’re not planning on getting caught right now, you need to leave.”

If security comes up with more guns, you know Matthew will start shooting. You can’t let that happen. No one else needs to get hurt.

The elevator dings. Doors sliding open.

A gunshot, again.

Shouting.

You flinch once more, body lowering over Ahmad’s. Protecting. Ears ringing. Hands on the wound. You cannot move.

“Hey, hey hey, let me see. Let me see.”

Hands on you.

“No!” Recoiling away.

“Hey, it’s just me. It’s me. Look at me.”

Unfocused eyes. Landing. Then, “Robby.”

“We’ve got him.” Mohan across from you. Replacing your hands on top of Ahmad. Gauze packed onto the entry wound.

Falling back on your haunches, heaving out breaths.

“Jesus, honey, what happened?” Robby’s hands inspecting your cheek. Crouching before you.

McKay, Mohan, Jesse, Donnie, and Olsen hauling Ahmad onto the gurney.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. Dislodging Robby’s hand.

“It’s okay, I just need to look—”

“Robby. Ahmad. You need—I need you on Ahmad. Please. He can’t—he can’t die.” Robby had saved you. Before. When it was you that had gotten hurt. He has to save Ahmad, too. You can’t be responsible for Ahmad dying here.

“I—”

“Robby. Please. I need you to. Please.”

Robby’s jaw clenches. Nodding. “McKay, swap out.”

“Got it.” McKay’s by your side.

All of you into the elevator.

In the ED, Ahmad gets rushed into Trauma 2. McKay ushers you into an empty room. You don’t register which one.

You sit on the bed, numb. Empty. Staring at your hands, slick with Ahmad’s blood.

Robby knocks on the opened door but you don’t pay him any attention. Lost in your thoughts, probably. You had been conscious but mostly unresponsive when McKay fixed you up. Treated your third degree burn, used wipes to clean Ahmad’s blood off of you.

Dana’s already taken your name off the board and today’s roster. Disseminated your patients throughout the other staff. Scheduled days off with Gloria.

He’s in front of you. “Hey,” he says, softly.

You blink. See him. Then register what it means. “Ahmad—” Your voice is hoarse with disuse.

“He’s alive,” Robby says. “We got the bullet out. No organs were hit. He’s fine.”

Relief floods you with tears. You crumple forward, into yourself.

“Can I…”

You nod, and Robby’s in your space, arms wrapped around you. Your arms just as tight around him.

“Fuck,” he huffs. “You scared me. I heard your voice on the radio and I… Jesus. I was so scared.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

You have plenty to be sorry for, you think. “Is… is Ahmad awake?”

“Yeah. You want to go see him?”

You’re nodding before he can finish the sentence. “Please?”

“Yeah, honey.” Robby shuffles back, helping you up from the bed, even though you don’t need it. Only your cheek is hurt. “We moved him into South 17.” He guides you to the room.

Ahmad looks worse for wear, but alive. Alive. “There you are,” he says.

You try not to cry as you smile at him. Busy yourself with checking his vitals. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I just got shot,” he says.

You snort, shaking your head. Feel tears loosen from the movement. “I’m sorry.” Sinking into the stool that one of the doctors probably used. Take his hand.

He squeezes back. “Not your fault, Doc.”

You give him a look that expresses how much you disagree with his opinion.

“You’re doing the right thing. Don’t drop the case.”

“What?” Robby asks.

You look over to where he’s by the door, frowning.

Oh. Outside of you and Ahmad, they don’t know. You had said a gunman on the radio. Never specified who it was. The last shot he fired probably gave himself the chance to run before they could see his face. “Matthew Williams,” you say.

Robby stills.

Then pushes himself off where he’d been leaning against the doorjamb. Face stony. Jaw clenching. “This was him?” Eyes flicker down to the bandage on your cheek. “He did this to you? Both of you?” Gaze slicing towards Ahmad on the bed.

You nod. “My windows.”

Robby furrows his brows, confused.

“Dana said there was a car that had its windows smashed in. It was mine. Ahmad took me down to see. And then we—he—um, he had a gun.”

“Jesus Christ.” The gut sinking knowledge that this wasn’t some random attack. It never had been. Everything had been premeditated. You were targeted specifically. “Fucking Hell.” Robby hovers behind you, close. A hand on your shoulder like he’s reminding himself. Alive. Here. Wants to never let you out of his sight. To keep you safe from whatever the fuck is going on out there.

There’s a knock on the door.

Gloria says both yours and Robby’s names. “If you have a moment,” she says to you, after Robby steps to the side. “The police would like to take a statement.”

You look at Ahmad.

“You need to,” he says. “Hell, I’ll make one too.”

You nod before you can second guess yourself. Proof. At least there are cameras in the parking lot. “Okay.” You get off the stool, bumping your fist against Ahmad’s offered one.

Robby remains a steady presence beside you.

“They need you down here,” you tell him.

Robby shakes his head. “Jack’s already here.”

You blink. You check the time on the clock on the wall. It’s still an hour until night shift starts.

“Police scanner,” Robby says, in lieu of explanation.

“Oh.”

“He doesn’t know how to rest.”

“Probably why he’s so grumpy.”

“I’m telling him you said that.”

You shake your head, exhausted grin on your face.

Robby smiles back, soft and worried.

You take his hand, giving it a squeeze, and head out with Gloria. There are two police officers stationed outside the room, waiting for you. The ED bustles like usual. You spot Abbot breezing past.

“Is this something we need to fill paperwork on?” Gloria asks, gesturing between the two of you.

“I have a feeling you’re going to make us sign something anyway,” Robby says.

“At least you’re smart enough to know that.”

He’s your attending. Chain of command dictates that you report to him. There’s bound to be some kind of power imbalance that HR needs to get ahead of. It’s worth it, he thinks. Promises made in your kitchen—he’d choose you.

“I can’t go home,” you say. Your fingers digging into your thigh, breathing through your nose. Agitation in your movements. Shifting. Leg bouncing where you’re sitting.

All the symptoms of a panic attack, but you’re not slowing down. Not giving yourself a moment to breath.

“He could be there,” you continue.

It shatters something inside of Robby. Noticing. Wanting to reach out. But you’ve already sunken into the furthest corner of your chair, refusing any contact. It’s clear—do not touch.

“We don’t know that,” one of the officers say.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. I have no idea where he is. And I know he can find out this kind of information. He knew about my car. If he took my registration from there… he’ll have my address.”

“We’ve taken your car into evidence. We’ll see if anything’s been taken.”

You nod. “Can you—if I give you the name of a detective in LA, can you organise a check-in on my parents? I just—I need to know he hasn’t been near them again.”

Again. He wonders how long you’ve suffered this alone. It’s not happening to him, but it’s terrifying, feeling helpless. He can’t do anything to keep you safe.

“You can’t call them?” the officer asks.

“I can’t risk it.”

Robby’s fingers curl into fists to stop himself from reaching out.

“We’ll see what we can do.”

Your hand reaches for the scar on your neck. Scratching. Pinching the skin. “Whatever evidence you get, can we inform my lawyers too?”

“Of course,” Gloria says.

“Okay. Thank you.” It’s a quick goodbye, stumbling out. Opening a random door into a dark room.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re having a panic attack—”

“I know. I just—I just need a minute.” Heaving breaths, collapsing into the corner of the room. Facing the wall. Making yourself as small as possible.

He inches close. A hand on your back.

You shrug him off. “Don’t. Please—don’t touch—”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be back here.” Robby’s chest aches for you. He wonders how many times you’ve been alone like this, in your apartment. Too scared to call your friends and family back home. Too new to make connections with everyone here.

He lowers himself to the ground, back against the wall. Waiting. He’s been here before, in the Pedes room during PittFest. Wonders what went through Whitaker’s mind when the student saw him like this.

Eventually your breathing slows to your regular pace. You shift from the corner. “Sorry,” you whisper, ragged.

Robby only shakes his head. Lifts an arm. And you slot yourself next to him. Head on his shoulder. “Don’t be.” He knows exactly what it feels like; the lack of ability for control when that composure finally fractures. It’s been a long day, for you especially.

“Ready to go home?” he asks, instead.

“I can’t go back to mine,” you remind him. Tired.

“Come home with me.”

You give him a sidelong glance. It feels different, somehow. This isn’t born from cavernous exhaustion but still wanting to see each other after a shift. From staying the night because you had dinner together, and it’s already getting late, so there would be no point of going back home after.

Creases between Robby’s brows. A silent plea etched between lines.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Robby nods. Groans as he stands, then holds a hand out for you.

Taking it, you let him haul you up. His thumbs brushing across your cheeks, careful of the bandage. Swiping through the tear tracks. Lips to your forehead, like he’s trying to impart all the care and gentleness he can.

“Home, first,” he says.

Home. Somehow, that included Robby, too.

You refused to take more than a week off of work. Even though some part of you froze at the idea of seeing the PTMC again, you hated the idea of not being there even more. You couldn’t let Matthew Williams take anything else from you.

Your first day back is met with less fanfare. A quick “Good to see you” from Ellis just as a trauma bursts through the ambulance bay.

It’s a change of pace you welcome.

Ahmad comes back to work a week after you. Gloria meets you in the break room with Annalise and Wes. Usually it’d be up in her office, but they didn’t want to pull Ahmad too far from the ED.

Wes eyes the scar on your face, something saddened in his eyes. “You okay?” he asks.

“Depends what kind of news you’re here to give us,” you tell him. Half joking, half not.

The expression Wes makes lets you know it’s nothing good.

Annalise looks between you and Ahmad. Sighs. “They’re going to argue for a misdemeanour.”

You freeze.

Ahmad had gotten shot. Had to take two weeks off of work. You almost died—Hell, you did die in that trauma room. And they’re trying to write it off as a misdemeanour. Jail time for less than a year, a fine, or community service. One or the other, not all.

“That’s bullshit,” Ahmad seethes.

“I’m sorry, Mr Zidan,” Annalise says, sincere.

“That’s not good enough,” Gloria says, cold.

“We’re doing our best, Dr Underwood.” Annalise’s tone clipped. It’s the first time you’ve heard her professionalism slip. You can’t tell if it’s anger at the situation, or at Gloria for questioning their competency as lawyers.

“We’re going to do whatever we can,” Wes addresses you, figuring the best way around the iciness is to talk to you instead.

But you’ve heard these platitudes before—said them yourself. To patients and their families when you can’t predict the outcome of a procedure. We’re going to do everything we can. One of the first things you learned as a doctor was not to make any promises.

It feels like you’ve dedicated your life to being here, to being a doctor, and this is how they churn you out. You died, and this is how they deem the value of your life.

You’re shaking your head. This case… what the Hell were you thinking, pursuing this? That you could set a precedent? That you could pave a way for other medical professionals by pushing this? That you could finally get some peace?

Instead you feel sick, exhausted, and small. So fucking small, in this break room, with Gloria and Annalise and Wes and Ahmad.

“Hey,” Wes starts. An attempt at a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You need to leave. You can’t be here. You’re out of the break room before you even realise it. Into the rest room right next door.

Not five seconds later, the door opens. Dana inside with you.

“Hey,” she says, gentle.

“There’s a new rule that says I can’t be alone, now?” you ask. You’re by the sink, running cold water over your hands, your wrists.

“We’re just trying to look out for you, hon.”

Water on your face, over your eyes. On the still healing, itchy skin of your cheek. Down your neck, where the scar is. Proof of life. Proof of fucking bullshit. “I’m so tired,” you manage. “I can’t do this anymore, Dana. I can’t. I can’t—”

“Okay, hon, it’s okay. Just breathe.” She draws closer to you.

You back away, shuddering. Breath hitching. “No, don’t touch—it’s not—”

“It’s okay, sweetie. You’ll be okay.” And somehow, Dana has her arms around you.

You don’t fight her. Can’t. You face against her shoulder. Her hand cupping the back of your head as she shushes you. You’re reminded, inextricably, of your mother. It makes you cry harder; you feel like a child, again.

“I want to go home,” you sob. “I miss my mom.”

“I know, honey. I know. I’m so sorry.” And Dana’s voice is a little wet, too. Arms tightening around you. Just you and her in this bathroom.

By the time you get out of the bathroom, most of the hospital staff have already heard what the unofficial verdict is going to be. Reactions oscillate between pissed off and resigned. This is the reality of the system they’ve grown up in.

“Hey,” Robby says, frowning. Folding you into a hug. Any notion of showing favouritism in the workplace can be damned. Kisses the top of your head. “I heard.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. You hate this side of you. The one that seeks out comfort like you haven’t had to deal with this on your own. “They’ll keep—working on it.” You know Annalise won’t take this lying down.

“You okay?”

“I’m not leaving early,” you say.

“Wasn’t asking that.”

“I’m okay.”

You both know it’s a lie. That he’d probably do the same if he were in your shoes.

“Okay,” he says instead. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“A vacation,” you say, not missing a beat.

Robby snorts. “You’ve been hanging out with John too much.”

You rise up to kiss his cheek. Then back to work. Even though you’re falling apart, this is what you’ve signed up to do.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should take a should take a vacation,” Robby yawns from where he’s lounging on the couch.

It’s been two weeks since then. You’ve essentially been living together. Your car is still in evidence, and you’re still concerned about the safety of your apartment.

You’re on the floor, papers and files spread out on the carpet. A smattering of snacks on the coffee table—most of which he only started purchasing for you since he was never really the type of entertain them at home. In the hospital, yes, but not quite at home.

“When are you thinking?”

Robby hums in thought. “July.”

“I’ve got this case, Robby,” you say, albeit regretfully. Nothing sounds more appealing than disappearing from the world with just the two of you.

“When you’re done, then.”

You look over at him. He’s been watching the TV on its lowest volume, following along with the subtitles. “I don’t know how much longer this is going to take.”

“I can wait for you,” Robby says. He’s chewing on one of the gummy bears you put into the list for him to buy. He never made a habit of snacking, but you’re rubbing off on him.

“Don’t do that,” you say, underlining something on the document. “You should go.”

“On my own?”

“You deserve a break. Aren’t you due for a sabbatical? You get one every five years for long service, right?”

He blinks, something passing over his face—too quick for you to properly interpret. “Yeah. Last one I did… fuck. I cut it short because of the start of the pandemic. If I hadn’t gotten home early, I never would have been able to come back.”

Sympathy filling your features. “That sucks, baby.” Your papers set down. Knees across the carpet, shuffling towards the couch where he’s lying. “You could do something nice for yourself this time.”

“What? Like travel the world for three months?”

“Yeah, around the world in 80 days.”

Robby snorts.

“Yeah, of course you’d like that, you old man.”

“Hey, you made the reference. Not me.”

Chin on the cushion, his thumb brushing against the burn on your cheek. Healing. He’s been diligently taking care of it everyday until you didn’t need to keep it covered anymore. Every night, rubbing ointment on your wounds. Like traces of this mess can fade with time and healing.

“Or,” you grin, cheeky, “you could tell everyone you’re travelling. Then lock yourself in here for three months. And it’d just be me and you and my wily ways.”

Robby blinks, then laughs. Leaning down to kiss you. “You’re insatiable.”

“It’s good stress relief.”

“For you or for me?”

“For both of us.”

Lips to your forehead. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So that’s a no, then?” Faux disappointment. Pursed lips.

“I’ll think about it.”

Eyebrows raised.

“The sabbatical. The proper one,” he adds after seeing your expression. “Not your degenerate one.” He pulls you up onto the couch.

You sprawl on top of him, head pillowed against his chest. Breathing in each other’s company. “You’d deserve it. Taking a break.”

“Yeah?”

“Hm.” You close your eyes, feeling the rumble in his chest. “I’d miss you, but yeah. You deserve the break. You’re always working at 100%. You need to slow down or you’ll burn yourself out.”

“You deserve a break too.”

“I’ll rest when the case is over.”

Robby tuts disapprovingly, hands rubbing up and down your back. “How am I going to leave if I can’t trust you to take care of yourself?”

“I’ll be okay,” you say, even though you want to tell him that you wouldn’t want him to go for three months. The last thing you want to do is guilt him into feeling like he needs to take care of you. You’re not a lost cause. You wriggle up slightly to kiss his jaw.

“You would?”

“Mm. I’d miss you. But you can send me pictures of things you see that remind you of me.”

“I thought the point of a sabbatical was to take a break.”

“Not from me, asshole,” you say, without any heat behind it. Pinching where you think his nipple is.

“Oh—ow. You’re incorrigible.” Grabbing your wrist. Kissing your palm. “I’ll think about it,” he says again.

Things have been good.

It should’ve been your warning.

All of a sudden, it’s the 3rd of July, the night before Robby goes off on sabbatical.

You thought that once you had passed that seven weeks mark, you’d been in the safe zone. You remember promises of this not being casual. Of choosing you.

And yet. You’re staring at a text.

Robby: We need to break up.

Part 3 TBD.

[therealcap]

masterpieceeeeeeee

[robbyshoodie]

Listen this is not good and it’s basic but I needed an urgent angst fix

“Are you mad?” Robby whispers to you at central as the both of you type away at computers.

You hum and give him a short smile. “Why would I be mad, Robby?” You don’t bother whispering when you turn your head to speak directly to him.

His brown eyes meet yours and his heart stutters a few beats. He fucked up. He knows he did. His palms become clammy as the words get stuck in his throat. He’s never tripped up on words. “I… know you know something is happening between Noelle and I and I just wanted to…” His voice trails off. What the fuck is he even doing right now? Why is he bringing this up to you?

The smile on your lips doesn’t falter in any way. You don’t chew on the inside of your mouth, picking apart the tissue behind your lips. Your eyes give nothing away. No tears, no subtle wince. Your hands stay in the typing position and your thumbs don’t even fold in to play with the nonexistent ring on your finger.

“Robby, our divorce was finalized six months ago. I think it’s great you have found someone to spend your time with.” Your words come out confident, assured. Authentic. It almost eases the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. Almost. “Dr. Santos has been looking for you. She said she needed your opinion on a potential abuse situation. North 4.” You give him one quick nod, and turn yourself back to the computer, typing as if nothing just happened.

Three hours later Robby’s head is pounding as he does the hand off to Jack. “That should be everything.” He finishes with a heavy sigh. He can’t help but let his eyes drift to you as you speak with another nurse at central. Your head tilts and you smile brightly at her before you hug her tightly.

That’s weird.

“Okay, sounds great. You should go home, get some rest. I’m sure today has been hard.” Jack’s eyes follow Robby’s. “You know with… the goodbyes and everything…”

Robby can’t bring himself to turn to his friend, he just keeps his brown eyes on you as you slip your jacket on, nodding along to whatever Javadi is now saying to you.

What is with all the chit chat?

“The fuck are you talking about? Goodbyes to who?” For the first time today Robby actually lets out a laugh, a cocky one. One that makes Jack curl his fist into balls.

Jack rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Robby, come on. Don’t be a dick. She’s been through enough with you.”

“What are you…” his voice trails off, the smirk disappearing from his face. Everything begins to fall as he watches you tightly embrace Dana in a hug with your eyes squeezed shut. He hears a I’m gonna miss you, kid. Give ‘em hell from the blonde.

The two of you pull away from each other, say a few more words and then you walk to the employee exit, but stop before pushing the door open. Your beautiful eyes look around the ER, searching for something. Searching for someone. You shake your head with a sigh and walk through the door.

Robby barely hears his friend’s words over the intense ringing in his ears, “Dude, she accepted a charge nurse position in Seattle. She leaves tonight.”

[science-hoes]

Michael Robinavitch x Reader Masterlist

Fics

Addict (18+)

Baby (18+)

A Ray of Fucking Sunshine

Matching (18+)

Angel Kisses

Afterglow (18+)

Daylight Series

Month One

Month Two

Month Three

Month Four

Maroon (18+)

Taste (18+)

Gorgeous

Ho’oponopono (18+)

Refractory Period (18+)

Updated 11/29/2025

Ficlets, Blurbs, and Moodboards under the cut!

Ficlets (500-1k words)

Robby's SSRIs (18+)

Spicy Polaroids On Your Wedding Day (18+)

Tummy Riding (18+)

Hyperspermia + NSFWish Gif (18+)

Sharp Dressed Man (18+)

Lactation Kink + NSFW Gif (18+)

Princess Leia (18+)

Friendly Neighbor (18+)

"Your Nipples Are So Sensitive Today." (18+)

"You Can Give Me Another One, Can't You Baby?" (18+)

"No More Seats, Guess I Have To Sit In Your Lap." (18+)

Robinavitch Family: The Mix Up

Robinavitch Family: The Kids

Robinavitch Family: Playing Doctor

Robinavitch Family: Fourth of July

Blurbs/Thots (Less than 500 words)

On-Call Room (18+)

Between Your Teeth (18+)

Too Big/Anal (18+)

Tears of Laughter (18+)

Shortcomings 1 (18+)

Shortcomings 2 (18+)

Splits (18+)

Italian Countryside (18+)

Robby's Motorcycle (18+)

Broad Shoulders (18+)

"What Am I Going To Do With You?" (18+)

Favorite Position (18+)

Choking During Sex (18+)

Eating You Out (18+)

Breeding Kink (18+)

Prone Bone (18+)

Hickeys (18+)

Robinavitch Family Lore 1

Robinavitch Family Lore 2

Robinavitch Family: Sweet Pea

Robinavitch Family: Jungle Gym

Moodboards/Visuals

Robinavitch Family: The Kids

Robby's Motorcycle

Robby's Residency Application Headshot/Robby's Outdated PMTC Website Headshot

Eyefuck Me (18+)

Reading in Bed (18+)

Robby's Biceps (18+)

Running Late (18+)

Updated 7/8/2025 :)