Summary: You bring your daughter into the world with Jack's help. Literally.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x Pregnant!Reader
Content warnings: MDNI, Al-Hashimi and Dana cameos, anxiety, labor (positive experience for Baby Mama ((with the exception of one ignorant nurse)) b/c I love her and could never let anything awful happen to her that doesn't serve the storyline), Jack is an excellent advocate/support person, epidural is used as well as other methods of pain relief, possible medical inaccuracies, childbirth, fluff, baby is named but is given a silly and cute nickname that she will be referred to as going forward (y'all voted on this)
Word count: 6,131
Series Masterlist | Read on ao3 here | dividers by @/lariesographic
Author's note: the things I know about labor and childbirth now... I'm not traumatized b/c I'm mature, but this is lowk more than I wanted to know at this stage of my life. some of this stuff is random things I learned from the TikTok for you page, and then some of it came from very detailed Google searches, and some is from birth stories I watched on YouTube. I tried watching birth vlogs, but some of these dads seemed evil, so I couldn't do it, plus it was kind of scary for me, so yeah. anyways I hope you enjoy b/c this series has lowkey become my baby so pls lmk what you think and here's your reminder that reblogs (empty or not) are good for your health! ily thank you for being here pls enjoy! <3
additional note: if you are on any of the taglists here and don't reblog this post after liking/commenting, you are getting side eyed hard.
40 weeks and two days. In other words, hell. That’s the state you’re currently in.
You just had to all but push Jack out the door to go to work, but he’s gone. Sure, you told him to go, but now you’re bored. You’ve watched all of Adam Sandler’s and Queen Latifah’s movies, so now you’re not even sure what to put on the TV.
Eventually, you decide to put on an episode of Shameless, and once you’ve got all your snacks and two drinks nearby, you’re ready to camp out on the couch for the foreseeable future.
//
At noon, Jack’s left hand can’t stop tapping against his leg while he fills out a chart on one of the computers in the hub. His mind can’t get off of you, and he was just a little uncharacteristically harsh on one of the residents. He prides himself on his stern but empathetic approach; he hasn’t snapped at anyone in years.
Al-Hashimi walks over, calmly, with no readable expression on her face. She leans over, elbows on the countertop.
“Whitaker will get over it,” she says softly. “So there’s no need for you to feel this bad about it.”
Jack looks up at Al-Hashimi through his lashes.
“You said your wife’s due date was September third, correct?” she asks.
Jack looks back at the computer and nods. “Yeah.”
“It’s the fifth.”
“I know,” he says, a little annoyed and snippy. He sighs and looks at her again. “Sorry.”
Al-Hashimi sighs and considers her words for a moment. “My ex was the same way before I had my son. This isn’t an abnormal reaction to waiting for your baby to be born. The doctor tells you the due date, and even though we all know babies come on their own schedules, you expect them to come when they’re ‘supposed to.’”
Jack finally logs out of the computer and leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
“Am I wrong to suspect your wife all but kicked you out today because you were maybe a little overbearing?” Al-Hashimi ventures.
Jack’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“You’re a passionate man, Abbot,” Al-Hashimi says, seemingly holding back a smile. “And while your wife definitely loves you, she’s uncomfortable, and at this point, overdue. The last thing she needs is a husband who won’t bend to her will because of his own anxiety.”
Jack frowns.
“I bend,” he mutters under his breath.
Al-Hashimi grins. “I’m sure. I just mean to say, she needs you to be relaxed and amenable, not tense and rigid.”
Okay, maybe she’s got a point. He can’t imagine what it feels like to have an entire baby pushing his lungs out of the way and fuck with his center of gravity. You need him to be calm and willing to do what makes you happy and comfortable.
Jack nods and sighs.
“You’re right. I need to relax more,” he says.
Al-Hashimi smiles softer now. “You’re going to be a great father. We’ll miss you on paternity leave.”
Jack perks up at that. “Eh, you’ll all manage. I might bring the baby by for you all to meet once she’s big enough.”
“We’d all love that.”
Just then, Dana calls Jack’s name.
“Abbot, I got your wife on the phone,” she calls out.
Without missing a beat, Jack’s out of his chair and heading over to Dana, who’s got the hospital landline in her hand.
“Sweetheart?” he speaks into the receiver.
“Hi, I didn’t want to take the chance of you missing the call on your personal phone.”
“That’s fine. Are you okay?”
You pause on the other line for a moment.
“Um,” you begin. “I think I’m in early labor. Contractions every eight minutes, 30 seconds long. I think I had the bloody show or whatever that stuff is.”
Jack’s heart is in his throat. When he tries to talk, he can’t. He clears his throat and sighs.
“Okay,” he says. “How’s the pain?”
You sigh. “Uh, like day two period cramps, but I’ll live.”
Jack rubs his temple. “Okay. You want me home, I take it?”
“Yes,” you say quickly. “Please. As fast as you can, but don’t drive like a maniac; I’m okay so far.”
Jack nods even though you can’t see him. “Okay, I’ll leave now. You got this, sweetheart. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
When you hang up, Jack hands the phone back to Dana, his eyes wild.
“Whoa, is it baby time?” she asks him, one hand on his forearm to steady him.
He nods, his body gearing up to be your rock for the foreseeable future.
“Yeah,” he says, panting like he just ran ten laps around the E.D. “She’s in early labor. Eight minutes apart, thirty seconds long.”
“Okay,” Dana says calmly. “Al-Hashimi can handle things on her own down here until another attending gets here. And besides, we’ve got all our best residents today, so you’re leaving everyone in good hands, Abbot.”
“Right. Yeah, I know,” he breathes.
Dana pats his arm.
“I’ll call Dr. Rosen in. Good luck, Dad,” she says as she steps back over to her workstation.
Jack mumbles a ‘thanks’ as he starts moving on autopilot. He makes a beeline for the locker room to grab his bag and then heads straight for the parking lot.
He’s prepared for this moment in his last few therapy sessions. He just has to drive back home, ask you what you want from him, and do exactly that.
//
When he pulls into the driveway, he takes a minute to compose himself. As soon as he walks through the front door, he’ll be a rock, completely steady and dependable for you. His only priority is you and the baby.
After some deep breaths, he shuts the truck off and grabs his things before heading inside.
“Sweetheart?” he calls out as he locks the front door behind him.
“I’m in the kitchen,” you call out.
Jack drops his bag on the floor and pads into the kitchen to find you making sandwiches.
“Are you hungry?” you ask, looking up at him momentarily.
He smiles softly and walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks.
“Okay still,” you say as you cut both sandwiches diagonally. “I just had a contraction right before you walked in.”
Another kiss to your cheek. “Any progress?”
“No, it’s the same as when I called you.”
“Okay, um, do you want to sit at the table or on the couch?” he asks softly, stepping back to take both plates.
“Couch,” you decide.
He leads the way, setting both plates on the coffee table so he can help you get comfortable on the couch. Once you say you’re good, he hands you your plate and sits next to you.
After a minute of realizing what’s going on on the TV screen, Jack’s brows furrow.
“Wait, this fifteen-year-old is gay, and his hookup of choice is a 35-year-old?” he asks, looking from the screen to you.
You snort. “Yeah, but later in the show he gets with an age-appropriate guy, so it’s–” You sigh and clear your throat. “Fuck, that hurts. Anyways, this guy’s gonna be okay.”
Jack’s eyes go to his watch to time the contraction, his right hand offering itself to you, which you gladly take.
“I don’t even get to yell at you and tell you this is all your fault; I did this completely to myself,” you sigh as the contraction wanes.
Jack smiles sympathetically and brings your knuckles to his lips.
“Yell at me all you want,” he says softly. “You’re doing an incredible thing here for both of us,
After lunch, Jack changes clothes and removes his prosthesis when he gets back to the couch. The two of you stay there for a couple of hours, softly talking over the TV as the contractions grow more intense.
“You’re doing good, sweetheart,” he mutters softly when another one comes. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you mutter softly, your grip easing up as the contraction lessens. “Can I sit on your lap?”
He’s a little surprised, but he nods anyway and scooches all the way back to the corner of the sectional, his legs straight in front of him. You lower yourself onto his lap, your back to the plush arm of the couch, one hand resting on Jack’s shoulder farthest from you, the other on your belly.
Jack joins hands with you on your belly and drapes his other arm around your shoulders.
“I’ve narrowed down my favorite names,” you say softly, head tucked under his chin.
“Let’s hear ‘em.”
“Vivian. Felicity. Colette. Amelie. And Charlotte has grown on me.”
“I’m happy with those,” he says softly.
You press a soft kiss to Jack’s chest. “We’ll know when we see her.”
Jack hums in agreement and kisses the top of your head.
//
Around 6:00 PM, things feel more intense. You’ve had contractions every 5 minutes, each lasting a minute, for the last half hour.
After asking what you want to do, Jack helps you to the car, triple-checking that the bags are in the trunk and that the baby’s car seat is in place. Before heading to the hospital, he goes through a Dairy Queen drive-thru, and the two of you eat dinner in your car.
When you’re done, you start really making your way to the hospital.
Triage goes well. Both you and the baby have good vital signs, contractions are consistent, and the cervical exam confirms that you are four and a half centimeters dilated.
Check-in is easy, but it causes some anxiety. It’s all real. This is really happening. The baby you’ve wanted since you were a little girl playing with dolls is about to come into the world. You want her. You wanted her so badly, you made her all by yourself, and she’s about to come.
You’re about to get hooked up to monitors that tell you she’s really coming.
Jack holds your hand as the two of you are led to a room.
You hand the hospital gown back to the nurse in the interest of wearing the birthing gown you bought online after it was recommended to you by your cousin after she had her baby. The nurse, Rhiannon, hooks up the fetal monitor to your belly, though this one is sticky and allows for movement rather than the belts you’d seen on TV shows before.
“Okay, last thing is an IV, or what we can do is an IV port that isn’t connected to any tubes or wires until you decide that maybe you need an epidural or we end up needing to administer a different type of medication,” Rhiannon says as she readies her equipment. “Either way, I’ve gotta poke you.”
“Port sounds good.” You hand Rhiannon your arm with the best veins and turn your head toward Jack, who’s looking at you with the same awe he had in his eyes the first time he saw you naked and when you put his wedding ring on him in the courthouse.
As Rhiannon gets to work, she asks, “Do you know what you’re having?” in an easy voice, clearly confident in her ability to multitask.
“A girl,” you answer, smiling at Jack.
He reaches out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, his thumb caressing your cheekbone.
“Yay,” Rhiannon says, clearly smiling. “I love girls. I have two nieces. You guys are gonna love having a girl. Um, how long have the two of you been together?”
“Um,” both you and Jack say at the same time.
You laugh softly. “We got married about a month ago. We met, like, over three years ago when I moved in next door.”
“Neighbors to lovers, that’s so cute,” Rhiannon says as she finishes up. “Okay. I skimmed over your file before I walked in, but I think I remember seeing you wanted to wait on the epidural for freedom of movement, correct?”
You nod as you turn over to look at your nurse. “Yeah, that’s right.”
Rhiannon nods. “Okay, well, as soon as you do want it, if you end up wanting it, just press the call button, and I’ll come in, and we’ll find the anesthesiologist, okay? Perfect. Good luck, and I’ll check back in later.”
Then it’s just you and Jack, and a contraction hits almost as soon as the door shuts, and your fingernails dig into his skin.
He leans his forehead against yours, and with his free hand, he gently scratches your scalp.
Since you’ve stopped being able to talk through the contractions, he’s stopped talking to you during them. For one, you can’t answer, even if he is just praising you, and for two, he can only imagine how annoying the sound of his voice is going to get towards the end of this anyway, so he’ll keep his mouth shut as much as he can.
As the contraction wanes, you loosen your grip on Jack’s hand and let out a soft sigh.
“You okay?” he asks after a moment.
You nod and smile tiredly at him. “I love you.”
Jack smiles and pecks your lips. “I love you, too. I’m gonna dim the lights, okay? That sound good?”
You nod again.
He kisses your forehead before he stands and dims all the lights. It’s about 8:30 at night, so things are naturally winding down with the exception of your uterus and cervix.
When you’re satisfied with the lighting, you hold your hand out. Jack sits on the edge of the bed and takes your hand, putting his free hand on your belly.
“You’re doing really good, sweetheart,” he tells you, his expression one of sincerity and love. “You’re handling everything really well. I’m so proud of you.”
You smile and lean your forehead on his shoulder, sitting with your legs crisscross, your left knee brushing against his left thigh clad in soft sweatpants.
Jack tilts his head down to kiss your hair, his left hand gently brushing up and down your back.
“You wanna switch positions soon?” he asks softly.
You nod and look over at the birthing ball in the corner. He heads to the corner to bring the ball to the middle of the room, then helps you stand from the bed, a gentle hand at the small of your back as he leads you toward the ball. You take both his hands as you lower yourself onto the ball.
“Feel okay?” he asks softly, crouching in front of you, hands on your knees, fingertips brushing yours.
“Yeah,” you mutter softly.
You cup his jaw with both hands and lean in to kiss him. You can tell it surprises him at first, and you can’t really blame him, but after a few seconds, he starts reciprocating, his hands sliding up the length of your thighs to rest on your hips while you gently sway them on the ball.
When he hears you moan, out of pain and not pleasure, he pulls back, but you lean back in.
Jack lets you take the lead. As soon as you pull him back in, he’s back to kissing you with all the love in his heart. His hands on your hips press in, hoping the counterpressure will help.
Once the contraction passes, you pull back, eyes glazed over as you look at him.
“The article I sent you a few weeks ago,” you say breathlessly. “On kissing and oxytocin and labor and stuff. Sorry, I thought you remembered.”
Realization hits him quickly.
“Oh,” he sighs, smiling softly. “Okay, I remember now. I’ll kiss you all you want.”
//
A few hours go by pretty peacefully. At around 9:15, Rhiannon comes in to do a cervical check and tells you you’re at six centimeters. She cracks a few jokes, keeping things light, and when she leaves, you tell Jack to make a reminder to nominate her for a DAISY award when you get home.
Around 11:30, the contractions pick up in intensity. In the middle of the room, you stand with your arms around Jack’s neck, face buried into his chest. He keeps his hands on your hips to deliver counterpressure during contractions, now two and a half minutes apart.
There’s a knock on the door, and the nurse who walks through isn’t Rhiannon.
“Hi,” she says. “Rhiannon is otherwise occupied at the moment, so I’ll be doing your cervical check. My name is Jane.”
She snaps some gloves on, and as you try to peel yourself off of Jack to greet the new nurse, another contraction hits. This one steals your breath and pulls an almost animalistic moan from your throat. You dig your fingernails into the back of Jack’s neck, but he doesn’t waver.
“Oh, honey, why don’t you just get the epidural already?” Jane asks. “There’s absolutely no reason for you to feel the need to cause all that ruckus and scratch up your husband’s neck. I’ll call the anesthesiologist.”
All this from your knockoff of Rhiannon before the contraction is even over, mind you. Jack doesn’t miss a beat.
“There’s absolutely no need for that,” he says immediately, hands still steady on your body. “If my wife wants an epidural, she’ll ask for one, and she certainly doesn’t need you to make decisions about her body without even giving her time to think. Now, if you don’t mind, she’ll opt out of the cervical check for now. We’re happy to wait for Rhiannon.”
Eventually, you hear the door open and close, and once the contraction is over, you look up at Jack.
What a man.
“Am I really scratching up your neck?” you ask with a soft and feeble voice. “Or being too loud?”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not, and don’t worry about it anymore.”
You sigh softly and press your cheek to his chest.
“Could you do the cervical check?” you ask. “I feel like I should be further along, and I don’t wanna wait to find out.”
It’s a little bit surprising to hear this request, but if he’s going to catch the baby in a few hours, he can definitely check to see how dilated you are. Hopefully you’re nearing the end, and he can inspire some motivation with the news.
He nods and kisses your forehead.
“Yeah, sweetheart. Let’s get you back on the bed for a second,” he says softly as he guides you back toward the bed.
Once he’s got you in a good position, he heads to the counter and takes some sterile gloves, then heads back to the bed where he takes a look, and for about a minute, he’s both your husband and a doctor.
“I do want an epidural,” you say breathily while Jack checks you. “I just want to be the one to ask for it. I’m asking for it, Jack. Unless you say I’m at a ten, I’m asking for a fucking epidural.”
Jack nods and looks up at you, simultaneously pulling the gloves off.
“You’re at a seven. Do you want me to step out and ask for you?” he asks.
If you press the call button, fucking Jane might come back in, and hers is the last face you want to see even if you didn’t get a good look at it.
You nod and reach for his hand, another contraction building. He lets you pull him in for a kiss, doing anything you can to minimize the pain before you get some real relief.
It’s somewhat strange, kissing you in this situation. It’s not doing anything for him in the way kisses this passionate usually do, but it’s causing another emotion entirely.
You’re so in control, and he’ll do anything to make sure you keep that. He’ll kiss you through the pain, he’ll rub your hips, he’ll let you scratch up his skin, he’ll tell off a nurse for you. Anything you want. The admiration he has for you right now is unlike anything ever before.
You’re such an incredible woman; he already knew that. But witnessing you bring life into this world and stay so strong through it all is strengthening his feelings toward you. Not that they ever faltered.
When it’s over, you pull back, and Jack exits the room as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the first nurse he sees at the nurse’s station is one he knows.
“Hey, Abbot,” she greets as he approaches.
He smiles but gets right to the point. “My wife wants an epidural. Where’s the anesthesiologist?"
“Uh, she’s finishing up with a patient right now, but there’s no one else waiting. Do you know how many centimeters she was at the last cervical check?”
“Seven, just a few minutes ago.”
The nurse nods. “Okay, I’ll send her in in a few minutes.”
He quickly thanks the nurse and heads back to your room, making it just in time for your next contraction.
Just as he walks through the door, you reach your hand out, whimpering softly. He grabs your hand and reaches around with his free one to rub your back.
This time, he kisses you, moaning softly against you every so often to get your mind literally anywhere else besides this room.
When it’s over, and you lean your forehead against his, he tells you that the epidural is on its way.
“You’re doing really good, sweetheart,” he says softly. “I’ve seen lots of labors and deliveries, but this… It’s incredible. You’re doing such a hard thing so amazingly.” He pauses and kisses your cheek. “I’m more in love with you, and I didn’t think that was possible. You’re gonna be such a good mom. I know it. Our baby girl’s so lucky to have you.”
A silent tear falls down your cheek, brow furrowed as you focus on his face, every wrinkle, every freckle, every short hair of his stubbly beard and the smooth and gravelly sound of his voice.
Jack doesn’t tell you not to cry. He just smiles softly and wordlessly wipes your tears with the back of his knuckle.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m so lucky to be here.”
You shake your head and reach out to cup his cheek.
“It’s not luck, Jack,” you say softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I chose you. You chose me and this baby, and I chose you back.”
He leans in for another kiss. This one just because, not particularly for pain relief, even if that’s an added plus.
You breathe him in, and take his hand and guide it to the side of your bump. He feels your skin tighten underneath his palm with another contraction. He keeps his hand perfectly still, hoping not to overstimulate you, and keeps kissing you.
After it passes, you stand with Jack again, only this time with your back to his chest. He holds your belly up for you one last time, taking the weight off your back for you, his lips pressed to your hair as the two of you slowly sway. You rest your palms on his forearms and stare across the room at the baby warmer, empty for now.
Soon, the anesthesiologist comes in and sets up for the epidural. She lets Jack stay in the room for the procedure and instructs him to stand in front of you, hands in yours.
Once it’s administered, and you’re in a comfortable position on your side, and the room is cleared, Jack turns off almost all the lights. He brings one of the chairs up to your bedside and holds your hand.
Within a few minutes, the epidural kicks in, and your eyes start to droop.
“Feeling good?” he asks softly, bringing a hand to cup your belly over the blanket.
You nod, a happy smile on your face. “Yeah, I can finally sleep now.”
Jack pulls his phone out of his pocket and props it up against your water bottle on the side table to record a video.
You cover his hand on your bump and admire the sight of your wedding rings and hospital bracelets brushing against each other.
“What are you most excited about becoming a mom?” he asks softly.
You hum thoughtfully.
“Shaping a person,” you say. “Showing her things and watching her form her own opinions on them.”
Jack smiles and nods along.
“What about you?” you ask.
Jack sighs and chews on the inside of his cheek. “Probably the same. Just getting to witness her and see her grow and learn and experience the world.”
You smile brightly at him, and he leans in to peck your lips.
“Okay, last chance for betting,” he says.
You giggle softly and shut your eyes as you think, then open them again.
“She’ll come after 6:00 AM, seven pounds and ten ounces, 19 inches long. That’s my guess,” you say.
“My guess is before 6:00 AM, eight pounds and one ounce, 20 inches long.”
You smile. “Either way, I’m excited to meet her.”
“Me, too,” Jack says softly, reaching out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I already love her like crazy.”
Your smile widens, and you squeeze his hand. “I know. She’s gonna be perfect.”
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Just like you.”
He leans in to peck your lips, and before he pulls away, you mumble out an “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” Then he stops the video and puts his phone in his pocket.
“You wanna get some rest?” he asks softly, his hand moving from your hair to your cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth against your skin.
You nod. “I love you, baby.”
Jack leans in for another kiss. “I love you, too, sweetheart. I’ll stay right here.”
“Take your prosthesis off,” you remind him.
He nods and leans back in his chair and pulls his pant leg up. Once it’s off, he places it out of the way but still in reach. By the time he looks back at you, your breathing is deeper.
He smiles and leans down to kiss your bump for possibly the last time.
“I’ll see you soon, baby girl,” he whispers.
//
At almost 3:30 AM, Rhiannon comes back in for another cervical check.
Jack wakes first.
“Hi,” she says, speaking softly. “It’s time for another cervical check.” She snaps on some sterile gloves. “I find that it’s better for you to wake her up than me.”
Jack nods and gently rubs your shoulder to wake you. He presses a kiss to your cheek and whispers for you to wake up.
Your eyes flutter and land on Jack.
“Rhiannon’s back to check your dilation,” he says softly.
You nod, and Rhiannon helps you turn over on your back while Jack puts his prosthesis back on.
When she’s done checking you over, Rhiannon smiles.
“It’s baby time,” she says as she pulls the gloves off. “I saw in your chart that you wanted to use the squat bar, lower your epidural dose to push, and that if there were no complications that you wanted Jack to catch the baby. Still good with all that?”
You nod, yawning softly.
Rhiannon gets everything ready, and soon the bed is modified to accommodate the squat bar. Your OB-GYN, who was thankfully working the night shift, comes in, along with a second nurse, and suddenly, you’re just waiting for the next contraction so you can push.
You were a little nervous that pushing would take hours, but after only about 40 minutes of pushing and grunting and Jack whispering praise in your ear, your doctor smiles.
“Abbot, it’s your turn,” she says as she steps to the side.
You turn your face toward Jack, sweat dotting your hairline but the biggest sparkle of excitement in your eyes. You lean in for a peck, and Jack whispers, “I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too,” you sniffle, smiling brightly.
Jack gets into position, your OB behind him, clearly monitoring the situation, but Jack’s delivered hundreds of babies, even just delivered one last week, so she’s not too worried about him biting off more than he can chew here.
Once he’s got sterile gloves on, he gets his hands into position.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he sighs, letting the doctor inside of him take over just a bit, though it’s clear the man in front of you is still your husband first and foremost. “On the next contraction, give me a big push.”
Rhiannon counts for you as you push. You white-knuckle the squat bar and breathe deeper than you ever have as you bear down.
“Good, good, good,” Jack mutters softly, his hands on the baby’s head, holding back tears by the grace of God. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”
With a soft whimper, you take a break from pushing.
“You’re doing great,” your doctor says from behind Jack. “Less than five pushes, I’d say.”
You nod and focus on your breathing.
“You wanna feel her hair?” Jack asks. “She’s got a lot.”
“Mhm,” you hum softly, the lack of sleep catching up to you.
Jack takes your hand and guides it between your legs.
“That’s not me?” you joke.
The entire room lets out a soft chuckle, with the exception of Rhiannon, who snorts softly into her shoulder.
“No,” Jack says, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “That’s our baby; she’s got a lotta hair.”
You smile and take a steadying breath as another contraction builds.
“Okay, sweetheart, you got this,” he says softly, growing serious again as he focuses on the baby.
That push delivers the head.
“Perfect,” Jack praises. “Just a couple more, sweetheart, let’s get the shoulders out.”
Two pushes later, the air is pierced by a sharp but oddly beautiful cry.
“She sounds kind of like a bird,” someone remarks. “So cute!”
You let out a sob of relief and hold your hands out as Jack places her on your chest.
Looking down at the squirming infant is all it takes to fall completely in love with her.
“Hi, baby girl,” you coo at her, holding your hands over her back so she doesn’t get cold. “Hi. Hi, sweetie. I’m your mama.”
At some point, Jack has moved from your legs and peeled his gloves off because now you feel his hand on your shoulder and hear him whispering in your ear, “You did so good.”
The baby continues to cry, but seems to begin to settle on your chest.
“Wow, you’re really here,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face uncontrollably. “I love you so much, beautiful baby girl.”
You look up at Jack on instinct, and tears are streaming down his face. He kisses your temple, then gently gives the baby his finger so she can wrap her first around it.
“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers. “I’m your daddy.” He sniffs. “Wow, you look just like your mom, sweetie.”
At the sound of her daddy’s voice, the cries die down into softer whimpers, still mad about leaving her warm home, but obviously happy Mom and Dad are near.
You press your lips against her head, uncaring about all the gunk on her head.
“Oh, God, she’s amazing,” you sigh, eyes shutting for a moment as you soak it all in.
You look over at Jack, and he smooths your hair back.
“You did incredible,” he whispers, eyes red-rimmed as he lets his tears fall.
You smile and blink out your own tears. “I love you. Thank you for catching her.”
Jack smiles back and kisses your cheek, then you turn to kiss his lips.
After another moment, you feel the need to push again. You swear softly under your breath and gently push on instinct. After about a minute, you vaguely hear your doctor tell you the placenta’s out, and you sigh relieved again.
“You’re all done,” Jack tells you. “You both did amazing.”
Once the cord turns white, Jack cuts it, and a few minutes later, the second nurse takes the baby over to the warmer to do some testing.
You send Jack over after he takes his shirt off, excited to see him actually hold the baby for the first time.
Jack stands near the baby warmer, eyes following his daughter’s every move as the nurse weighs, measures, and does everything else.
“Okay,” the nurse sighs, smiling at the screen that says all the levels are good. “Baby Abbot is seven pounds and eight ounces and 19 inches long. Five-minute APGAR score of ten. Congratulations. Jack, you can hold her now.”
Excitedly but carefully, Jack reaches his hands around the baby’s body and brings her to his chest. The nurse helps him cover her with a blanket, then he walks over to the chair by your bed.
Once everything else is determined to be okay, everyone leaves the room with soft whisperings of congratulations.
Jack sighs and smiles at you with all the love in his heart.
“You’re both incredible,” he says. “I’m in awe of you.”
You smile tiredly and sigh contentedly. “I’m so fucking happy.”
Jack smiles again, then stands and hands the baby back to you.
Soon, a lactation consultant comes in and helps you and the baby figure out the latch. Once you get the hang of it, you’re left alone again.
“Charlotte,” you say softly, looking at the baby.
Jack nods, the back of his finger caressing her cheek. “Charlotte Vivian Abbot?”
He looks to you to gauge your reaction. You smile.
“I like that,” you mutter softly.
Charlotte Vivian Abbot. Seven pounds and eight ounces. 19 inches long. Born at 4:26 AM on September 6, 2026.
Perfection in a very small package.
//
You and Jack manage to sleep for close to an hour before the baby is restless. After nursing, you’re starving, but luckily, Rhiannon brings you some breakfast before her shift ends.
“It’s not the best food, so if you’ve got people coming, you should ask them to bring you some food. Though, you can get food delivered, too. Anyway, my shift is ending, but I wanted to tell the little birdie and her sweet parents goodbye,” she says.
You smile and look down at the baby.
“Birdie,” you muse. “That’s cute.” Then you look back at Rhiannon. “You’ve been really incredible. I can’t thank you enough.”
Rhiannon smiles and shrugs. “I’m just happy things went well. You three make a very cute family. Okay, I’ve got a breakfast date, so I’ve gotta go. Bye, guys.”
Then she’s gone.
“Birdie,” you sigh, smiling at the baby. “I like that, it’s cute.”
Jack sends the birth announcement to his parents, your mom and stepdad, his sister, then Robby and Dana.
After that, he puts his phone on “Do Not Disturb” and puts his focus on you and Birdie. A little later, though, he notices a text from his mom asking if it’s okay to call at some point. You say it’s fine, and Jack steps out into the hall, leaving you alone with the baby.
You had put her into a pink onesie so she wouldn’t get cold once the hospital AC started blowing a little too hard for your liking.
Your little pink baby is finally here. She’s tiny and perfect and yours.
You hold her up by her armpits for just a moment, still supporting her head. The two of you just look at each other for a moment. Her face is scrunched up, but she’s perfect.
It’s hard to put into words how you’re feeling right now. You wanted this baby enough to raise her on your own. Jack is outside the door, but there was once a very real reality where he wasn’t supposed to be.
And looking at her right now, it’s so clear to you that it would absolutely be worth it to be her mom by yourself. Anything hard that would come with raising her on your own would have been worth it, because the look in your daughter’s eyes that you can’t name is telling you that it all would’ve been okay.
You’re incredibly fortunate to have Jack by your side, but you could handle Birdie alone, and so could he. She’s worth all the pain in the world that got you both to the place of being her parents.
You bring her back to your chest and soak in her snuggly body and soft baby noises. You kiss her downy hair and keep your hands secure on her back.
“One day, I’m gonna tell you all about how you got here,” you say softly. “Just know for now that it was all very special and very precious, just like you, little Birdie, and that Mommy and Daddy love you very much.”
end author's note: wow the baby is here and I feel like I gave birth myself bc this series is such a labor of love lol. original Doctor Google was meant to be a one-shot, so thank you to everyone who believed in this story's potential and politely asked for more <3 pls let me know what you want to see from this story! (requests are open for that)
after hearing about when s3 of The Pitt is going to be set, it is safe to say I will probably never reference canon again (at least in a big way), so pretty much anything is possible over here. thank you guys so much for reading! I know I have no schedule for this series at all and that can be annoying, so anyone loyally reading along is a fucking G in my book. for anyone who ever feels like you're annoying leaving persistent comments, whether it's an emoji or a more thoughtful comment, I guarantee you that you are not annoying, and in fact are someone I look forward to getting notifications from. I'm crazy; I see everything. ily all and pls be well <3
p.s. for anyone who is curious: Birdie is a virgo sun, cancer moon, and leo rising
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50 ways to leave your lover. (6k followers celebration fic!)
(michael 'robby' robinavitch x ex-wife!reader)
The four times Robby tries to win you back after your divorce, and the one time he finally manages to lock it all down.
warnings: 18+, mdni! explicit sexual content, ex-husband!robby, robby's done some work pre-sabbatical in this universe, doesn't follow pitt s2 timelines, age gap (34/52), robby sleeps with his medical student (what's new?) oral (f receiving), protected sex, ditching dates for your ex-husband w/c: 5k
main masterlist // robby masterlist
Number one. Eighteen months post-divorce. The Abbot-Mohan wedding.
Stupid Jack Abbot.
Were it not his wedding day today, you'd seriously consider wringing his neck. The only thing stopping you is the prospect of widowing Samira after three hours of marriage.
Your first encounter had been right at the front door, where Robby and Jack were positioned to greet the guests.
This, you were prepared for.
Jack's his best friend. There was no way he wasn't going to be at this wedding. So, you plaster a smile across your face, and put on the show of a lifetime.
Jack's easy. You've always liked him. He was Best Man at your own wedding to Robby.
It becomes more of a struggle when your eyes land on the man you thought you'd be with for the rest of your life. "Michael," You nod curtly, decidedly not going in for the hug you had with Jack.
He holds a hand to his chest in faux-offence. "You wound me, sweetheart. I thought we put the animosity to bed with the divorce settlement."
There hadn't been much to settle. No children, and Robby let you keep the house. The only thing he let you give him was your engagement ring.
The sight of it made you sick. A reminder of all the ways you failed each other.
At the time, it felt like an attack - like he was trying to one-up you, prove that he could be the bigger person. Eighteen months on, you're endlessly glad you didn't have to try and find another place to live while your world was crumbling around you.
"You look good," he continues, and when your gaze meets his, you know he's being sincere.
"I should get inside," is your reply. "I promised Dana I'd grab seats for her and Benji."
And with that, your first interaction with Robby in twelve months comes to a close.
*****
Glancing quickly at the seating chart, your heart sinks when you see your name scrawled next to Michael Robinavitch. Normally Best Man is up beside the couple, but the Mohan-Abbots had opted for a sweetheart table.
Meaning you're doomed to four hours of your ex-husband's company. And what's worse: you're enjoying it.
Robby's always looked good in a tux, but the charm offensive is at its highest today - pressing a kiss to your cheek in greeting, dealing out the compliments in spades, and refilling your glass each time it starts to get low.
"Remember ours?" He asks, voice quiet as he leans over to you during the first dance.
"Of course I do. We danced to Roy Orbison and then my heel snapped halfway through, so I had to go barefoot for the rest of the night."
"That was a good day," He muses, expression unreadable as he watches Jack and Samira. He looks almost... wistful?
"Yeah, it was. Pity they weren't all like that."
Against all the odds, COVID had been one of the better times for you and Robby. Freshly married, where the work had been absolute hell, you'd found solace in each other.
Things were good, until they weren't. Until Robby couldn't outrun his demons anymore, and then stopped trying entirely.
"Yeah, uhm, about that..." He says softly. "I wanted to apologise."
This you weren't expecting. Arching an eyebrow, you turn towards him. "For what?"
"For everything," Robby murmurs, his gaze finally dropping from Jack and Samira to his own hands. He swallows hard, his jaw tight as he traces the line of his thumb. "For checking out. Giving up on us."
Your hand tightens around your wine glass, as you search his expression - looking for the catch, the deflection. You find none. "It's in the past now, anyway." Your voice is barely above a whisper. "We just... weren't meant to be. And that's fine."
"Mhm," is his only response. As if unconvinced.
You're not even sure you've convinced yourself, much less him, and against your better judgement, he talks you into a dance.
Were it not a wedding, you're positive you'd be able to resist him. But when it feels like everybody around you is perfectly happy and coupled up, you find it incredibly easy to slip back into Robby's embrace.
You still have some sense.
Keeping his hand firmly on your waist, rather than slipping downwards to where it used to settle, you try and think of anything but the man in front of you.
The potential melanoma that you saw in clinic last week.
Not the wrinkle lines that crease at Robby's eyes.
Your shopping list for next week.
Not how warm he feels against you.
The fact that you're running out of Black Honey.
Not anything to do with Michael Robinavitch.
You tap out after a ballad, unable to take the proximity to him anymore, and excuse yourself to go mingle with Dana and Perlah.
The rest of the night is spent willing yourself not to look back over at him.
*****
"You know, it'll be us next," Robby says, voice low as he watches you say goodbye to Samira.
"By us, do you mean your ex-wife?" Jack asks, eyebrow arched. "Because I hate to break it to you, brother, but you've already done that. And it went up in fuckin' flames."
"It would be different this time," Robby shakes his head.
"Yeah? How?"
"You'll see." Robby pats Jack on the back, and gets to his feet, moving to intercept you as you make for the door. The stairs down from the venue are pretty steep, and he clocked your Louboutins during dinner.
He bought you that pair on your honeymoon. He wonders if you remember.
"Need a hand?"
He can see that you're about to decline, before taking a sample step, and letting out a sigh. "Yes, please."
Robby tries not to let the contact get to his head too quickly as he slips an arm through yours. He hadn't even realised until tonight just how much he's missed you.
Truly.
The days after he moved out of your shared house had been some of the worst of his entire life. After about six months of no-contact, he'd finally decided that he needed to get his life together, and move on with things.
Get back on the horse, as Jack put it.
Except now it's eighteen months on from the divorce, he's been on exactly zero dates, and all he can think about is winning you back.
"This is purely because I can't walk in these shoes," You warn. "Nothing more."
Robby's jolted from his daydream and back to reality. Right. You don't want him back at all.
He's gotta find a way to change that.
Number two. Nineteen months post-divorce. A persistence.
After Jack and Samira's wedding, you're not expecting to see Robby again until they start having kids and you're invited to the baby shower.
That doesn't appear to be the case when you watch his motorcycle pull into the parking lot of your clinic exactly one week later.
A notch appears between your brows immediately, but you're still in the middle of a consultation - you have a feeling that your patient wouldn't be too thrilled with you leaping up to investigate.
Instead, you assure her that her mole has not, in fact, grown three centimetres since you saw her last week. It takes multiple pictures and two rulers before she'll even consider that it may be stress-related.
By the time you're finished, the last person you want to deal with is your ex-husband.
At least it's a paeds clinic after lunch. The children tend to be much easier to handle, and usually have straight-forward presentations. Eczema, contact dermatitis, or psoriasis for the teens.
All things you can do in your sleep.
But first, lunch. And getting Michael Robinavitch to leave.
He's leaning over the desk at reception, one of his more charming smiles plastered across his face as he talks to Pippa at reception. “I was just wondering if you knew when she'd be finish– oh, there she is. No need. Thanks for all your help.”
You've known Pippa for two years, and you've never once seen her crack a smile out in the lobby. She's practically grinning at Robby.
Uh oh.
This is bad.
Still scowling at him, you reach for the collar of his shirt and tug sharply, forcing him to fall into step behind you as you head for your office.
You don't need to air all your dirty laundry in the middle of your practice.
As soon as the door clicks shut, you're spinning on your heel. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Robby just shrugs. “You said you work Fridays usually. Thought you might like some company for lunch.”
“You know - ex-husbands don't usually just hang out with their ex-wives.”
“When have we ever been ordinary though?” He's exhaustingly chipper today - a far cry from his demeanour during the latter years of your marriage.
You take him in, trying to work out if this is all some big practical joke. After trying to tell yourself that the Abbot-Mohan wedding was a fluke, you grudgingly have to admit to yourself that Robby does look good.
He's got exactly the right amount of scruff going for him right now, he's lost the alcohol bloat, and he seems like there's less of the world's weight on his shoulders.
“I don't think this is a good idea.”
“Lunch is always a good idea,” He replies easily. “Three meals a day, and all that.”
There's no way out of this. Once Robby sets his mind to something, he's going to get it. Sighing heavily, you reach for your bag and jacket. “Only if you're paying.”
“Always, sweetheart.”
You fight the urge to remind him that your salary exceeds his by about 40k a year these days, with all the private work.
Even when you were married, you were still the official breadwinner of the family. Skin pays more than emergencies.
“And don't call me sweetheart.”
You're expecting some kind of quip, or snarky remark, but he just nods, and offers you his hand. “Got it.”
“We're not holding hands.”
Another nod, and he follows you out of the clinic and onto the street. You pretend to miss the looks exchanged between your staff.
A few of them know Robby already, and you're betting the ones that don't are wondering why you've been keeping him a secret.
“Noted. Hand-holding's more of a date two activity then?”
The expression on your face is nothing short of murderous. “This is not a date. It's lunch.”
“With somebody you've slept with many, many times before.”
Whatever illusions you'd managed to conjure of Robby after the wedding are completely shattered.
Because Michael Robinavitch is many things, but cool and suave are not amongst them. He's annoying and persistent, and a bad husband.
“I'm going back inside and ordering from Uber Eats-”
“No, no, no - wait!” A hand curls round your wrist, and you think that there might be a hint of desperation in his tone. “M'sorry, shit - just, don't go.”
“Why not?” Yanking your arm out of his grasp, you cross them both over your chest, and do your best to stare him down.
He swallows heavily, voice dropping to barely more than a whisper. “I miss you.”
"Robby," You sigh, but he cuts you off.
"We were in each other's lives for almost a decade - don't you think it's a little unnatural for that to have all disappeared? Surely we can be friends."
You have to bite back a scream. "If I remember correctly, it was you who didn't want to be friends."
"I didn't want us to break up in the first place!"
It slips out without thought, and you're suddenly regretting taking a lunch break at all. "I'm not doing this here," You start, but he beats you to the draw.
"Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." He scratches the back of his neck, and glances around the sidewalk before his chin drops to his chest. "I've been doing the work. Going to therapy, no more alcohol, you name it. M'even taking some time off work to really get into it all."
The Robby you were married to would never have considered taking the blame for his actions.
"Can't undo the last decade, Michael," you reply softly.
"I know," he insists. "I know. Believe me. It's a well-discussed topic in therapy. I just... I'm trying to be better. And I want to try and make things right with you. One hundred percent platonically."
"You literally just called this a date," you deadpan.
He scoffs. "I didn't say I was perfect."
Number three. Twenty months post-divorce. Another man.
Apparently, you and Robby text now.
You're as surprised as anybody else, but in the time you've been separated, Robby's persistence appears to have intensified greatly.
Each Thursday, he meets you at the clinic for lunch, having bribed newly-qualified attending Frank to cover for him.
He offers to pick you up after nights out, which you accept more often than not (you hate getting Ubers when you're drunk).
Currently?
He's fixing your busted boiler.
You'd be lying if you said that you hadn't dropped it into a text because you knew that he would drop everything to come and fix it for you. Even with a sabbatical looming in just a week, his reply had been instantaneous.
Now, you're perched on the washing machine while you watch a sweaty Robby tinker around in the washroom.
He's already been warned that you have a date tonight, and therefore has to be finished by seven - complete honesty is the main policy of this tentatively developing friendship.
All you'd received in response had been a thumbs up.
That means he's furious.
Really, it had been a little mean on your part. But he doesn't have a claim to you anymore, and you need him to know that if he's going to still be in your life.
When you excuse yourself to the bathroom, you're not expecting your phone to be in Robby's hand when you return. "Roger from Hinge said he's going to be late tonight."
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Your phone vibrated. Thought it might have been an emergency."
You snatch it out of his grasp and scowl. "Why would an emergency text and not call?"
You both go to step at once, awkwardly colliding chest-to-chest. "Can I see a picture of him?"
"What? No!"
"Why not? Thought we were being honest."
It amazes you that Robby manages to somehow be the most serious man you've ever met, and also emulate a toddler with his petulance. You reach for your phone, and don't even notice Robby dipping his head.
His lips are on yours, and suddenly you're twenty-six again and making out with your attending for the first time after the worst shift of your life.
You'd already decided that Emergency Medicine was not for you, but that Michael Robinavitch absolutely was.
In your head, it was going to be a fling. Something sexy and secret for your final year of med school.
The wedding had been a surprise - you never thought that Robby was the type.
The 3 carat emerald cut bezel had told you otherwise. You'd never been able to build up the courage to ask him exactly how much money he spent on it.
The divorce had been an even bigger surprise.
Not to you, by the end. The last eighteen months of your seven-year-marriage had been decidedly less-than-stellar, to the point where couples counselling couldn't even make a dent.
After COVID and Pittfest, you didn't even recognise your husband anymore. You didn't recognise yourself.
While your mind might be surprised by the contact, your body certainly isn't, and you gasp into his mouth.
His hands are everywhere, hauling you closer to him, and you can feel your carefully-applied lipstick smudging across his cheek.
It's only after two minutes of kissing that you finally pull back, and surface to catch your breath. "Robby, I have to go - I have plans."
He's not quite so easily deterred, though. "Yeah, with a guy who looks just like me." You didn't even make it to showing Robby his photo, and yet he's right. Tall, dark, and broody - you've very clearly got a type. He leans in to kiss you again, feeling a perverse sense of pleasure when you melt into his touch. "You could have the real thing, baby. I'm right here."
That's the problem. Ever since you reconnected with him at Jack and Samira's wedding, it's like Robby has been everywhere.
He's practically inescapable.
He moves to suck a mark onto your collarbone, and you make the feeblest of attempts to push him off. "This is a bad idea."
"It's only a bad idea if we make it one," Robby hums, crowding you up against the kitchen counter, as you feel your willpower start to seep away. You have plans with Roger in thirty minutes.
But when Robby sinks to his knees in front of you, hiking one leg over his shoulder, you forget he even exists. “Say the word, and I will,” He mumbles.
There are many words that would end this right now.
Stop. No. Don't.
And yet, your lips can't seem to conjure any of them. You try and form each of the letters, but the only one that forms is an R.
Then an O.
Two B's.
And a Y.
He doesn't need to move your underwear to get you where you need to go. Kissing and nipping, licking and sucking - your grip on the doorframe tightens with every passing second.
Suddenly, you're struck with a vision of a morning with Robby, a week before you filed for divorce. A vision of what your future could be like if you let him in again.
The television hums in the background, something neither of you is watching. Dinner's been sitting in the oven on low for almost half an hour. The chicken is drying out.
You hear him sigh before he even rounds the corner into the kitchen.
"Hey." His voice is flat. Tired.
You look up from the sink. "Hey."
He drops his keys into the bowl by the door. Misses. Doesn't bother picking them up.
"Long day?"
"Mhm."
You wait for something more. Anything. But it doesn't come.
"You want me to plate up dinner?"
"If you want."
It's always 'if you want' these days. It's a Herculean effort to bite your tongue. "My brother called - asked if we wanted to come round next weekend."
"M'working." It's barely more than a grunt.
"You've worked the last six Saturdays - surely someone else could cover. Jack would cover. You could tell them no for once."
"I can't."
"You mean you won't."
"Stop!"
Your voice is the firmest it's been all night. Chest heaving, it's all you can manage to scramble away from Robby. He kneels where he is, hands hesitating where you were just a second ago.
"W-What's wrong? Did I do something?"
Your lip is trembling. “I don't think I can do this again. You hurt me so much, Michael. I-I mean, you're fucking leaving in a week-”
Robby's face falls.
“M'going on sabbatical, not leaving. I'm really trying to work the rest of my shit out. Let me do that, and then let me win you back. Please. I haven't done any of this solely to get you back. But I can't imagine being with anyone else.”
He folds his hands together.
"I spent a long time thinking providing was enough. That if I worked harder, put in more hours, kept the lights on, paid the mortgage..." He shrugs. "That was love."
"You stopped talking to me."
"I know."
"You stopped letting me in."
"I know."
Finally, you summon the courage to ask the million dollar question. "Would it be different this time? If we did it again?"
"Yes." He sounds so sure of his answer that you're almost envious.
But you're still not quite ready. "I hope you're not expecting me to sit at home for three months and wait for you."
"Never," he replies immediately, and you genuinely believe him. "I just want to be in the running again. And earn it. Properly."
Number four. Two years post-divorce. A date.
Robby. 22:01.
Just got back to town
What are you up to?
You hate your heart for doing a little flip as soon as it sees Robby's name flash on your phone.
Two years ago, the same sight made you sick to your stomach.
He had told you that he'd be in touch when he was finished with his sabbatical, but you assumed that meant you'd get a call a week after he was home. Not the same night.
Maybe Michael Robinavitch has had some character growth. Maybe he could be a good husband this time round-
No. You can't let yourself think like that.
You and Robby got divorced for a reason. Many reasons. More reasons than you got married in the first place.
He was married to his work, first and foremost. Never once did he stray, and he barely even glanced at the nurses and interns who would look at him with stars in their eyes, and yet you were still the other woman within your own marriage.
Then there were the self-destructive tendencies. The times when he'd hit the alcohol a little too hard after a long shift, and be almost unresponsive for hours as he slept it off.
Mostly, you think it was the refusal to try and help himself.
To try therapy. Properly. Not just a few meetings before calling it quits, but really making some efforts towards self-improvement. He couldn't do it for himself, and he wouldn't do it for you.
You couldn't handle the stress long-term. Of not knowing when he'd be home that night, or whether you were getting sweet, romantic Michael, or sour-faced Robby.
It had been the hardest decision of your life, serving him with divorce papers.
But it clearly all worked out for the better. You're both healthier apart, though happier is probably debatable. You like the peace that being single affords you.
So why are you considering letting him back in, after all the therapy and work to get over him?
"Is everything okay?" Mark's voice cuts through your spiral, and your gaze snaps up to him.
"Hm?"
"You get bad news or something? You've been staring at your phone for like two minutes."
Shit.
Your fingers start moving before you can consider your response. If Robby's matured so much, he'll be perfectly alright with this.
You. 22:04.
I'm on a date, actually
"Sorry, it was just work. Asking for a consult." Your smile is tight, and you're hoping he doesn't see through the very obvious lie.
If he does, he doesn't comment on it, and you return to your conversation about shares, or stocks, or something equally boring.
Robby had handled all the investment stuff while you were married, and now you pay someone to do it for you.
Finally, he heads up to the bar to get more drinks, and you slip your phone out again.
Robby. 22:05.
When will you be done?
I'll come and pick you up.
Miss my girl.
A text like that from anybody other than Robby would have earned an instant block. Unfortunately, despite his three months away, you're still not immune to the Robinavitch charm.
You never have been.
Besides - you'd already decided you weren't going to sleep with Mark tonight. He's a nice enough guy, but the deal had been sealed when you'd been discussing music, and he hadn't known who Patti Smith was. This man is not your soulmate. But going home alone would mean a date with your vibrator, and one orgasm at most.
Robby would double that, at least.
You. 22:21.
...Not your girl
But you can pick me up around 11.
You shoot him the address of the bar, and consider how you're definitely going to hell for this.
The rest of the date passes in half-time, so painfully slowly that you figure you must have a few new wrinkles than you did at the start. Finally, it's time to make your escape. To ease the impending blow, you throw down your half of the cheque in notes, along with a sizeable tip. "You know, I'm really sorry, but there actually was a work emergency. Thought it would be okay, but they need me in."
"A... dermatology emergency?"
"They're more common than you'd think - my colleague is coming to pick me up," You lie through your teeth. "But I had a really nice night."
Another lie.
You try to dart out so that Mark won't see you leave with Robby, but no luck. The motorcycle is pulled up to the curb with Robby leaning against it, a second helmet in his hands.
“I thought you were going to bring the car!” You hiss, throwing Mark an apologetic glance over your shoulder.
"Bike was what I was riding, and I missed my girl. Mark have a problem with that?"
"If he knew you were my ex, probably."
Maybe you and Robby do deserve each other. God, you're awful. Robby clips the helmet under your chin, and you pretend to not notice your date's gaze staring at you both while he waits for his car to be brought round.
"You ready?"
You nod, though you feel anything but. You've never liked the bike, much to Robby's chagrin. One of his favourite things is having you wrap your arms around his waist while he drives.
*****
Fuck, he knows you too well. It's almost unfair, that even after over a year of separation that he still knows you better than anybody in the world.
There are no pleasantries. No discussions. Just a beeline for the house, before clothes are discarded in a haphazard manner as you try and make it to the bedroom in one piece.
You don't quite make it there before Robby gives you orgasm number one. Torso on the top landing, he gets carried away on the staircase, leaving you totally seeing stars.
Thankfully, he's more than familiar with the house layout, and carries you the rest of the way.
“W-Wait - condom," You interrupt. Last thing you need is a baby to complicate matters. He reaches for the bedside table, complete muscle memory, but you shake your head. “Down one.”
He huffs a little, obviously put out at the change in what he still considers to be his home.
Of course, the fact that you have these at all makes his blood boil a little.
Not that you can't have seen other people.
You've been separated for almost two years, and were growing apart long before that, but god is he so glad to have you like this again. In the home that you both shared - on the bed that he paid for.
Like nothing ever went wrong.
Determined to put the memory of all other men to shame, Robby takes you around his cock, before giving you his fingers and tongue again. By the time you come down, you're more spent than he's ever seen you before.
You're barely awake as you curl into his side. "How was the trip?"
"Really great," he answers honestly. "Did me a lot of good, but I'm glad to be back. Missed you too much."
"Shouldn't be telling you this," you hum slightly, eyes fluttering closed. "But I missed you too."
Number five. Three years post-divorce. Forever.
“You have some white coming in,” You hum, fingers carding through Robby's hair where his head rests in your lap. The windows are cracked open just enough to let a breeze in, and you can hear the faint sounds of a lawn mower down the street.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm."
You separate a few strands between your fingers, tilting his head toward the light. "Right here. My favourite old man."
Robby scoffs. "That feels excessive."
"Well, you did marry a woman eighteen years younger than you. Feels like something you brought on yourself."
You think back to the man who used to come home after twelve-hour shifts, kiss you on the forehead, tell you he was just tired, then carry the weight of the world around in silence until it crushed everything else.
This version of Robby still has bad days.
Still wakes up anxious sometimes. Annoyed. Still gets overwhelmed by work. Still occasionally retreats to the garage or the backyard for half an hour when his head gets too loud.
The difference is that he always comes back.
And he lets you help.
Sure, it had been a little embarrassing announcing that you were back with your ex-husband - especially after all the shit that had gone down between you both.
But Robby had been right.
There's no one else you could ever imagine being with.
Despite all this, you're still shocked when the next words fall from his lips. "Marry me."
"What?" Your fingers freeze mid-motion, and you try to gage from his upside-down expression whether he's joking or not. You don't think he is.
"Marry me. Again."
"Holy shit," You breathe, head spinning. "What? Are you joking?"
He sits up, turning to take your hands in his. "Deadly serious, sweetheart. I uh, didn't really know what the etiquette was for this kind of thing - I know you liked your first ring, but that felt sort of like bad karma. So I was thinking, if you say yes, we could go shopping for a new one together."
A few years ago, you would have been making the biggest mistake of your life. Now, you don't feel a shred of hesitation. "Yes."
His face breaks into a smile. "Yeah?"
You nod, lip between your teeth as you fight back tears. "Fuck it. Let's get married again."
Pairings: Jack Abbot x Ex!Reader
Summary: Waking up in the hospital after your accident has you debating everything about Jack. You couldn’t forgive him, could you?
Warnings: insecure!reader, Major Injury, HEAVY Angst (no happy ending), infidelity/cheating (CHEATING IS NOT OKAY), OOC Jack, OOC Samira, pathetic!jack, second wife!Reader, SAHW!reader, AGE GAP (reader is in late 20’s and Jack is in late 40’s)
WC:1.3k
a/n: honestly i started writing this right after posting too. I tried getting this out sooner but was super busy last night so this morninn will have to do. I really appreciate all your support and hope you enjoy the story and its ending!1! :D
Slowly fluttering your eyes open, you’re met by the brightest light known to man, and pain all over your body. Trying to move your arms shoots a sharp, searing pain up your body, that has you whimpering and tensing up, your jaw clenched so tight you think you might crack your teeth.
You blink rapidly, attempting to get your eyes to focus. You look around and notice the empty hospital room engulfing you.
“F-Fuck.” Your breath hitching as you look down at yourself, tearing up at the sight. You were covered in bruises and scratches, your leg wrapped tightly with some dressing, and your right arm in a sling. You move your less affected arm towards your face and head, wincing at the soreness and pain.
There’s a lingering pain somewhere deep in you though, one that hurts worse than any physical injury you have. Reaching for your chest now, your hand bunching up the hospital gown right above your heart.
God, the world is cruel. You lie here broken in more ways than one, and the man who had sworn ‘till death do us part’ is freely walking after breaking every promise.
It truly had come out of nowhere. He was so loving, practically kissing the ground you walked on. The love you shared felt like a fairy tale, everything was perfect, even your arguments.
But you just weren’t her.
And that was forever going to haunt you. I mean, fuck, you see it, you understand it. She’s amazing. What she’s achieved in life and how she carries herself, she was always someone you looked up to. Her betrayal hurts just as much as his.
The door creaking open rips you from your thoughts, seeing the nurse peek through. “Oh, perfect, you’re up, Mrs.Abbot.” You flinch at the name, wincing slightly. She notices and quickly rushes over to examine you, concern etched across her face. She asks how your feeling, and you give her the rundown on how you’re physically feeling.
“Is everybody in the ambulance okay?” Suddenly remembering that other people were involved “Everyone else got away scot-free. You, on the other hand, had no seatbelt on.” She starts typing on her laptop. “Honestly, it’s a miracle you got away with a broken bone, some other minor injuries, and nothing else. You went through your windshield, but you’re lucky your husband was there, he brought you in and was the one who worked on you.” You scoff. That’s definitely not the word to describe it. “lucky”
Unable to contain your disdain, you spit out “ex-husband,” and she gives you a knowing, sad smile. News must travel fast in here, which makes something bubble up in your stomach. You can’t stand another second in this hospital right now.
“I need some air, please.” You plead, and she starts shaking her head. “You won’t be able to walk, but even if you could, it isn’t a good idea. Sweetheart you need to rest.” You sit up, hiding the abrupt pain in your chest when you do.
“I just need some air. Let me try and get up, and if I’m not able to walk, I’ll lie back down.” You’re begging, “I promise,” and she lets out a sigh, giving in. You know she pities you, but you couldn’t care less at this point.
She helps you get up, and you bite down, doing your best not to reveal the severe pain. Every step was like a knife stabbing you, over and over again. It was awful.
As you get to the elevator, it dings and opens to reveal the person you were trying to escape. Tears flood your vision as Jack rushes to you. “Baby, oh my god.” his voice cracked.
He was at your side, gently pulling you in for a hug, avoiding the IV. The touch making you whimper, your pain now unbearable. Maybe it was the drugs, but you melted into his touch, your body betraying you.
“Thank you so much, I’ll take it from here.” You could feel him shaking. He was crying, your tears mixing as he rested his forehead on yours. You let out a shaky breath, unable to move, unable to beg the nurse to stay as she walked away. He was like a fucking vampire, draining the life and energy out of you.
You remained in his chest, breathing him in, trying to remember the scent he left in your bed, but all you could smell was Samira.
The smell bringing you back to reality, making you retreat from him slowly, your eyes away from him. “Take me home, Jack.” you spit out.
You wanted to leave, but you physically couldn’t. Jack had taken two weeks off to nurse you back to health. It was miserable, you were stuck. You had no family here, nowhere to crash, and your fucking car was gone.
Those two weeks did something to you. You barely spoke to Jack, but he was always there, and you hated it. He was constantly pleading with you, trying to explain why he did what he did. Constantly whispering sweet nothings and how much he loved you, but you didn’t budge.
Although your body was constantly betraying you. The first few nights, you had forced him into the guest room, but on a day that you were extra vulnerable, he had managed to sneak himself in, and you relished in his warmth, allowing him to sleep in your bed from then on out.
Then the showers, god they were the worst. You didn’t want him to see you naked, but he had to help, and when he did, you’d lean into his touch, borderline moaning at it. There was a huge part of you that missed him, and your life before you found out. So you couldn't help it.
And that was exactly why you were packing your bags the night he went back to work. You couldn’t give in, so you had to leave.
While he was taking care of you, you had been messaging your mother and sister, and they had begged you to come back. Knowing it was what was best for you, you decided you would. Leaving your wedding ring on your bed, waiting for him.
There was no excuse for what he did. You two had an amazing life, it was practically perfect. Yet he still slept with another woman— your closest friend. He thinks maybe it was the thrill, maybe it was the excitement of getting caught, but that made him recoil at himself. He was a weak man.
“I don’t think she’s ever gonna forgive me.” Jack sighs into the phone, sitting at the longest red light known to man. “Jack, I don’t know any woman who would.” He knows Robby’s right, but I mean, what was he supposed to do? Let you go without fighting?
After a long moment of silence, Jack speaks again, “Alright man, I’m almost home. I’ll see you later tonight.” As he turns into his driveway, something twists in his stomach. The guilt was eating away at him and taking a toll on him mentally, and physically, but what you were going through was so much worse, he had to stay strong.
Walking into the house, he immediately started heading towards the bedroom, needing to see your face, craving you. Only to be met with an empty, neat room.
He spots the glint of the ring on your shared bed and immediately runs over, almost tripping over himself. Picking it up he feels his tears finally begin to fall.
He drops to his knees, his hand holding the ring over his heart. It was a miracle he had met you all those years ago. He didn’t think he would find love again after his wife, but you proved him wrong. You were perfect, and he fell for you instantly, but now none of that mattered.
You were gone.
a/n: and he got exactly what he deserved! honestly i was gonna go the route where she dies but she doesnt deserve thattt. i kinda put her through hell tho... oops :D no but i really do hope yall enjoyed this is def the last part i really wanted to do a short angsty oneshot so i think it was the perfect way to end it. I appreciate your support tho theres def more stories coming!!
Summary; When a patient assumes Robby and you are married, you're forced to confront a future neither of you has ever talked about, and wonder if you're really on the same page
The laceration wasn't deep. Messy, and definitely painful, but thankfully not deep.
"Good news," you said with a smile as you pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. "You're going to keep the arm."
Mrs Clark let out a delighted laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls of the treatment room.
"Oh, thank goodness. I was rather attached to it."
You reached for the saline, irrigating the wound carefully while she winced only slightly. She was somewhere in her late seventies, maybe early eighties. Sharp as a tack despite the pain medication, endlessly chatty, and reminding you so much of your grandmother.
"So," she asked after a comfortable silence, watching you work. "How long have you worked here?"
"Long enough to know which patients I need to keep my eye on." You glanced up with a wink. "And you're at the top of today's list."
"Oh, you're wicked."
You finished flushing the wound before drying the surrounding skin, laying out your suture kit with practiced efficiency. Needle driver. Forceps. Scissors. Suture. Mrs Clark watched every movement with surprising interest.
"So," you already recognised that tone. “Are you seeing anyone?"
Your hands paused for a second before continuing.
"Straight to the important questions?"
"At my age," she replied matter-of-factly, "I don't waste time."
"Fair enough."
"So?"
"I'm seeing someone."
Her entire face brightened.
"Oh, good."
You found yourself smiling as you picked up the first stitch.
"Very good, actually."
"How long?"
You thought for a moment, eyes fixed on bringing the edges of the wound neatly together.
"About six months now."
"And?"
"And," you admitted quietly, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips, "he's wonderful."
Mrs Clark's eyes sparkled.
"You’ve got that smile."
You frowned, though it lacked any conviction.
"What smile?"
"The one a woman gets when she's completely smitten."
Heat crept into your cheeks.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, I think you do."
You laughed under your breath, shaking your head.
"He's," you threaded another stitch through the skin. "He's just a good man."
"What does he do?"
You hesitated.
"We work together. He’s a doctor here.”
Mrs Clark nodded knowingly.
"Does that make things easier or harder?"
You couldn't help chuckling.
"Both."
"How so?"
You looked down at the wound, concentrating on keeping your stitches evenly spaced.
"He worries too much."
"About you?"
You smiled to yourself.
"He'd deny it, but yes."
"And you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you worry about him?"
Your fingers continued to move in a steady rhythm.
"Constantly."
The word slipped out before you had the chance to soften it. Mrs Clark's smile softened into something almost maternal.
"Oh, sweetheart."
Before you could recover, two familiar knocks sounded against the door.
"Come in."
The door swung open, Robby stepped inside, rubbing freshly dispensed sanitiser between his hands.
"I heard you were hiding in here."
"I'm working," you corrected without looking up.
"So you claim."
He wandered over, stopping just beside your shoulder. Not close enough to crowd you, but close enough that you became acutely aware of his presence. He leaned slightly to inspect the repair.
"You mind if I watch?"
You smiled.
"You checking my work?"
"I'm supervising."
"Uh-huh."
He watched quietly for a moment, his eyes following the precise rhythm of your hands.
"Hm."
You glanced sideways.
"Hm, good or hm, concerning?"
"The spacing's good."
You looked back at the wound before he could see how ridiculously pleased that made you.
"High praise."
"Don't let it go to your head."
"I'll try."
Mrs Clark had gone suspiciously quiet. Her eyes drifted between the two of you. The way Robby instinctively moved closer whenever you shifted position. The way you made room for him without either of you acknowledging it. The comfortable silence that settled whenever neither of you spoke. A slow smile spread across her face.
"Ah."
You frowned.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing."
She looked directly at Robby.
"So you're the one she worries about."
Your hand froze for the briefest second.
"Mrs Clark."
"What?" she asked innocently. "I only repeated what she told me."
Robby looked at her first.
"She said that?"
"Word for word."
Only then did he turn to you. There was no teasing in his expression at first. Just quiet surprise.
"You worry about me?"
You looked back at Mrs Clark with a shake of your head.
"I was under the impression doctor-patient confidentiality applied."
Mrs Clark burst into laughter.
"I don't think that's how it works my dear." Robby chuckled, folding his arms loosely across his chest. You tied the final knot before snipping the suture.
"There."
You reached for the dressing, smoothing it into place.
"All finished." Mrs Clark watched the pair of you with open delight.
"She's blushing."
You groaned, finally looking up at Robby, and he was smiling. Not the amused grin he wore with most people. Something softer, something only for you. Your stomach performed an embarrassing little flip.
Mrs Clark clasped her hands together.
"Oh, I like the two of you. How long have you two been married?"
You couldn't help laughing.
"We're not married," Robby said, his voice gentle. Mrs Clark frowned thoughtfully and you shook your head. She hummed to herself, lips twitching. You knew that look. She knew exactly what she was doing.
"You knew perfectly well we weren't married, Mrs Clark."
Mrs Clark's smile softened as she looked at the pair of you.
"The way he watches you, my Harold used to look at me like that."
The teasing disappeared from her voice. She nodded towards Robby.
Without meaning to, you looked up and Robby was already looking at you. The moment your eyes met, he cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the suture tray.
"Forty-eight years."
She folded her hands in her lap.
"Didn't matter if we were in church, or at home reading the newspaper. When I asked what he was looking at, he'd say, 'Just making sure you're real.'"
The treatment room fell quiet. Then she looked directly at Robby.
"I haven't seen that look in a long time." She smiled again, entirely unbothered, "Don't keep her waiting too long. I had forty-eight years with my husband." She looked at the wedding ring she still wore. "It still wasn't enough."
Even Robby had no witty reply.
Your stomach twisted. You dropped your gaze immediately, fussing with the dressing even though it was already sitting perfectly.
A ring, marriage. You'd never really let yourself picture it. Not because you didn't want it, but because you'd always quietly assumed Robby didn't. He'd never talked about weddings or forever or any of it. He wasn't exactly the daydreaming type, and you'd made your peace with that months ago. Being with him was enough. The last thing you ever wanted was for him to think you expected something he didn't want.
Beside you, Robby noticed the way you'd gone quiet. The smile had vanished from your face. Your shoulders had tightened ever so slightly. He felt something sink in his chest.
Mrs Clark looked between the two of you, her smile fading just a touch.
"Have I put my foot in it?"
"No," you and Robby answered together.
She sighed dramatically.
"Oh, dear."
You finally looked at Robby. He met your eyes for just a second. Both of you wore almost identical expressions, thoughtful and uncertain.
You had always imagined getting married. Not in the ‘I've planned every detail since I was twelve’ kind of way. Just one day, finding your person and standing in front of the people you loved. Promising forever. You had stopped picturing who that person might be years ago. Until Robby. Then he had taken the place that always belonged to him. You'd imagined wearing his ring. Growing old together. Then, just as quickly, you'd forced yourself to stop. Because he had never talked about marriage. Not once. Not when conversations drifted toward the future. Not when colleagues announced engagements.
You had taken the hint. He was older than you, he had built a life before you came into it. Maybe he had already decided marriage wasn't for him. Maybe he had seen too many relationships fall apart. Maybe he simply didn't need a piece of paper to prove how he felt. And that was ok, it had to be ok. Because you loved him. You weren't about to lose him over something he'd never promised you.
You felt Robby watching you for the rest of the shift. He had been quiet all afternoon. Not withdrawn, just somewhere else. Every time your paths crossed, he smiled politely. Professionally. Then he kept walking. It felt wrong.
When your shift finally ended, you were halfway through changing out of your scrubs when you heard a knock on the locker room door.
"You decent?" Robby. He stepped inside, already changed into jeans and his navy zip up, his keys twirling lazily around one finger. You quickly finished the knot in your laces before standing to sling your bag over your shoulder.
"You ready?"
“I want to talk to you first.”
You let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
"I knew that was coming."
He leaned lightly against the row of lockers opposite you.
"Mrs Clark."
You groaned.
"Please don't."
"I think we have to."
You dropped your eyes.
“It doesn’t have to be awkward Robby, we can just let it go.”
“No, I want to talk about it. I want us to be on the same page.”
You knew he was right, even if you did want to bury your head in the sand. You nodded, giving in.
“When she mentioned it, us being married, you looked uncomfortable.” It sounded more like a question, like he wanted confirmation.
"I was embarrassed."
He took a slow breath.
"I know. I saw it on your face."
“Robby, I just didn’t want you thinking I assumed anything. I don’t want you to feel like I’m expecting more than what you’re happy to give.”
His brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"You've never talked about marriage."
He said nothing, just continued to watch you thoughtfully.
"I know it’s not something you see in your future, or our future," you continued quietly, “and that’s ok. Because if it isn’t something you want, then I don’t want to lose you over it.”
His expression changed immediately.
"It isn't a deal breaker for me." You smiled gently.
His face morphed into something softer, the avoidant Robby from before disappeared.
"You think that I don't want to marry you?" You couldn’t find the words to speak. You didn’t think Robby wanted to marry you, and you had tried to make peace with that. But to say it outloud, sounded like something you weren’t ready to hear.
“Listen to me,” he reached for your hand, “I know we've only been together a relatively short time." He was speaking carefully now. "And I don't want a comment from a patient making you think there's any pressure. But I want you to know, I have every intention of marrying you some day.”
You stared at him and for a full five seconds, your brain simply stopped. Then your eyes went impossibly wide.
“Really?”
The word came out in a tiny, almost disbelieving squeak. Something in Robby’s chest loosened. A smile spread slowly across his face, completely unguarded. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.
"Really."
Your hands flew to his forearms.
"No, but," you shook your head, searching his face. "You’re serious?"
"I’m serious."
A nervous laugh escaped you.
"You want to marry me?"
"I do."
Your entire face lit up. It wasn't just a smile, it was pure, unfiltered joy. The kind that reached your eyes before it reached your mouth. The kind you couldn't possibly fake.
"Oh my God." You laughed once, completely breathless. "Oh my God."
You bounced once on the balls of your feet before throwing your arms around his neck. He caught you automatically, chuckling as he wrapped his arms around your waist.
"You have no idea how happy you've just made me."
"I think I do."
"No, you don't!"
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your grin so wide your cheeks were beginning to ache.
“I didn’t think it bothered me that much, I've spent months telling myself I was perfectly happy never getting married because I had you. And now you're telling me," your smile somehow became even brighter, "that I get both?"
He smiled, unable to look away from you. You knew you weren’t the only one who had become giddy. Robby just wore it differently. Your excitement came out in your laughter, his came out in the quiet smiles and warm hands that didn’t let go of yours.
Mrs. Clark had been right. Every time you looked up, Robby was already looking at you. Not staring, just looking. Like he was taking it all in.
"You know," he said as you climbed in the car, "your face might get stuck like that." He laughed under his breath, closing your door before walking around to the driver's side.
The moment he sat down, you looked at him again and he reached across and squeezed your hand. You tried to bite your lip to stop yourself grinning. It didn't work.
"You should probably prepare yourself, you know."
"For what?"
He turned on the engine and pulled out of the parking space with suspicious calm.
"I could ask you at any moment now."
Your head whipped towards him.
"What?"
He kept his eyes on the road, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Could be tonight."
You stared.
"Could be next week."
"Robby."
"I just think it's important you stay alert.” He shrugged with exaggerated seriousness. "Could happen in the grocery store."
You snorted.
"The grocery store?"
"You would be loading up the cart, turn around and there I am. Down on one knee. You'd never see it coming."
He glanced sideways at you, gripping your hand and bringing it to his lips and kissed your knuckles.
Request - Hello hello Miss Paige! I'm not quite sure if your requests are open but if they are I was wondering if I could request a dr Robby x wife reader they've been trying to get pregnant but she's infertile then one day he actually adopts baby Jane doe as their own! I just loved they way he was with that baby girl and I couldn't help but think of your fics🩷
The alarm would go off at six. You would groan dramatically, tugging the comforter over your head while Robby muttered something unintelligible into his pillow beside you. It happened every weekday without fail. He worked twelve-hour shifts saving lives in one of Pittsburgh’s busiest emergency departments, and yet somehow the trauma attending who could bark orders through a mass casualty incident became an absolute menace whenever his alarm clock dared interrupt his sleep.
“Michael,” you’d mumble.
“No.”
“You have to go to work.”
“I’ve thought about it. I don’t.”
You’d laugh into the pillow before reaching over him to silence the alarm yourself.
“You have patients.”
“They’ll understand.”
“I don’t think they will.”
He’d sigh theatrically before finally rolling onto his back, rubbing both hands over his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side. My side just also likes having electricity.”
That would earn you one sleepy glare before he reached over, caught your wrist, and tugged you back against him for one more minute.
“Five,” he’d negotiate.
“One.”
“Four.”
“Two.”
He kissed you.
“Deal.”
Those two extra minutes always turned into ten. By six-thirty the house smelled like coffee instead of sleep. You stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing one of Robby’s old Pitt Medical Center hoodies while scrambling eggs, your hair twisted into a messy clip that never survived the morning. Robby wandered in freshly showered, smoothing his black scrub top over a blue undershirt.
“You stealing my clothes again?” he asked.
“I married you. They’re community property.”
“I don’t think that’s how marriage works.”
“It is in Pennsylvania.”
He snorted, pouring himself coffee before leaning against the counter to watch you.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re about to ask me to do something.”
You smiled innocently. “The museum’s getting a Roman exhibit delivered today.”
“Mhm.”
“And the shipping company insists everything has to be unloaded before eight.”
“Mhm.”
“And I might’ve volunteered to help move a two-thousand-year-old marble bust.”
“…Absolutely not.”
“It only weighs—”
“I don’t care if it weighs two pounds.”
“It weighs…” You hesitated.
His eyebrow rose.
“…One hundred and forty.”
He stared at you.
“Sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t going to carry it by myself.”
“You weren’t going to touch it.”
“I am literally the curator.”
“You’re literally five-foot-seven.”
“I am capable.”
He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of you, one hand wrapping around your waist while the other brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I know you are.” His voice softened. “But I also know you throw your back out reaching for cereal on the top shelf.”
“I did that once.”
“It was last month.”
“It was embarrassing enough the first time.”
“I carried you downstairs.”
“You laughed.”
“I absolutely did.”
You smacked his chest. He kissed you anyway. It was easy. That was your favorite thing about loving Michael Robinavich. Nothing between the two of you ever felt forced. Not after five years together. Not after nearly three years of marriage.
Life wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t some grand romance full of extravagant gestures. It was grocery lists on the refrigerator. It was him bringing home the good sourdough because he’d remembered you’d mentioned it three weeks earlier. It was you texting him reminders to eat something besides coffee and vending machine pretzels. It was ordinary. Beautifully ordinary. Except…
For the calendar hidden inside the junk drawer. After Robby left for work, you stood in the kitchen for a long moment before quietly opening it. A small planner. Nothing fancy. Just dates. Tiny circles. Little hearts. Doctor’s notes. Ovulation windows. Expected periods. Pregnancy tests.
Six months. Six months of timing dinners around fertile windows. Six months of joking about how unromantic phone reminders could be. Six months of buying tests in bulk because somehow that hurt less than buying one. You’d promised each other you weren’t going to obsess. You were failing spectacularly.
******
The museum was quieter than usual that afternoon. Children wandered through the dinosaur exhibit while a retired couple asked thoughtful questions about an upcoming Impressionist collection. Normally, the work grounded you. You loved watching people discover something they’d never noticed before. History had a way of reminding everyone that time kept moving. Today, though your phone buzzed.
Michael ❤️
How’s Caesar?
You smiled despite yourself.
Roman exhibit survived. Curator still alive.
His reply came almost immediately.
Good. I would’ve hated explaining to your parents that you lost a fight with Julius Caesar.
It was Augustus.
History nerd.
Trauma nerd.
Three bouncing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came one final message.
Don’t make plans tonight.
Your stomach fluttered.
Why?
Because I’m taking my wife to dinner.
Special occasion?
There was a pause before his answer came through.
No. Just miss you.
Your eyes stung unexpectedly. Not because anything was wrong. Because everything was still so right. Even with the quiet disappointment that arrived every month, he had never let this become about obligation. He still flirted. He still stole kisses in the kitchen. He still reached for your hand whenever the two of you crossed a street.
He never made you feel like your marriage was becoming a checklist. And somehow that almost made the ache worse.
******
Dinner ended with the two of you sharing cheesecake because Robby insisted ordering two desserts was “financially irresponsible.”
“You make more than enough money to buy two slices.”
“That’s exactly how rich people become poor.”
You laughed.
“You have absolutely no evidence to support that.”
“I have vibes.”
“You have anxiety.”
“I have both.”
When you got home, the evening settled into its familiar rhythm. You changed into pajamas. He stretched out beside you on the couch. Some terrible reality competition played in the background that neither of you was actually watching. Eventually your head found his shoulder. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles across the back of your hand.
“Hey?” he said quietly.
“Mhm?”
“When does your period start?”
You looked down at your intertwined fingers.
“Tomorrow.”
Silence. Not awkward. Just…heavy. He squeezed your hand once.
“Maybe this month it won’t?”
You smiled. Not because you believed it anymore. But because he still did.
“…Maybe this month.”
Neither of you noticed that neither answer sounded quite as hopeful as it had six months before.
******
The pregnancy test sat face down on the bathroom counter. Neither of you had touched it in nearly twenty minutes. There wasn’t any reason to. You already knew what it said. You had known before you’d even taken it.
Negative. Again.
You leaned against the vanity with your arms folded tightly across your stomach, staring at the white subway tile on the opposite wall as though if you looked long enough, it would somehow rearrange itself into different news. Behind you, the bedroom remained quiet. Robby hadn’t come in. He never did. Not unless you asked. It wasn’t avoidance. It was respect.
The bathroom had become your space every month. Your place to breathe, to process, to cry if you needed to without feeling like someone was trying to make the disappointment disappear before you were ready. A soft knock came against the door.
“You okay?”
His voice was gentle. You closed your eyes.
“…No.”
The door opened just enough for him to peek inside. He didn’t ask about the test. He didn’t have to. His eyes found yours before they drifted briefly toward the counter. One glance. That was enough.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
He crossed the room slowly, giving you every opportunity to tell him to stop. Instead, you stepped into him. His arms wrapped around you automatically, one hand settling against the back of your head while the other rested low against your back.
Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t anything left to say that hadn’t already been said during the last six months.
“I’m tired,” you whispered into his T-shirt.
“I know.”
“I’m so tired of hoping.”
“I know.”
“It feels stupid now.”
“It isn’t.”
“It does.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“No,” he murmured. “It feels human.”
Your breathing hitched.
“I keep thinking…” You swallowed hard. “Maybe I did something wrong years ago. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe—”
“No.”
His answer came immediately. Firm. Certain. You pulled back enough to look at him.
“No,” he repeated. “We’re not doing that.”
“But—”
“We’re not.” His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes. “You don’t get to blame yourself for biology.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“I’ve done everything.”
“I know.”
“I track everything.”
“I know.”
“I stopped drinking wine.”
“I noticed.”
“I even switched shampoo because some woman online said—”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
“You switched shampoo?”
“It had three million views.”
“You let TikTok make medical decisions?”
“It was a vulnerable moment.”
That earned the smallest laugh from both of you. Tiny. Fragile. But real. Robby rested his forehead against yours.
“We’re making an appointment.”
You nodded.
“I think…” you whispered. “I think it’s time.”
******
The fertility clinic didn’t smell like a hospital. It smelled like lavender. Someone had clearly decided soft lighting and watercolor paintings would somehow make difficult conversations easier. You weren’t convinced.
Robby sat beside you in the waiting room, one knee bouncing almost imperceptibly. Most people assumed he was unshakable. You knew better. His tells were microscopic. The bouncing knee. The way he rolled his wedding band around his finger. The fact that he’d read the same magazine page three times without turning it. He looked over.
“You want to leave?”
You almost laughed.
“You think we’d make it to the parking garage?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
He reached across the armrest, quietly intertwining your fingers. When the nurse finally called your names, he didn’t let go.
The appointment lasted just under an hour. There were questions. Medical history. Blood work. Imaging. Follow-up testing over the next several weeks. Life carried on around those appointments.
You curated exhibits. Robby worked shifts. You still laughed. Still made dinner together. Still argued over whose turn it was to fold laundry. But beneath everything…There was waiting. Until one rainy Thursday afternoon. The doctor’s office overlooked downtown Pittsburgh. Gray clouds pressed against the windows while traffic crawled several stories below. The physician sat across from both of you with a folder resting on her lap. She wasn’t rushed. You appreciated that.
“We have your results.”
Your stomach dropped. She explained everything carefully. The findings. The diagnosis. The statistics. The possibilities. She talked about specialists. IVF. Egg donation. Embryo adoption. Surrogacy. Future conversations. Words continued filling the room.nYou heard them. You just couldn’t seem to hold onto them. Because one sentence kept echoing louder than the rest.
“The likelihood of conceiving naturally is extremely low.”
The office became impossibly quiet. You looked down at your hands.
“…Okay.”
It came out barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded sympathetically.
“I’m very sorry.”
You smiled automatically. The same polite smile you’d perfected through years of museum galas and donor dinners.
“Thank you.”
Beside you, Robby asked thoughtful questions. The kind he always asked. Clarifying. Respectful. Professional. You barely registered the conversation.
The drive home was silent. Not uncomfortable. Rain tapped softly against the windshield while Pittsburgh blurred past in streaks of gray. Robby kept one hand on the steering wheel. The other rested quietly between the seats. Palm up.
Waiting.
You slipped your hand into his halfway across one of the bridges. He squeezed once. Neither of you spoke.
You didn’t make dinner. Neither of you was hungry. The takeout containers sat unopened on the kitchen counter while evening slowly settled over the house. You changed into one of Robby’s old sweatshirts before wandering into the living room.
He found you sitting on the floor. Your back leaned against the couch.nYour knees hugged tightly against your chest.nHe didn’t ask permission. He simply sat beside you. Close enough that your shoulders touched. For several minutes…
Nothing. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily. Cars passed outside. Rain continued falling.
“I feel broken.”
His eyes closed.
“…Don’t say that.”
“I do.”
“You aren’t broken.”
“I can’t do the one thing my body’s supposed to—”
“Baby, stop.”
His voice wasn’t loud. It was pleading. You looked over. His eyes were already wet.
“I need you to listen to me for a minute.”
You nodded silently. He turned toward you completely.
“I married you because you make me laugh when I’ve had the worst day of my life.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“I married you because you can spend forty-five minutes explaining why one painting belongs in a different room, and somehow I end up caring.”
Another tear followed.
“I married you because you dance in this kitchen while you’re making grilled cheese.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I sway.”
“You choreograph.” His own voice cracked. “I didn’t marry you because I thought you’d give me children.”
He reached up, brushing away another tear with the pad of his thumb.
“I married you because you’re my favorite person.”
Your lip trembled.
“If our family ends up being just us…” He shrugged gently. “Then I won.”
You broke. Not quietly. Not gracefully. The sob tore out of your chest before you could stop it. You buried your face against his shoulder while he wrapped both arms around you, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.
“I’m sorry,” you cried.
“So am I.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head immediately
“For everything.”
He gently cupped your face until you had no choice but to look at him.
“There is nothing—” his voice caught before he steadied it, “—nothing for you to apologize to me for. We lost something today. We did. You’re not alone in this.”
Your tears kept falling.
“I don’t know what happens next.”
He smiled sadly.
“…Neither do I.”
The honesty of it settled between you. No promises. No false hope. Just truth. After a long silence, he rested his forehead against yours.
“We don’t have to decide anything tonight.”
You nodded.
“Not IVF.”
Another nod.
“Not adoption.”
You closed your eyes.
“Not fostering.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“We’re allowed to just…be sad for a while.”
You reached for his hand, weaving your fingers through his.
“…Okay.”
He kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Then your cheek. Finally, he whispered the only promise he knew he could keep.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Outside, the rain continued to fall against the windows. Inside, two people sat on the living room floor grieving the future they had imagined, completely unaware that, months from now, a tiny little baby with no name, no family, and nowhere else to go would quietly change both of their lives forever.
******
The museum had closed nearly two hours ago. You’d spent the evening cataloging a recent donation—a collection of handwritten Civil War letters that had somehow survived more than a century tucked inside an attic trunk. Usually, work like that settled your mind. It required patience. Precision. Quiet.
Tonight, though, you couldn’t focus. Your eyes kept drifting toward the clock hanging above your office door.
9:17 p.m.
Robby should’ve been home an hour ago. You knew better than to worry immediately. The emergency department didn’t run on schedules, and Michael Robinavich certainly didn’t leave simply because the clock told him he could.
Still…You sent a text.
You: Alive?
No response. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your purse before locking your office and making your way through the empty museum. Outside, the July air was warm, the city humming softly around you. By the time you reached home, the sun had disappeared completely.
The house was dark. You kicked off your shoes, changed into leggings and one of Robby’s old T-shirts, and started making grilled cheese sandwiches. One for you. One for him. You’d learned long ago that after difficult shifts, he almost never admitted he was hungry.
He’d simply wander into the kitchen and steal yours. You smiled to yourself. Some habits never changed.
******
It was nearly midnight when headlights finally swept across the living room wall. You looked up from the couch.
“…Jesus.”
You hurried to the front door before he’d even reached it. When it opened, the first thing you noticed wasn’t the infant carrier sitting beside his feet. It was him.
His shoulders sagged beneath his jacket. His hair was flattened in odd directions from repeatedly dragging his hands through it. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He looked…
Empty. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone had quietly taken pieces of him throughout the day and forgotten to give them back.
“Michael…”
His eyes found yours. For a second…you saw them soften with relief.
“Hey.”
His voice was hoarse.
“You okay?”
He gave a tired shrug.
“I don’t know.”
Your heart cracked. Then your eyes drifted downward.
“…Honey?”
He followed your gaze.
“Oh.”
As though he’d forgotten.
“There…there’s a baby.” You blinked. “…Michael.”
“I know.”
“…Michael.”
“I know.”
You stared at the infant carrier. Then back at your husband.
“…Whose baby is that?”
He scrubbed both hands over his exhausted face.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“…What?”
He stepped inside, carefully lifting the carrier before nudging the front door closed with his foot. The little girl inside couldn’t have been more than a few months old. She was asleep. One tiny fist tucked beneath her cheek. Dark eyelashes resting against impossibly round little cheeks. Your entire body instinctively softened.
“Oh…”
Robby carefully set the carrier on the living room rug before crouching beside it. He didn’t look at the baby. He looked at the floor.
“It was a hell of a shift.”
You quietly sat beside him. He took a long breath.
“They found her.” You waited. “Wrapped in a blanket.”
Another silence.
“No identification. No diaper bag. No note.” His jaw tightened. “Nothing.”
You reached for his hand. He accepted it immediately.
“CPS has been trying to locate family all day.” He swallowed. “Nobody’s come.”
Your eyes drifted back toward the sleeping infant.
“So…”
“So hospital policy allows temporary emergency placement with qualified caregivers when…” He rubbed a hand over his eyes again. “When there isn’t an immediate placement available.”
He laughed once. It wasn’t amused.
“They asked if I’d take her overnight.”
“You said yes.”
“I didn’t even think.”
His voice sounded almost apologetic.
“I just…” He looked at the baby. “…I couldn’t leave her there.”
You smiled sadly. His shoulders slumped even further.
“I know that’s insane. I have absolutely no business bringing an infant home after today.”
“You brought her somewhere safe.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“You keep premature babies alive for a living.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They leave. They go home.”
The words escaped before he could stop them. Silence settled between you. He immediately regretted saying it.
“I’m sorry.”
You shook your head.
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” You scooted closer until your shoulder rested against his. “I know what you meant.”
He nodded once. Barely. After another long silence, he finally whispered…
“I lost three people today.”
Your breath caught.
“I had to tell an old friend he’s got cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And then…” His eyes landed on the baby’s again. “…There she was.”
The tiny baby stretched in her sleep, making the smallest little sigh.
“I kept walking past her room all day.” His voice cracked. “Every time I walked by…”
He laughed bitterly.
“She’d just…look at me.”
You listened.
“I don’t know why.” He shook his head. “I’d stop for thirty seconds. Talk to her. Make a bottle. Rock her. Then I’d get called away again.”
His fingers curled tightly together.
“I don’t even like pediatrics.”
That earned the tiniest smile from you.
“I know.”
“I barely tolerate healthy adults.”
“I definitely know.”
“But…” He stared at the sleeping infant. “…She didn’t have anyone.”
His voice broke completely on that sentence. You’d seen Michael cry exactly three times in your marriage. This wasn’t quite crying.nIt was something quieter. The exhaustion of a man whose heart had simply reached capacity.
Without saying a word, you wrapped both arms around him. He leaned into you immediately. His forehead rested against your shoulder. For several minutes neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the baby’s tiny, steady breathing. Eventually, Robby exhaled shakily.
“I don’t think I can keep doing this forever.”
You knew he wasn’t talking about the baby. He was talking about the emergency department. About the endless losses.nThe impossible expectations. The depression he’d been carrying for months. You kissed the top of his head.
“You don’t have to figure that out tonight.”
“No?”
“Tonight…” You glanced toward the little girl sleeping peacefully between you. “…Tonight we just keep her safe.”
He looked over. Really looked. At the baby. A faint smile touched his lips for the first time all day.
“Yeah.”
He reached into the carrier, carefully sliding one finger into the baby’s tiny hand. She wrapped all five little fingers around it instinctively. Robby froze.
“…Well,” he whispered, sounding almost awestruck.
“I think she likes you.”
He let out the softest laugh.
“I’ve had tougher patients.”
You grinned.
“That’s a bold statement. She hasn’t even had dinner yet.”
Almost as if on cue, the baby’s face scrunched. One tiny whimper escaped. Then another. Robby looked at you. You looked at him. Neither of you moved.
“…Do you know how to make a bottle?” you asked.
He blinked.
“…Do you know how to make a bottle?”
“…No.”
“…Huh.”
The baby’s whimpers quickly escalated into full-fledged cries. You both sprang into motion at exactly the same time, bumping shoulders before staring at each other. Despite everything…Despite the grief. The infertility. The horrific shift. The depression weighing on his shoulders. You both started laughing.
It wasn’t because anything was funny. It was because for the first time in months…The two of you weren’t thinking about what your future might never be. You were simply trying to comfort a tiny little girl who, for one night at least, had somehow found her way home.
******
Three days.
It was only supposed to be one. You’d both known that from the beginning. One night. Then Child Protective Services would find an emergency foster placement, and Baby Jane Doe would continue whatever uncertain journey had begun before either of you ever met her. Except…the emergency placement had fallen through. Then another. Then another. Paperwork. Background checks. A family illness. A home that suddenly couldn’t accommodate an infant. Every morning someone called. Every afternoon they apologized. Every evening the baby was still there.
******
By the fourth morning, she had quietly become…
Jane.
Neither of you remembered when you’d stopped calling her Baby Jane Doe. It had simply happened. Like calling a stranger by their first name after enough conversations.
“You spoil her.”
You looked over from the kitchen. Robby stood in the living room with Jane tucked against his shoulder, slowly pacing barefoot across the hardwood floor while she chewed determinedly on the collar of his T-shirt.
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m preventing emotional distress.”
“She’s asleep.”
“I’m preventing future emotional distress.”
You laughed.
“I don’t think she understands your preventative medicine.”
“I don’t think you understand babies.”
“I have books.”
“I have a baby.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” He smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. “…you married me anyway.”
The smile looked different now. Lighter. Not because everything in his life had suddenly become okay. The emergency department was still exhausting him. Some mornings he still sat in his car for several minutes before walking inside. Some nights he came home quieter than usual. The depression hadn’t disappeared. But…Jane seemed to interrupt it.
She gave him something that didn’t ask him to save the impossible. She only asked for a bottle. Or a diaper. Or someone to hold her. For the first time in months, you watched your husband care for someone without the weight of wondering whether they’d survive until morning.
Later that evening, Jane finally fell asleep after what felt like an hour of determinedly refusing to admit she was tired. You laughed quietly as Robby tiptoed out of the nursery you’d hastily assembled in the guest room.
“You know she weighs maybe twelve pounds.”
He nodded solemnly.
“And?”
“You walk like she’s made of glass.”
“I think she’s offended by your tone.”
“I think you’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve accepted that.”
He followed you into the living room. The television played softly in the background. Neither of you paid attention. The baby monitor rested on the coffee table between two mugs of tea. Robby stared at it. Longer than necessary. You noticed.
“What?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead…He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The silence stretched.
“I got a call today.”
Your stomach tightened.
“About Jane?”
He nodded.
“CPS.”
You instinctively looked toward the hallway. As though someone might already be there to take her.
“They’re still looking.”
You swallowed.
“Oh.”
“No family has come forward.”
You nodded once.
“They’re expanding the search.”
“Okay.”
“They’re beginning discussions about long-term placement if that doesn’t change.”
Your heart started pounding. You knew where this conversation was going. Or maybe…You hoped you didn’t. Robby rubbed both hands together.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“So have I.”
“I know.”
Silence settled again. He looked at you. Really looked at you.
“…Can I ask you something?”
“You never have to ask.”
He smiled faintly.
“I think I do.”
You reached across the couch, taking his hand.
“Ask.”
He took a slow breath.
“…What if we tried?”
Your eyes immediately filled.
“You mean…”
“I mean…” His voice softened. “…What if we asked if we could become her permanent placement?”
The room became impossibly quiet. You looked toward the hallway again. Toward the tiny little girl asleep in the next room.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been telling myself she’s only here temporarily.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been telling myself not to get attached.”
“I know.”
Another tear slid down your cheek.
“I think I failed.”
His thumb brushed the back of your hand.
“I failed too.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I love her.”
“So do I.”
“I shouldn’t already.”
“I know.”
You wiped quickly at your face.
“But…” Your voice trembled. “I’m scared.”
His expression softened immediately.
“I know.”
“No…” You shook your head. “don’t mean scared of being a parent.”
“I know what you mean, baby.”
“I’m scared they’ll take her.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“I’m scared her mother will come back.”
Another tear escaped.
“And if she’s healthy and safe and ready…” You swallowed hard. “…then they should.”
He nodded immediately.
“They should.”
“I’m scared we’ll fall completely in love with her…” Your voice cracked. “…and then we’ll have to hand her to someone else.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I can survive losing another child.”
The words hung between you. Raw. Honest. He shifted closer until your knees touched.
“I’ve thought about that every single day.”
“You have?”
He nodded.
“Every day.” He looked toward the hallway. “I also think about the possibility that she doesn’t have anyone.”
You followed his gaze.
“What if…” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “…what if we’re supposed to be her someone?”
You covered your mouth. Immediately, tears spilled over.
“I can’t promise you this works.” He reached up, gently pulling your hand away so he could hold it. “I can’t promise CPS says yes.”
You nodded.
“I can’t promise her biological family won’t be found.”
Another nod.
“I can’t promise we won’t get hurt.”
You squeezed his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white.
“But…” He smiled sadly. “…I’d rather have my heart broken trying to love her than spend the rest of my life wondering if we should’ve.”
You stared at him. The man who had spent months reminding you that your worth had never depended on having children. The man who had quietly carried a little abandoned girl through your front door because he couldn’t bear the thought of her spending another night alone. The man who still came home haunted by the emergency department and somehow still found enough gentleness left inside himself to rock a baby to sleep. You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.
“…I want to try.”
His breath caught.
“I know it might not happen.”
“Right.”
“I know we could lose her.”
“Right.”
“I know this could absolutely destroy us.”
He smiled through eyes that had begun to glisten.
“It could.”
You laughed softly.
“You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“No?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve been picturing teaching her how to ride a bike.”
Your heart shattered all over again.
“I’ve been picturing taking her to the museum.”
He chuckled quietly.
“She’ll probably hate museums.”
“She’ll pretend to like them because I love them.”
“And then she’ll beg me for ice cream afterward.”
“Which you’ll absolutely buy.”
“Obviously.”
You smiled through tears.
“So…”
He squeezed your hand.
“So…”
“We ask?”
He looked toward the hallway one last time before looking back at you.
“We ask.”
Neither of you realized it then, but that simple decision made on a quiet evening over cooling cups of tea while a baby monitor hummed softly between you, would become the moment your family truly began. Not because the paperwork had been signed. Not because the law had changed.
But because, for the first time, the future you were imagining had a little girl in it. And neither of you could imagine it any other way.
******
The courthouse was smaller than you’d imagined. After months of paperwork, home studies, interviews, fingerprinting, reference letters, background checks, meetings with social workers, sleepless nights, impossible waiting, and more than one phone call that had left both you and Robby convinced everything was about to fall apart, it somehow came down to an ordinary brick building tucked between a law office and a coffee shop in downtown Pittsburgh. It felt underwhelming.
The biggest day of your life had fluorescent lighting. You adjusted Jane’s little cream-colored cardigan for what had to be the tenth time that morning. She immediately tugged it crooked again.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
You laughed quietly, trying to smooth it back into place.
“You know I’m going to keep fixing that until we go inside.”
Jane looked up at you with the enormous brown eyes that had somehow become capable of melting every ounce of stress from your body. Then she grinned. Not a polite smile. Not a baby smile. One of those giant, uninhibited grins that showed every tiny tooth she’d managed to grow over the past year.
“Mama!”
Your chest tightened. Every single time. She’d started calling you Mama nearly four months ago. Not because anyone had taught her. Not because you’d encouraged it. One morning while you were making blueberry pancakes she’d simply crawled into the kitchen, wrapped both arms around your leg and announced—
“Mama.”
You’d cried so hard that Robby had nearly burned breakfast. Even now It still didn’t feel real. You scooped her into your arms, pressing a kiss against her soft curls.
“Hi, baby.”
Tiny fingers immediately found the necklace around your neck. Her favorite game. You let her play. Across the room, Robby emerged from the courthouse hallway with two cups of coffee balanced carefully in one hand.
He’d traded his scrubs for a navy suit that looked as though he’d forgotten how to wear anything besides scrubs. His tie sat ever so slightly crooked. You smiled.
“You know…”
He handed you one of the coffees.
“…you’re the only trauma attending in Pittsburgh who somehow still can’t tie a Windsor knot.”
“I can.”
“You absolutely cannot.”
“I choose not to.”
“You called Langdon this morning.”
“…I did.”
“To tie your tie.”
“He has surprisingly useful life skills.”
You laughed.
“He also showed up thirty minutes early just to make fun of you.”
“I regret asking.”
As though summoned by the conversation, Langdon appeared from farther down the hallway carrying a gift bag with cartoon dinosaurs printed across the side.
“I heard my name.”
“You usually do,” Robby muttered.
Langdon ignored him entirely, crouching down in front of Jane.
“And who is this beautiful little troublemaker?”
Jane immediately reached for him.
“Nope.” Langdon stood back up. “I changed my mind.”
Robby smirked.
“Smartest thing you’ve said all year.”
“You’ve been changing diapers for six months.”
“I have.”
“And you’re judging me?”
“I absolutely am.”
“You’ve become unbearable.”
“I’ve become a father.”
The words slipped out so naturally that none of you reacted at first. Not Langdon. Not you. Not even Robby. It wasn’t until several seconds later that his own expression changed. His eyes blinked once. Then twice.
“…Huh.”
You looked at him. He looked back.
“I guess I have.”
The smile that spread across his face wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t accompanied by tears. It was simply…Peace. A kind of quiet peace you hadn’t seen in him for a very long time. The emergency department still exhausted him. Some shifts still left him sitting in the driveway with both hands on the steering wheel before he found the energy to come inside. There were still difficult days. Still nights where the weight of everything he’d seen settled heavily across his shoulders. But there was something different now.
He came home. And Jane came babbling down the hallway mumbling, “Dada!”
Every. Single. Time. No matter what kind of shift he’d had. No matter how broken he felt. There was always one tiny human being who believed he had just hung the moon.
It hadn’t cured his depression. It hadn’t erased the hospital. But it had reminded him that life existed outside those walls.
******
The courtroom itself was intimate. No jury. No spectators. Just a judge, your attorney, the county representative, your social worker, and a handful of people who loved the three of you enough to take time away from their own lives.
Dana sat in the second row with tissues already in her lap. Jack was openly crying before anyone had even spoken. Langdon leaned over.
“I’ve got twenty bucks that Robinavich cries first.”
“You don’t have twenty dollars.”
“I could.”
“Your broke ass would never.”
The judge looked over her glasses.
“Gentlemen.”
Langdon immediately straightened.
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
Robby didn’t even pretend he’d been participating. The hearing wasn’t long. Questions. Confirmations. Paperwork. The social worker smiled as she spoke about your home. About Jane. About the stability she’d found. About the way she’d blossomed over the previous time with you and Robby.
The judge asked you both why you wanted to adopt. You answered first. Your voice trembled.
“I spent a long time grieving the family I thought we’d have.”
You looked toward Jane, happily stacking blocks on the courtroom floor while Dana helped her.
“And then she walked into our lives.” A tear slipped free. “I don’t believe she’s replacing anything.”
You smiled.
“I think she’s simply become something completely her own.”
The judge nodded before looking toward Robby.
“And you, Doctor Robinavich?”
He sat quietly for a moment. Anyone who knew Michael knew that silence. It meant he was searching for exactly the right words.
“I’ve spent most of my career meeting people on the worst day of their lives.”
The room grew still.
“I fix what I can.” His fingers found yours beneath the table. “And I carry what I can’t.”
His thumb brushed across your wedding ring.
“The day Jane came into the emergency department…” He glanced toward the little girl laughing with Dana. “…she needed someone.”
His voice grew quieter.
“I thought I was saying yes for one night.” He smiled. “Turns out…”
He looked at you.
“…I was saying yes to the rest of my life.”
There wasn’t a dry eye left in the courtroom. Not even the judge’s.
The final signature looked…ordinary. Ink on paper. Nothing more. The judge smiled warmly before sliding the documents across the desk.
“Congratulations.”
She looked toward Jane.
“As of this moment…” She tapped the paperwork once. “…she is officially your daughter.”
Silence. For one suspended heartbeat…No one moved. Then you heard tiny slaps pattering across the hardwood floor. Jane had abandoned her blocks. She crawled straight toward the two of you with complete confidence.
“Dada!”
Robby bent instinctively, scooping her into his arms before she could even come to a stop herself. She laughed. One of those loud baby laughs that filled every corner of the courtroom. Then she looked over at you. Tiny hands reached.
“Mama.”
You stepped beside them, wrapping one arm around Robby’s waist while the other settled gently against Jane’s little back. She fit there so perfectly. As though she’d always belonged between you. Robby looked down at her. His jaw tightened. You recognized it immediately. The tears.bHe was fighting them. Hard. You smiled softly.
“You don’t have to hold it together.”
“I know.”
“You’ve earned this.”
“I know.” His voice cracked anyway. “I just…”
He swallowed.
“I kept thinking someone was going to tell us no.”
Your own tears spilled freely now.
“So did I.”
He rested his forehead against yours, Jane giggling happily because she was suddenly trapped in the middle of a hug. Neither of you cared.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
He looked down at Jane.
“And I love you.”
Jane’s response was immediate.
“Dada!”
Robby laughed. A real laugh. Not the tired chuckle he’d forced through difficult shifts. Not the dry sarcasm everyone at the hospital knew. A full, genuine laugh that reached his eyes. Langdon clapped dramatically from behind you.
“Well…” He sniffed loudly. “This is disgusting.”
Dana elbowed him.
“You’ve cried through the entire hearing.”
“I have allergies.”
“In February?”
“Very aggressive allergies.”
Everyone laughed. Even the judge.
******
Outside, Pittsburgh greeted you with one of those perfect spring afternoons that made the city glow. Someone suggested lunch. Someone else suggested pictures. Jane decided she’d rather scream at pigeons across the courthouse steps. You watched as Robby carry her, hands half-outstretched. Not because he thought he’d drop her, but because that was simply what fathers did.
She squealed with delight as birds scattered into the air. He laughed again. You stood there for a long moment, committing the image to memory.bA year ago, you’d sat on your living room floor believing your family might never grow. A year ago, Robby had walked through your front door carrying an exhausted little girl in an infant carrier after the hardest shift of his life. Neither of you had understood that hope sometimes arrived quietly.nNot with grand announcements. Not with certainty. Sometimes it arrived wrapped in a faded hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully through the chaos around her.
Robby turned back toward you, Jane balanced securely on his hip. She stretched one tiny arm toward you.
“Mama!”
He smiled.
“Think she’s looking for you.”
You walked over, slipping your hand into his. Jane immediately wrapped one tiny hand around your finger. The other closed around Robby’s. Satisfied, she sighed dramatically.
“Yesh.”
Robby chuckled.
“Yes?”
She nodded with absolute conviction.
“Yesh.”
You looked at your husband. At your daughter. At the little hand linking the two of you together. And for the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something to mourn. It felt like something waiting patiently to be lived. The three of you started down the courthouse steps together.
Not because every question had been answered. Not because life would suddenly become easy. But because, after everything you’d lost, everything you’d feared, and everything you’d survived…you were finally going home.
summary: the three times jack abbot compared you to someone else vs. the one time you were exactly who he wanted but couldn't have anymore.
tags: jack abbot x reader, angst, deep insecurities, jack compares you to samira, robby, and his late-wife (I named her alice), a few scene changes but it's for the plot, trying out [name] but if I don't like it, it's back to y/n for all of you, jack is lowkey an asshole on accident (thinks he's meaning well by complimenting others, but tears you apart in the process), medical inaccuracies, hurt/no comfort (at least for jack), eventual breakup, special end scene guest star, age gape (28-32/50), heavily inspired by lacy by olivia rodrigo (which I suggest listening to while you read) and all the feels that come with that, 18+ MDNI
notes: this hurt to write, and this better hurt y'all in the best angsty way possible! just a reminder that my requests for the hatosyverse are open, and that I'm doing smutty blurbs to build my writing abilities, enjoy!
word count: 7.4k
You didn't understand how you'd been able to score Jack Abbot.
Somehow, the universe decided that you'd be his match, the one he chose to go home to at the end of a bad shift, the one who'd been able to give him the most comfort during his darkest days. You knew what you'd be getting into: the PTSD, the depression, shifts where he felt more like your boss than your partner. But you believed you could get through it; Jack was older, and you liked to think you were mature enough to handle anything thrown your way.
For almost a year, your relationship bloomed in stolen glances across the Pitt, hidden moments in supply closets, and late-night baths spent at his house trying to bury yourself next to his heart. Jack was it for you, and you let yourself dream about a future, ring on your finger, possible children running around the house you shared. The two of you rarely fought, often choosing to apologize for anything under the sun before arguments grew too large for your feelings.
Never once did Jack make you feel inadequate, even if you had voiced early on that you truly didn't understand why he picked you. Compared to his gorgeous salt-and-pepper curls and freckled skin and large stature, you felt plain. Your hair was always pulled into a slick ponytail, makeup caused acne breakouts after 12-hour shifts, and what little time you had to yourself, you spent it at home, reading a book, instead of going out with friends and colleagues. People looked at you without so much as a second glance. Jack, on the other hand, made heads turn and nurses blush if they somehow caught his attention long enough for him to send a look their way. You couldn't remember the last time you went through a shift where a female (or sometimes male) patient failed to make a comment about the sexy, silver fox doctor.
You never made it more than it was: harmless flirting from people Jack would never think about again once they got discharged.
After, you and he had gone through the HR meetings, the contract signings, and the swearing that your relationship wouldn't get in the way of saving lives or have Jack start playing favorites. To further this, around the 9-month mark of being Jack's, they plucked you from the safety of the nightshift and dropped you right into Robby's hands. But this was how it was going to be from now on; there was no point in arguing as long as you got to keep Jack.
For three months, you persevered. Finding a groove with an already well-oiled shift proved to be harder than it looked. People talked. Nurses gossiped. Doctors speculated. You, through it all, kept your chin high. Their words didn't get to dictate your relationship. During handoffs, Jack still swept you into his arms and kissed you like a man coming back from war. He still told you that dinner was in the fridge once you got home and napped. He still continued to send updates during his shift, text messages from the separate night-shift group chat made after your departure chiming loudly while you ate. And most important of all, he still loved you.
However, nothing could have prepared you for the three times you felt the most unloved.
I care, I care, I care, like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time, watchin', hidden in plain sight, ooh, I try, I try, I try, but it takes over my life, I see you everywhere, the sweetest torture one could bear
"Hey, Dana," you called out while swimming through the chaos only brought on by a 4th of July shift.
At her name, Dana looked up over the thin frames of her glasses, pausing momentarily to look your way before going back to her board. "Please don't tell me that the 36 hot dog guy is back."
You shook your head, hands coming to rest on top of the vinyl counter. "Not that I'm aware of."
"Thank heavens. What can I do for ya, hun?"
Leaning in, you did a quick glance around the department. "I heard Jack was here early?"
Her eyebrows almost rose to her hairline. "Yeah; he came in with one of his SWAT buddies. GSW to the man's neck, but it looks like he's going to be okay." She reached over and grabbed a tablet. "Actually, can you find Jack for me? He wanted an update ASAP."
Your fingers drummed against the counter anxiously before you took the tablet from her. "I was just about to ask if you'd seen him."
Dana glanced over your shoulder and stuck out her chin in the same direction. "Saw him duck into Room 15. Might be taking a breather; Lord knows he needs one after that raid." She gave you a knowing look, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe you're exactly what he needs."
A rush of heat flooded your face, eyes darting away from hers. "I'll see if I can find him."
You turned away before she could say anything more, hands desperately holding the tablet to your chest. Your shoes squeaked against the tile floor, steps bringing you closer to the room Jack was supposedly in. Once at the door, you raised a hand to draw the curtain away, but the sound of voices—plural—had you stopping. Saliva pooled between your teeth as you listened closely.
"—is the hospital going to pay for it?"
There was a pause before Jack clearly grumbled, "I'll pay for it."
You slowly moved to the side next to the wall where the curtain didn't completely cut the room off. Through the slot, your eyes widened at the sight of a Jack, shirt off, pale chest, wound-care swab twirling in his fingers with Samira sitting in one of the chairs. In the next beat, she stood and walked right past the curtain slot, completely oblivious that you were right behind it. She stopped near the wall and grabbed a pair of gloves before snapping them on.
His brows furrowed. "What are you doing?"
She smiled before rounding to stand behind him. "What you clearly can't."
Begrudgingly, he handed over the swab.
"Did you make a chart?" she asked while dipping the cotton end into a wound cream.
Jack crossed his arms, and his shoulders rolled and dipped. "No. This can stay off the books. Don't need the paperwork from the hospital or police department."
Samira paused. "Would you rather me go get Dr. [Name]? I'm sure she could do this much better than I could."
"No," Jack responded, shaking his head. "She'd just panic about this. There's no need to throw her off her game."
Your stomach flipped. He thought you'd panic? Sure, you'd be worried, but it wasn't like you hadn't seem him hurt before. Whatever wound he had on his back wouldn't be the worst thing he'd come home with after a SWAT shift.
"Isn't she your girlfriend?" She began dabbing at his back, the swab coming back bloodied.
"Yeah, but it's different with you. I don't have to worry about you taking your time or being indifferent about this." He winced at a deeper brush into the graze. "She's not like you, Dr. Mohan. She wears everything on her sleeve. Really, she could learn how to be more level headed like you, Dr. Mohan. I've seen the way you handle traumas. We wouldn't be so in the low if we had about 10 more of you."
He ended with a chuckle like what he just said didn't feel like a knives to your stomach.
Is that what he really thought about you? That you should be more like Samira and her ability to stay cool through anything thrown at her? With a blink, your eyes glossed over.
Jack turned his head, neck twisting to he could meet Samira's eyes. "You won't tell her about this, right? Our little secret?"
You didn't stay to hear what she said, choosing to turn around before you could watch any longer. It was incredible that you were able to stay for so long, submitting yourself to a new kind of torture. Walking back to the nurses station, your steps slowed as if molasses coated the floor, its stickiness clinging to your shoes.
At your oncoming presence, Dana looked over. "Did you find him, hun?"
You forced yourself to not look back at the closed curtain. "Yeah, but he's in the middle of something right now. I'll just catch up with him later."
The tablet gave a small thud as you placed it back into the holder, and you desperately tried to find another patient to busy yourself with, specifically one furthest from Room 15. However, before you could grab one, a hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged.
"Hey, I need you for the incoming trauma," Langdon said as he dragged you with him. "Twenty-year-old female, unconscious for an unknown matter of time."
You nodded silently, allowing him to keep walking you like a dog on a leash until he stopped in front of the ambulance bay sliding doors. Your lungs expanded in a deep, wavering breath.
Now was not the time to panic. You could do this. You could be like Samira. You could show Jack that you could handle a trauma.
During your internal pep talk, the doors slid open, giving way for the gurney and two paramedics.
"BP is 140-over-92 and climbing. No relevant medical history. She woke up once on the way over and vomited before passing out again."
You quickly followed Langdon into the first trauma room and helped transfer her over onto the bed. Immediately, numbers started being shouted while you started your initial exam.
When nothing seemed to blare any red flags, Langdon started impatient as the woman kept deteriorating. Through it all, you willed your hands to stay steady, your mind calm while you mentally went through what could be the matter. You took a step forward, body positioning near her head so you could look at her pupils one more time, and that's when you smelled it: the acrid, fruity smell puffing out of her mouth as she struggled to breath.
You jerked back quickly. "Dr. Langdon, is there a history of diabetes or hyperglycemia? Her breath smells like rotting fruit."
Langdon looked over at you before leaning toward her face. He hissed a curse before barking for a blood sugar test. Your eyes widened when the screen flashed a 450 mg/dL.
"She's experiencing diabetic ketoacidosis," you breathed.
"Let's get her on an insulin drip, now," Langdon hissed, face pinched until he looked over at you with a softer expression. "Great job catching that and staying calm." He chuckled slightly. "Never seen you like this but keep it up."
You knew his words were meant to be encouraging, but all they did was send bile up your throat. Without saying anything more, you tore off the gloves and shoved them deep into a biohazard bin. You wanted to cry, wanted to find the nearest restroom and tug at your hair.
But that's not what Samira would do your mind provided; the thought ugly and green. She'd shrug it all off and keep working like nothing was the matter.
Your teeth ground together, shoulders squaring in tandem. If everyone would rather have you calm, you'd be calm. You'd tuck your heart away rather than show it to the patients who needed someone that wore it on their sleeve. You picked up another tablet at the nurses station and got back to work.
The rest of the fourth went by in a tornado. Systems went down after a cyberattack; fireworks boomed off in the distance; you stayed busy. Each of your patients were in and out at a lightning speed, and by the start of the night shift, you were ready to go home and cry your heart out into a pillow.
You'd seen Samira every so often in between patients and a small lunch break. Like always, she smiled at you and waved and chatted when she could, but her actions made you want to wither up like a dead flower. You couldn't help but stare at her, thinking that you should be more like the woman in front of you, mind comparing your features to hers at a rapid speed you couldn't stop. She somehow looked like an angel in the middle of a place jokingly nicknamed one of the seven layers of hell, skin clear and hair somehow perfectly put in a bun. You tried your best to match her enthusiasm, but the poison had already been drank.
On the contrary, the only time you really saw Jack was at the start of handoffs. He had helped with one trauma before going to the on-call room for a needed nap, and you hadn't wanted to talk to him then, scared of how he'd act around you.
"There you are, sweetheart," you heard him say as you finished up converting with Lena about the man in Room 5. "I've been looking for you. Thought you might have left without saying goodbye."
You winced slightly. "No; I've just been busy."
Jack hummed and smiled warmly at you, but the expression was tainted by his words earlier. "I heard. Langdon's been nothing but praising you for earlier. I'm proud of you."
"Sure you are," you muttered too lowly for him to catch. Your lips thinly stretched into a smile that didn't meet your tired eyes. "Thank you, Jack," you settled on instead.
His hazel eyes scanned over your face, and his smile slightly dropped. "Are you okay, though? You look a little down."
"I'm fine," you shot out. "Today's just been long, and I'm ready to get home."
Jack nodded. "I left food in the fridge for you, so make sure you eat it after you sleep for a bit."
"Got it."
He looked at you expectantly before rolling his eyes. "Come here."
Like it had been etched into your DNA, you listened and fell into his open arms, face tucking into his chest. He squeezed you tightly before placing a kiss to your temple.
"Proud of you," he said. "You do such a good job. We need so many doctors like you, my perfect girl."
Perfect felt like a twist of the knife, because if you were so perfect, why had he told Samira that he wished you were more like her?
I feel your compliments like bullets on skin. Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate, well, aren't you the greatest thing to ever exist?
As the weeks went on, Jack's words never left your soul, the damage irreparable in everything that you did.
Second guessing yourself had been a struggle you'd dealt with since an earlier age. Normally, Jack would be able to quiet all those thoughts; he had chosen you; he loved you. But now, as you second guessed everything you did, you also second guessed everything Jack said. You picked apart every encouragement, every compliment, every sweet promise he whispered in your ear.
What he said now couldn't be taken at face value, and you wondered if that feeling would ever go away. You'd asked him about the bullet graze a few days after the 4th, acting completely oblivious to what you knew. Like you thought, Jack assured you that he got it handled and for you to not worry about it, like that did anything to settle the rolling feelings in your stomach.
You tried your best to move on, knowing you'd only bring yourself down more if you dwelled too long about really how much Jack's words had affected you while he never said anything directly to your face. The idea that he wanted you to be like someone else made your heart clench tightly to the point you often wanted to call off work, hoping that you could just wallow in self pity for hours and hours.
But the Pitt did not care for you like that; it demanded twelve hour shifts and grueling doubles. So every day, you rolled out of bed before Jack got home and pulled up your big girl pants.
You worked through it. You'd learned how to stay calm, how to not panic under duress, and it killed you to admit that you'd become a better doctor because of it. You hardly ever hiccuped during a trauma, gaining compliments from the surgeons and Robby for your techniques that were close to flawless. For the smallest second, you would preen under their words before the ugly, repulsive reminder that they might not be real swallowed you down in a nasty gulp.
"Dr. [Name] follow me please," Robby called as he brushed past the nurses station where you were currently typing away at a chart, hands clutching a chart out in front of him to read. "Quickly."
You pushed up from the desk, chair rolling far behind you from the force of your legs. Not wanting to lose him, you rounded the counter and jumped into his long stride.
"Yes, Dr. Robby?" you asked.
As far as you knew, there weren't any incoming traumas and it was too late in the day for him to have questions about your patients that were currently waiting for a room.
Robby paused in front of an empty trauma room. "Jack just let me know that he found a man in need of medical attention and is bringing him in before handoffs, and I thought you could help him out." He handed you the tablet, already ready to go with updated information.
You took a quick glance over this. "Um, Dr. Robby, it looks like he'll need a pericardiocentesis."
"It's good that you know exactly what he'll need. What's the issue?"
Your eyes looked from the screen to his brown eyes. "I've never done one before."
He simply smiled at you and patted your shoulder. "That's why Jack's going to lead you through it. I would stay, but since he's coming in early, I'm going to head out."
You tried to quirk a smile. "Got a hot date waiting for you?"
A low chuckle shook his shoulders. "You got jokes. My bike needs some repairs, and today's the only day I can get it into the shop. But I know you'll be just fine. Your improvement in traumas will only grow if you step out of your comfort zone."
The automatic sliding doors slid open, and Jack plus a nurse wheeled a man through on a gurney. Jack's eyes lit up at the sight of you, but his brows pinched when he noticed Robby's bag slung over the taller man's shoulder.
"You leaving early, brother?" Jack questioned as he stepped past the two of you.
Robby's hand gently rested on your shoulder. "Yeah, but you two will have this handled."
You inhaled deeply, the weight of his hand and words pushing down on your chest.
Robby was counting on you. Don't fuck this up. Don't panic.
With the tablet tucked under your arm, you walked into the trauma room before pulling on a pair of gloves. Jack had already cut through the man's shirt.
"I need two 18-gage needles, one 9cm and one 15cm, a guidewire, dilator, and 8Fr pigtail catheter." He looked up toward Jesse. "Let's give him 10ml lignocaine 1%."
You quickly gather what he needed and placed him on the dressing that covered the side tray.
"Okay, Dr. [Name]," Jack said, lips twitching upwards at using your official name, "I need you to place an ECG electrode on the pericardiocentesis needle with a crocodile clip and insert. Once the tip touches the myocardium, the trace should show immediate ST elevation. Once that comes up, insert the wire to aspirate the fluid."
His words tumbled through your mind much too fast to the point that you wondered if he didn't know you'd never done this before. You pursed your lips as you tried to remember everything. In the grand scheme of things, your training provided everything that needed to be done.
Yet, there was a big difference between studying and actually doing the procedure.
You kept your breath steady as you readied the needle, clamping on a clip before turning the pointed end toward the man's chest. The first part went smoothly, and the needle went right through. However, instead of the consistent beeping that should have followed if the needle was in properly, an onslaught of alarms sounded through your ears.
You had missed something.
Jack whipped his head toward you and sneered. "You went too deep. I told you that the needle needed to touch the myocardium not go all the way through. Give it here."
He didn't even wait for you to transfer the needle over, hands already grabbing at it. His head bent down so he could see what was happening. With a practiced ease, he maneuvered the needle exactly where it should have been.
"Fuck," he whispered, "Robby wouldn't have done that. I don't know why he handed this off to you if he knew the patient would need a pericardiocentesis for tamponade."
You thickly swallowed pooling saliva to clear your throat. "Sorry."
"Just—" He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "I'll finish up here. You go home."
You jolted just a bit. Go home?
"Jack, I can still assist. You're going to need—"
"We have it covered. Catheter is in place, and you'd just be standing around. You're good."
Suddenly, a wave of anguish flowed through your body. It was happening again. Jack had just added fuel to the ever growing fire of jealousy and self-loathing. The feeling sized your chest, and you stepped back from the bed, shaky hands ripping off the nitrile gloves.
You couldn't help the stressed wheeze that pushed from your lungs.
Don't panic. Don't panic. He didn't mean it. He was just stressed. He didn't know that you'd never done that before.
Numbly, you walked back to the nurses station and sat back down in front of the computer, but your hands didn't raise to the keyboard. Your mind had already taken over, spewing rotten things about yourself that you could fix.
Be like Samira. Be like Robby. Jack won't keep wanting you if you aren't like them.
Your tongue ran across your dry lips in an attempt to wet them, but even your mouth had gone parched.
"Is charting really that bad?" you heard Dennis ask you as she sat down at a computer to your left. "You look like someone just told you they flushed your fish down the drain."
In a jerky motion, you turned towards him and did your best to compose yourself. "Oh no. I, uh, I didn't do well on a procedure with Dr. Abbot, and he asked me to leave."
Dennis at least had the decency to look sorry for you. "I bet you didn't do too bad. What was the procedure?"
"A pericardiocentesis," you said shyly.
He nodded slowly. " Shit, that's like one of the first things Robby let us do." He turned towards his own chart. "I could probably do them in my sleep by now."
Because he wasn't looking at you, Dennis missed the way your shoulders dropped and tears welled in your lash line. Jack's comment had been bad, but he just completely shattered any confidence you had left for the day.
"Right," you muttered. "Of course it'd be that easy if Robby taught you."
And you'd be right. On the night shift, patients like that rarely if not ever needed such a complex procedure. You could only think to one time that a woman came through almost needing one before they were able to use a different method to get her stable enough to be transferred to the OR.
With keys clacking loudly, you quickly finished up the chart before turning the whole thing off. You didn't even try to find Jack before you left, choosing to slip out before he even noticed you'd left without saying goodbye.
Once you were home, you stormed past the fridge and went straight to yours and Jack's shared room. Your scrubs hit the floor, and you didn't even bother to put on pajamas. The bed dipped under your weight as you pulled the duvet up over your body in a sad attempt at being comforted by its weight.
Sleep came quickly, only being interrupted by the door opening, a signal that Jack had gotten home. Blearily, you listened to him walk around the room before his edge of the bed sunk after he sat. The familiar hiss and pop of his prosthesis preceded him turning to lie down. You kept still as he scooted closer before wrapping an arm around your middle and molding your back to his chest.
"Sorry if I woke you up," he muttered sleepily. "Tried to find you before you left, but I guess I missed you. Wanted to say good job for that trauma. You helped so much."
You clamped your eyes shut, squeezing a fresh round of tears that dripped down your cheeks to puddle on your pillowcase.
After Samira, you had done your best to convince yourself it had been a slip of his tongue. But now after Robby, you weren't too sure that Jack would keep you around for much longer before finding someone better. Because there was no way you could ever amount to someone like Robby.
It was impossible.
I care, I care, I care, like ribbons in your hair, my stomach's all in knots, you got the one thing that I want. Ooh, I try, I try, I try, try to rationalize people are people, but it's like you're made of angel dust.
You were trying but failing to pretend Jack's words and comparisons hadn't left a giant, bleeding gap in your heart. Before everything happened, you never ever wondered if Jack loved you. Except now, you waited with bated breath for him to just drop the bucket and break up with you. You walked on eggshells around him.
Don't panic. Be put together. Keep your heart to yourself. Be calm like Samira. Don't fuck up. Know how to do your job. Be confident like Robby.
Those thought became your mantra and lifeline. No one seemed to think twice about your recent personality change. They loved the way they could count on you, the way you had an answer ready for everything. To the day and night shift, you were the epitome of composure. But behind closed doors, you were falling apart and into a pit you didn't think you'd be able to climb out of.
Jack didn't help with that either. You guessed he didn't even know what he had done to you, going on with his life like he hadn't given yours so many potholes that you couldn't continue on without falling behind. Everything you did was carefully thought out, every patient you talked to met a version of you that didn't reflect what you felt inside or outside.
You avoided mirrors the most, their reflections showing you exactly what you weren't. You weren't Samira with her lovely thick hair and clear skin. And you weren't Robby who carried years of trauma like it was apart of his body.
You were you, and you loathed it entirely.
You hated the glances you caught between Jack and Samira across the department. You hated the way they looked like they knew what the other was thinking before they spoke. You hated how you felt like on onlooker to a relationship that wasn't even happening.
You also hated the way Robby changed from a mentor to an idol. He had soon morphed into someone you wanted to so desperately be to the point you lost yourself in ambition.
And the worst part? You held nothing against them personally.
They didn't know what Jack had said. They didn't know that you were dying on the inside every time they raised you up during shifts. Bits of you crumbled away while they continued to glow.
Every morning you woke up, you wondered if the day would provide the straw that broke the camel's back with the way you felt like a stretched out rubber band waiting to fly.
A soft, savory aroma wafted through your kitchen. You absentmindedly stirred the spatula through the sauce, eyes glancing back and forth from the pan to the recipe. The instructions were written in beautiful, slanted cursive with curled letters that danced together. You'd found the card mixed in with a bunch of recipes Jack kept in his drawer. With a quick read told you that the owner of this one was his late wife, and the heart next to the title had you guessing if this was a favorite for the two of them.
Without thinking, you plucked it from the drawer and started working. After a week of back to back cases that ended in more loss than wins, a homemade meal was exactly what you and Jack needed after a day off. He was currently out getting his truck washed, and you wanted to be finished by the time he came home.
Quickly, the separate parts of the recipe—the chicken and veggies basting in the oven, the sauce on the stove top, and the wine chilling in the fridge—all came together right as Jack walked through the door.
"Hi, baby!" you called out as you pulled the pan from the oven. "Dinner's almost ready!"
You picked up on Jack's slightly clompy gate as he got farther into the house.
"Smells good," he said, walking over to stand behind you. "What did you make?"
Suddenly, you got nervous. What if it didn't taste correct? What if Jack didn't want you to make something so special between him and his wife. What if you ruined everything.
You didn't meet his eyes and poured the sauce over the top of the chicken. "Uh, a recipe from the drawer. It looked good, and we already had the ingredients."
He grabbed the card and held it up to his face, and you held your breath. When he didn't seem to get angry or sad, you counted it at a win.
"There's a bottle of white in the fridge if you want to get it out," you offered.
Jack stayed quiet. You didn't dare look even as the sound of a cork popping echoed in the room. While his immediate lack of response didn't cause concern to rise, your stomach still churned. To mirror him, you also didn't speak while you set the table.
He sat down, and so did you, your chairs facing the other like you'd done so many times in the past. Your heart pounded against your sternum as he took the first bite.
Loudly, he smacked his lips, setting his fork down at he chewed. The noise felt like nails on a chalkboard in the silence.
After a minute, he finally spoke. "Did you change anything in this?"
Your racing heart plummeted to your feet. "No. I kept it just like the card had it."
His brows furrowed. "Really? It tastes different than how I remembered it last."
You dug your nails into the fabric of the table running. "Does it not taste good?"
Jack looked up from his plate with wide, hazel eyes. "No, no, it's just different."
"But not good," you scoffed.
"I'm just trying to say that maybe you missed something. I know Alice's handwriting isn't the easiest to read."
"I know how to read cursive, Jack," you spat lowly. "I followed every single instruction on the card. It's the exact same recipe."
"It's not that big of a deal, sweetheart," he tried. "Maybe if you had a bit more practice like her, it might have come out the same. You're a good cook, don't get me wrong, but—"
Your hands slammed on the table in frustration, causing Jack's eyebrows to pinch as his words died in his mouth. He went to keep talking but stopped when he noticed the frustrated tears fall from your eyes.
"I'm done," you breathed, eyes darting around the room.
"Done?" Jack echoed. "What are you done with?"
"Everything," you hissed. "I'm done with this—" You gestured to the food with a wave of your hand. "I'm done with-with you. I'm done with it all."
You pushed up from the table and walked away, leaving Jack to scramble out of his chair and follow you.
"Sweetheart, what's going on?" he loudly asked, but you ignored him.
By the time he made it into the bedroom, you had already ripped out a suitcase from the closet and were pushing clothes into it without making them neat.
"Hey," Jack said gently. "Look, I'm sorry for saying that. I didn't think it'd upset you this much, but you don't have to leave."
You paused in a mid-throw of your shirts and spun to face him. A disbelieving laugh bubbled wetly through your throat. "That's the problem," you muttered, "you don't think."
He crossed his arms, biceps resting against his chest. A need to defend himself bloomed in his stomach. "What's that supposed to fucking mean."
You threw your arms up with an exasperated scoff. "Oh, so now you're concerned for what I'm saying. Maybe you should be concerned more with your words." You sucked in a deep breath. "Just go on and say it."
Jack took a step forward. "Say what?"
"That you'd rather me be someone else!" you screamed. "That-that I'm not enough by myself for you anymore." Pants heaved in your chest. "I'm sick and tired of standing here stuck listening to you compare me and wish that I'd be like or act like someone else."
Your words stole the breath from Jack's lungs as confusion and dread washed over him. "What?"
You closed your eyes and dropped your shoulders. "I heard you; I keep hearing you."
In another step forward, Jack was within two feet of you. He swallowed thickly, but you beat him to more words.
"On the fourth," you began to explain through tears, "I saw Samira patch you up, and I heard the way you told her that I could learn how to be more level headed like her."
A chill crept up Jack's spine. "Sweetheart—"
"Don't," you ordered. "Don't do that where you try to make it all better. I heard you loud and clear, Jack. And that's fine. I knew I could be more calm during traumas, so that's exactly what I did, but apparently—" You chocked out a laugh. "That wasn't enough for you."
He shook his head, hazel eyes swimming with guilt already.
"And I really thought that if I could be anything like Samira, your words wouldn't hurt as much. But then you had to go and tell me that you wished Robby had been there instead of me to do a pericardiocentesis." Your breath shuddered in the next exhale. "Did you even know that was the first time I'd ever been asked to do one? And instead of teaching at a teaching hospital, you threw me to the side saying Robby—the fucking chief attending—could have done the job. No fucking duh, Jack."
You threw a hand in the direction of the kitchen. "And now this? I thought that maybe I could be like Samira or study enough to be like Robby, but h-how am I supposed to compare to the woman who had your love first." You turned back toward the bed and haphazardly packed suitcase. "That's unfair to me. So, like I said, I'm done."
A pleading sound ripped from Jack's throat at the sound of your suitcase zipper closing.
"No, sweetheart, please. Let me fix this; tell me how to fix this," he begged.
"That's just it, Jack. I don't think this can be fixed. I've spent weeks with your words in my head wondering how I can be the perfect person for you. And I don't know if I can keep going on pretending."
Jack's body shook under a small sob as everything came crashing down. He absolutely had no clue what he had done to you, but thinking back, he understood that his careless words wracked irreparable damage to you and your personality.
"I'm sorry," he managed, voice breaking in a whisper.
"I know you are,' you responded, "and somehow that makes it hurt worse. Because while you were trying to compliment everyone else, you made me feel inadequate in every aspect of my life." Your fingers wrapped around the suitcase handle and tugged it off the bed. "I can't stay with someone who keeps hoping I'll be a conglomeration of all the best parts of others; that's not me. And I'll be honest, I don't even really know who me is anymore."
He inhaled sharply, eyes tearing from your face to look down at the floor. "So this is it? You're leaving?"
Another round of tears spilled down your cheeks as you choked on a sob of your own. "I don't want to, but I need to."
"But I love you," he croaked, eyes coming back up to meet yours.
"You love the best parts of me, Jack," you said, already moving to walk past him. "And that's never going to be enough to make me stay."
Your shoulder lightly brushed by his as you walked out of the room and all the way out the front door, leaving Jack behind in a house he realized he didn't want empty.
You poison every little thing that I do, Lacy, oh, Lacy, I just loathe you lately, and I despise my jealous eyes and how hard they fell for you, yeah, I despise my rotten mind and how much it worships you
Jack didn't truly realize what he'd done until almost six months after you left him crying in his bedroom.
Your absence in his life gave him a lot to think about, and the only conclusion he could come up with was that you were absolutely right. It didn't matter if he'd compared you to others unconsciously; he made you feel like that: worthless, in need of self change, inadequate; the list went on.
He'd seen the small changes too late.
The next shift he worked with you, Jack tracked every minuscule thing you did, and it felt like one big punch to the gut. He saw the way you constantly checked your hair, ponytail pulled tight enough to give you a headache, skin, and scrubs and the way you straightened your stethoscope so it rested perfectly across your collarbones.
His stomach dropped when he watched you pause before a trauma and gulp down air before heading inside like someone who needed to take control before it could get out of hand. Before him, you weren't like that. Yes, you could be nervous to mess up, but you didn't act like you had to be the smartest person in the room.
He did that to you. He made you feel the need to change. And it killed him. It killed him once he learned you transferred over to a specialty in orthopedics, and his mind made him think you did it just to get away from him.
He was slightly correct, but not entirely.
You needed a fresh start, somewhere where you knew no on had any high expectation of you. And somehow, orthopedics gave you just that. And you thrived in the environment, only coming down to the Pitt when they needed a transfer or second opinion. Sure, you had to accompany Park the Shark more than you'd liked to, but through your time there, the old you was coming back, the one who worked through her panic instead of shutting it down, the one who only got frazzled when she cared about patients and their needs.
It was never weakness you showed, and you had to learn that all over again.
Someone helped you see that along the way as well.
"What do got here?" Park asked while snapping on a pair of gloves, eyes predatory as he walked into Trauma Room 1.
Jack looked up with pinched brows when he realized that you didn't walk in behind the larger man. "Where's Dr. [Name]?"
Park didn't even acknowledge his question. "For fucks sake man, you didn't even pack this right."
"You should know how to put a detached leg together even if I missed the pressure of the wrapping by an inch," Jack shot back.
"Abbot, you should know that I can't fucking put your patient back together after you decided to play Barbies. It's not as easy as popping a joint back in place."
"Dr. [Name] could do it."
Except for the monitors, everyone went quiet. Jack tore his eyes away from Park and looked back down at his blood soaked gloves. Reality crashed down on him as he realized he just did to Park what he'd done to you. Even if he knew he probably didn't hurt Park's feelings at all, it sucked to know that he was still so quit to throw out words like that.
Park's shoulders rose in a shrug. "She could, but she isn't here right now. She switched shifts and won't be in until 7." He smirked. "Think she said she had plans with someone."
An ugly roar of jealousy clawed at Jack's insides, nails sinking deep in his gut.
You were with someone?
He went through the motions of his shift, mind still on the fact that you weren't on call because someone had taken your time and attention away from the hospital. His knuckles turned white around the tablet he held while going through handoffs. He didn't know if his body was still trained to look for you, forever waiting for your soft lips against his, but Jack couldn't help but keep his head on a swivel and ears open to catch the sound of your voice.
Like a laugh in his face from the universe, your laugh fluttered through the ER, and his head whipped hard enough that his neck hurt in order to find you. When he finally saw you walking in, his heart dropped to his feet, because there you were, smiling brighter than he'd seen in a long while, hand enclasped with a man's.
Jack swallowed thickly. He instantly hated the way his blood boiled at the sight. He looked back down at the tablet after your voice seemed to draw closer to where he was standing.
"Andy," you sighed wistfully, "you didn't have to walk me all the way in here. I know you're weary of the germs."
"I know," the man—Andy (you gave him a fucking nickname?)—muttered back, wide, hazel eyes looking down at you like you hung the moon. "But I wanted to."
You pouted playfully. "You're so sweet. Am I going to see you tomorrow morning, or are you working again?"
He hummed. "My morning's yours if you want it."
"You know I always do."
Jack watched the corner of the man's mouth twitch into an almost-there smile, and he had to look away when his head started leaning in toward yours.
The small smack of your lips on his made bile gurgle in Jack's stomach.
"Okay, you gotta go save lives."
You giggled again. "I just put people back together, and technically, Park's the one doing all the procedures. You know my hands start shaking."
From the corner of his eye, Jack watched him lift your hands to his lips and kiss the tops of your knuckles.
"Just breathe and know that you alone can do this. You were the one to get into the program, so they want you, shaky hands and all."
Jack's heart clenched to the point of a physical reaction to the pain. He should have been the one saying that to you, standing in your corner and building you up one compliment at a time.
But now, he had to stand on the sideline and watch a man (someone who scarily looked a bit like him) give you all the praise and love you deserved. And while Jack could do everything in his power to let people know how good of a doctor you were, it wouldn't ever be the same, forever stuck loathing the moment he lost you without knowing.
ex husband!robbyxf!reader / the pittlings think robby is harassing you and stage an intervention. three little pittlings, one braincell total. based entirely in this request.
wc: 1.5 k
make sure to check the masterlist for more toxic content
Santos was the first to notice. Of course she was. Being the hyper-alert, defensive, and perpetually guarded kid she was, she didn’t blink when Dr. Robby muttered, “If only I were that lucky,” right after you’d grunted, “Oh, fuck me,” while tossing your gloves into the trash. A patient had just refused treatment, claiming it was “toxic” to check the baby with an ultrasound, and your frustration had been palpable.
But that was only the first of many incidents.
There was the time you had backed into him while maneuvering a gurney toward the elevators, and Robby’s hands had instinctively gone to your waist to stabilize you. When you’d muttered a “sorry,” he’d smirked at you with a suggestive, “Anytime.”
Then there was the emergency consult. Your hair was down, loose over your shoulders, and while you attended to the patient, Robby reached out and softly pulled your hair back with a rubber band. When you’d asked, “What are you doing?” he’d simply replied, “Your hair?” You had scoffed, rolled your eyes, and turned to him, spitting out for him only, “Imagining something else, Dr. Robinavitch?” Robby had laughed, and you had turned back to the patient. Your hair was now tied in a low ponytail.
You had shot Santos a glare that she interpreted as, “Save yourself.”
Trinity also knew that Robby didn’t touch anyone. She’d gathered he didn’t like being touched, either. Whenever he needed her, he’d gesture with his fingers to gain her attention; if he was guiding her somewhere, his hand would ghost near her shoulder, but he never actually made contact. Yet with you, his hands were on you all. The. Time. And you didn’t seem to register it anymore. Trinity had seen you shrug his hand off your shoulder once, and that was enough for her to realize that all of Robby’s attention was unwanted. Her heart broke in that specific way it does when you lose a mentor to misogyny.
Without further ado, Trinity sighed, mourning the loss of the man she had once viewed as a father figure, now reduced to just another “me-too” creep.
.
Then it was Javadi. She had noticed the way Robby’s eyes softened when you were around; how his usual frown disappeared, and how, sometimes, he almost smiled. She noticed how he maneuvered around you to hand you whatever you needed, how he reached for the high shelves so you wouldn’t have to stand on your tiptoes, and how he’d open stubborn vials for you.
She had even witnessed him pulling out a chair for you to sit, and how you seemed so accustomed to it that you simply muttered a thanks and kept on typing your notes.
Once, you walked up to the Nurses' Hub with your car keys and a new pack of batteries. As you fumbled to open the casing, Robby took the key from your hands and did it himself. He swapped the battery, slipped the used one into his pocket, saying he’d take it to the recycling bin, and handed it back. You had smiled at him, reattached your keys to your lanyard, and walked straight toward the patient he had been discussing with you.
Javadi was also acutely aware that Dr. Robby was tall and had a long stride; she usually found herself jogging to keep up with him, but with you, he always slowed to your pace. He would stare at you while you spoke, never daring to make a move without watching you. So much so that he looked almost clumsy whenever your eyes were on him.
Victoria looked at the evidence and concluded that Dr. Robby had a massive crush on you. And, to her, it looked like you certainly enjoyed the attention.
.
Whitaker had not been paying that much attention. He was too busy trying not to fuck up. The first time he heard Dr. Robby call you “honey” in the Trauma Room he believed to have misheard.
The second time it was you were leaving an exam room, taking off your gloves and discussing the treatment plan with Robby, when he had said “Thanks sweetheart.” And left. You went on your way to the elevators without addressing him. But also without lashing out. Dennis’ brows creased.
The third one, after a successful save, Robby had all but chanted “great job, baby” as he smiled at you with the hazy look of adrenaline rush. You muttered “Thank you, doctor Robby” to him with a clipped smile and that was enough for Dennis to feel the interaction had been wrong.
That day he had gone to Trinity and told her what he had heard. She looked at him with those angry blue eyes and pulled him to the ambulance bay.
“I noticed too.” She spat in that angry voice she used when she was hurt. “Should we say something?”
“Say something about what?” Javadi asked, who had apparently followed them outside.
Santos simply huffed and Dennis explained all the inappropriate behavior they have seen from Doctor Robby to one of the OB-GYN attendings. And that yes, it was only towards her but that it was still sexual harassment.
“She doesn't really seem to mind?” Dennis said, still uncertain of what he was saying, or defending.
“Do you think she is going to report the Chief of Emergency Medicine?” Santos asked, rolling her eyes.
“Guys” Victoria chimed in, laughing, “He obviously just has a crush with her. He is all acts of service when she’s around!”
“Yeah and he also touches her inappropriately.” Trinity argued.
“And calls her baby” Dennis muttered, disappointed.
“And you know what? Everyone knows!” Trinity’s voice was rising. Her anger palpable. “They all know, hear it, see it and they just laugh. Dana scoffs and shakes her head. Abbot even encourages him!!” She took a deep breath. “We should talk to him”
“Talk with who?”
Robby stood nearby, head tilted, looking slightly concerned by the intense, secret meeting his interns were holding. They all froze, eyes widening in fear. He clearly understood the subject of the conversation was himself.
“What’s wrong?” Robby pressed.
They exchanged glances, but his gaze was focused on Santos, who seemed to be the leader of the rebellion.
“We think–” Santos began.
“I don’t” Javadi scoffed, raising both palms as if to physically distance herself from the mess.
Robby placed his hands on his hips and looked down at them. “Yes?”
“Well, Huckleberry and I think that you’re harassing another attending”
Robby’s eyes could’ve dropped out of his eyelids. He felt to had been physically pushed back. “What?” He asked. And not because he hadn’t understand the statement, but because he didn’t understand anything about it.
Then Santos said your name, raising her chin in that solemn way she does when she is certain of something. And Robby laughed. He just laughed. The stress he had felt seconds ago vanished into laughter.
“It is not funny, Doctor Robby.” Santos insisted, but he kept laughing. “You’re abusing your power as Chief to harass her knowing she won’t report you to the board.”
“Hold on” Robby wiped a stray tear of laughter from his cheek, “you think she needs the board to put me in place?”
Trinity’s mouth opened. Then closed again.
“We just wanted to let you know we are not comfortable with that behavior.” Dennis gathered all the bravado in his body to mutter that sentence.
Robby’s heart softened, his eyes rolled fondly. “She’s my ex-wife. I am not harassing her, I am trying to win her back.”
A collective “ohh” echoed in the ambulance bay. The three of them stared at him puzzled. Trinity was still not buying it. Javadi was shocked, like she didn’t believe he was your ex-husband. And Dennis seemed relieved.
“Thank you for your concerns. Get back to work.” Robby ordered. He watched them scramble back into the ED and followed them inside, only to find you walking in at the same moment.
“Hey, honey.” He greeted, for your ears only, he hoped. “My interns just did an intervention on me”
You stopped and looked up at him, concerned. “What about?”
“They think I am sexually harassing you.”
You laughed.
“That I am abusing my power as Chief to harass you knowing you won’t report me.”
“Mmmm” you tapped a finger to your chin, “perhaps I should report you”
Robby’s face fell. But you continued.
“Loosing your license might be the only way to stop you from working your ass to death.”
He let out a full, unguarded laugh. “Yeah? And what would I do without a job?”
You offered him a smile; a cruel, calculating curve of your lips. “Be a trophy husband, of course.”
You winked and walked into the ED.
tag list (tysm!!): @wonwoosthetic @thesandbeneathmytoes @missmillivanilli @honeytii @naked-hyacinth @barnes70stark @ficcyyfics
synopsisyou just wanted to be helpful, robby's helpful girl, you didn't realise that helping out might've exposed robby in an un-expected sort of way... (2.1k words)
warningssmutish, mention of sex, mention of big dick (it's robby, duh) condom, language
authornotei just absolutely was obsessed with this ask, i loved it so much. it's a big short, just a little thing, lowkey i think it's ass but it was fun. (gif credits to @timothyolyphant)
Pitt masterlist. Last Robby fic!
“I need a condom,”
It wasn't the typical greeting you were used to, really, it wasn't a usual sentence you heard in the ED. Especially not from Samira, flushed in the cheeks with her hair scraped back into a bun.
She'd rushed to you and Santos as you stood outside exam room three, discussing a patient when she joined the two of you, making the statement a little louder than she probably intended. Samira looked around the space behind her and besides you.
Trinity smirked, eyeing Samira up and down. “Okay, Mohan.”
“No, no, not for me, my patient,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Please, I wish it was for me.”
“Why do you need a condom for a patient?” you asked, amused almost. “Is he hot?”
“What? No? My patient, he's HIV but apparently very, very active and he doesn't have condoms. He says he-he prefers it without and I've explained everything to him but there's no condoms in the draw where we keep them!” explained Samira.
“We have a condom draw?” asked Trinity, taking only that as the necessary information from Mohan's ramble.
You handed her the chart. “You sleep with women.”
“What? So I'm not allowed in the condom draw?”
“It's for sex ed teachings, people who are young and having sex,” you shrugged. “Stuff like that. Come on, I can help you out.”
The nurses desk was practically vacant. Around you everyone busied themselves with greeting the nigh shift and getting them out, taking away patients like the changing of the guard. It was almost too early to be dealing with tough patients who wouldn't protect themselves.
You led the way around the counter, Mohan and Santos (who took an invitation for herself) followed you over to the desk as you reached down for Robby's bag, propping it up.
It was no surprise to them that you were reaching for his bag, reaching for his stuff like it was yours. What was Robby's was yours. The real surprise had been when Mel found the two of you eight months ago making out in the storage room, shrieking and dropping a bag of blood that then splashed all over you.
And obviously at the scream everyone ran over and found the two of you rather compromised and covered in blood. You still weren't really done living that down.
You fished around in Robby's bag, the owner somewhere not there to see as you brought out an opened box of condoms. “Here,” you said handing her a thick strip as Santos laughed.
Samira took them wearily, a small dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Won't you... miss these?”
“No,” you said, rocking on your heels, suddenly feeling the familiar creeping heat of embarrassment. “We have... more.”
Santos smirked. “Keeping Robby in shape, huh?”
Samira shuddered. “I really don't want to think about my boss like that, but thank you!” you said, waving the strip like it was a flag and rushing off before her patient could walk off. She was a good doctor, dedicated you knew and you were just happy to help her reach her potential.
Distracted by watching her leave you failed to notice Trinity sneak over to Robby's bag, peeking inside like a nosy cat.
“Hey!” you lectured, pulling the zipper shut on her hand.
“What? Just wanted to know what else you got in there? Does he keep a pair of panties? Vibrator if it gets quiet,” she teased.
You blushed, shaking your head and looking down to the bag. “You have no shame, that's your boss you're talking about.”
She made a pfft noise. “You're the one screwing him.”
Yes, you were. Proudly and happily.
Javadi slid up next to you, practically shoving you a tablet and asking for your advice. You were somewhere deep in your residency, one of the first they were introduced to on their hell of a first day. Not as scary as Robby, easier to talk to than Langdon. It was typical for the Pittlings and Mohan to come to you when they needed advice. You liked it really, as much as Santos teased you and as much as Mohan and Javadi doubted themselves.
“Hey Crash,” said Trinity, all but giddy with the new knowledge she had about Doctor Robby's contents in his bag. “You wanna know what's in this bag of secrets.”
“No,” you chastised.
Javadi's eyes lightened up. “Is that Doctor Robby's bag?”
“It doesn't matter,” you said, pushing it back down to your feet.
“Hey,” Samira joined the group of you again, handing you back the strip of condoms. “He said he can't take these.” The rest of the doctors and nurses hustled around the Pitt, un-knowing of the personal dilemmas being aired out.
You lifted your shoulders. “You needed condoms, those are condoms.”
“Yes but they're not the right size,” said Mohan. “He says they wouldn't fit, they're too big.”
Oh.
Perhaps at some point you'd been shocked at the size of Robby. Before you'd only had your imagination and hints of him beneath his scrubs. The times when he'd brush past you in the teasing beginning of your relationship and you'd feel something prod at you. The first time he'd dragged you to his bedroom, lips seething in heat and teeth nipping in want to only lay you out on his bed and drag his pants and underwear down to show all of him- then you'd been shocked. Mouth watering so.
Over the months the shock transformed to desire, reaching hands and an eager mouth that you stopped thinking about the size.
You didn't think anything of it when you handed Mohan a strip of five extra-large condoms.
Standing at the nurses station it may as well have been a deserted island and you stared down at the condoms like it was your first offering of food.
“Uh-”
Javadi snatched the condoms from Samira first, staring down at them with mouth agape. “Oh my god.”
“Javadi-”
“Holy shit!”
You looked back and Santos had pulled out Robby's bag again, pulling out the box and staring at the size stamped on the front. “Santos!”
“No wonder you walk in limping.”
“I do not- I do not walk in limping!”
“Well, there was that one time-” said Mohan.
“No, there wasn't!” you argued. “I'd bruised my ankle.”
Mohan chuckled to herself. “Sure.”
Trinity smirked. “Bruised something.”
Javadi was still staring at the strip of condoms in wonder. “How do they even get this big?”
You snatched them away from her the way you might have if a child found them. Quickly you stuffed them in the box, threw them back in Robby's bag and kept it behind your back.
“Wait, why do you have a box of condoms for work?” asked Javadi.
“Oh please,” said Santos with a groan. “They're always at it in work. Better safe than sorry.”
“We are not always at it at work,” you defended.
“The storage closet?” asked Mohan, apparently abandoning the venture of finding fitting condoms for her patient.
You held up a finger. “That was one time.”
“The toilets,” added Santos, sadly remembering the time you and Robby had hid yourselves in the bathroom for a break. A break that was only supposed to be comforting touched turned hot and reaching quickly.
“That one time in the exam room where we thought we were examining a broken hip for a Mrs Driscoll-” began Javadi.
“Okay! Okay, I get it!” you interrupted.
“I think it's nice,” Trinity quipped her lip, arms crossing over her chest. “Get some dick when you can right.” She patted your shoulder like a proud sister as she left the group of you, laughing quietly to herself.
Victoria and Samira followed suit, leaving you with the ramifications of your own embarrassment. So what your boyfriend was largely endowed, wasn't it a compliment? Weren't you the luckiest girl in the world to have Robby with soft and tender touches turned to almost hateful thrusts with how hard he loved you.
You made sure Robby's bag was tightly closed before sliding it back under the desk.
The day brought the same usual storm the ED always brought. Enough to distract you from the mornings events and the package sitting inside of Robby's bag. You were left with only a creeping heat crawling up your neck, the last dregs of your doctors eyes on you and their giddy smiles.
You'd only managed to make it to the staff lounge for a coffee by mid day, taking the mug that was yours, marked with an inside joke and given one secret Santa round.
“Hey.” Robby slipped into the room, leaning his back against the sink and standing next to you.
“Hey yourself.”
For a moment there was a silence where you poured coffee for the both of you, handing him his mug.
Robby's fingers grazed yours, the simplest touch sending shivers through your skin. “Can I ask you something?”
You hummed, head tucked away. He wouldn't have heard about the mornings teasing's, would he?
“Santos has been... off today,” he said.
He would.
You gulped, a feign of concern falling to you. “She has?”
“Keeps looking at me and smirking. She's doing this thing with her hands where she-” he demonstrated, spreading his hands to different distances, some small, some bigger. His hands wavered around the imaginary object between his hands.
You were left groaning.
Robby's head tilted toward you. “Do you know anything?”
In attempts of hiding away the story your head ducked and shook side to side.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” you said.
Robby's fingers were slightly calloused but no less humble as he pinched your chin, realigning his gaze with yours. His brows rose, gaze pouring into yours. He didn't even have to ask you again.
You sighed. “This morning Mohan had a patient with HIV and she wanted to give him condoms but there was none where they usually are so I gave her some of ours. But they weren't exactly... the right size.”
There was a small furrow of confusion in his face as he waited for you to elaborate.
You turned your body into his, lowering your voice. “Not everybody can fit into an extra large, Robby.”
The furrow gave and a small grin split his cheeks as he glanced down to your shoes, a pink blooming under his beard and to his cheeks. It was different from your own embarrassment. He was more pleased with himself.
Robby straightened, hands wavering. “So how does... this connect to-”
“Santos was there this morning when Samira asked.”
He chuckled, tongue poking out into his cheek as he shook his head in amusement.
“It's not funny,” you said, nudging him.
He rocked on his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Your coffee was turning lukewarm in hand, the bitter taste suddenly too sweet as you made to walk away from him and stew in your own humiliation.
Robby's fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged, using you to pull himself in closer. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he teased, voice dropping into the low drag in his condescending way. The sort of voice he used to coax you down into bed with his darkening eyes and lustful approach. “Is my dick too big? Do I fuck you too good?” His hands grabbed at your hips, bringing you into him, tongue darting out to your neck.
Your body wriggled in his hold, trying to escape as his arms grew strong around you. “Stop!” You laughed.
“Make me.” He nipped at your neck, licking over the sting he caused.
The door was pushed open and Langdon stumbled in the doorway, catching sight of the two of you tangled in arms and laughter.
“Are you two doing it in the lounge now?” he asked.
You guessed you just should've been thankful Langdon wasn't there that morning, otherwise there would have been competitions between him and Santos on who could make the best jokes out of your misery.
Slowly, Robby moved away from you, pulling himself up straight and pulling at his hoodie before leading the way out the room.
McKay was wheeling a patient away to x-ray, Samira was giving aftercare instructions to an elderly couple and Mel was somewhere lurking in a corner talking to Dana.
Santos, however, was still being the most productive, sitting across from Javadi and still trying to make sense of some invisible size between her hands.
You watched, un-able to stop as Robby walked behind Santos and spread her hands apart just a little, enough to leave more than enough inches between her hands.
Robby walked away, satisfied.
taglist (if you want to be added or took off just say the word!): @oldbaddies, @mafercita101,@tiddieshakeshownu, @mismwaa, @annabethpotter221b
"Is there anything you want to say to me?" Michael pants in your ear and wraps his palm around your shoulder, holding you in place as he fucks you. "Anything at all?"
"Wh– What?" The word comes out disjointed as he jostles your body. You think you misheard him with your brain all scrambled from his cock.
"Not even a little gratitude for what I do for you?" Michael asks. He grabs you by the cheeks and tsks, "You call me daddy so often, I thought I deserved at least a little something."
Your face heats with realization. He seems to notice your shock– your mortification, really –and smiles. He lets go of your face, and you say, "Michael, are you–?"
"Michael?" He frowns. Sweat drips down his forehead, down the bridge of his nose until it hangs from the tip. "Try again." The sweat falls, hitting your chest, right between your breasts. Michael dips his head, licking up his perspiration, now mixed with yours, from your skin. He says, "You can say it, I know you want to."
Then, before you can speak, Michael adds mockingly, "Wish your daddy a happy father's day, baby. It'll make me so happy."
summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader
warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint
notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂↕️
likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!
Enjoy my work? Tip me! 🤍
masterlist
“Ew.”
The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.
You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.
“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.
McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.
“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.
You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.
After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.
“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.
“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.
“They’re raspberry flavoured.”
“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”
You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.
He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.
You: Are you coming in early today?
JA ❤️: Always.
You quickly typed out another message.
You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible
The reply came almost instantly.
JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.
You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.
JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.
You: are you psychic?
JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.
Your smile widened as his reply came through.
You: thank u 🩷
JA ❤️: 👍
“What are you smiling at?”
You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.
“What?”
“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”
“Nothing.”
Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.
Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”
“What?”
“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.
“That?” Whitaker supplied.
“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”
You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”
Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”
You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”
Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”
Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."
You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.
“Never give your triggers away Santos.”
“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.
You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.
You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.
“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.
“You all good?”
“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”
“Not for a little while.”
“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”
“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”
You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”
Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”
You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”
“Apparently so.”
You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.
Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.
“Hey.”
You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.
“What?” You asked warily.
Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”
“The what?”
Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.
“Absolute smoke show.”
Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”
Your brows knitted together.
“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.
“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.
You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.
At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.
And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.
“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.
You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.
Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.
Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.
“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”
By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.
“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”
Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.
“Well I’ll be.”
That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.
“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”
Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.
“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”
“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”
“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.
He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.
"Someone has to."
Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.
“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.
"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.
“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.
“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.
Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"
Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.
"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"
"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"
"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."
McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.
Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.
“What are you doing here?”
“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”
You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.
“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”
You snorted. “Please.”
“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”
You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”
He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."
He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”
You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”
“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."
"No."
"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”
“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”
"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.
“Wait let me guess.”
Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.
His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”
He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”
From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”
Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking about it.”
Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.
Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.
For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.
Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”
Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.
“I’m right."
You didn't answer.
"I am."
“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”
“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”
“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”
Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."
"He also has excellent aim."
"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."
And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.
"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.
“You’re happy?”
You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.
“I am.”
“He good to you?"
You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”
Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”
For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.
You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”
“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.
"So the usual then?"
“The usual.”
He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”
“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."
Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”
“Sloan.”
The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.
Mark's grin returned instantly.
“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.
"A lot less hair since I last saw you."
Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”
Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.
Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.
“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”
“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”
“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”
Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.
“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”
Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”
McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”
“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.
Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”
The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."
Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.
“You two know eachother?”
“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.
“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.
Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”
You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.
“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“
“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."
Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."
“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”
Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.
You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.
He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.
"Ex?"
You sighed. "...Ex."
Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”
“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”
Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.
You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.
“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.
Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.
You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.
When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.
“Don’t you dare say a word.”
She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”
You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.
For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.
By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.
“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”
You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.
“The old lady with the chest pain?”
“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.
You frowned. "That sucks."
“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.
“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."
Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”
Your eyes narrowed.
"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.
"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."
"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.
"I hate all of you."
Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"
Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.
You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.
You waited a couple minutes before moving.
The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.
A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So… that’s your ex.”
“That’s my ex.”
He nodded. "You left out a few details."
"Such as?"
His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.
“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”
Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"
Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."
Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”
“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.
You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”
“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”
“You’re not.” You insisted.
Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”
“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.
Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.
"Jack."
"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”
You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.
“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.
“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.
“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”
You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”
Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.
“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”
His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”
“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”
The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”
“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”
His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”
Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.
“Well, lucky for him it worked.”
The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.
He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.
“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”
You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”
“Yes.” He answered plainly.
You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”
Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.
“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”
You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”
Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”
Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.
“Did you eat?”
You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”
Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”
“I will.”
“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”
Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”
“Of course.”
You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”
His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.
“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”
You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.
You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”
You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.
“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”
Jack raised a brow.
“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”
“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.
“I know I am.”
“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.
You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.
Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.
As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍
Summary: You loved Robby enough to build a life around him once. The kind of life you thought people only talked about. Then things changed slowly, and then all at once, until the man beside you no longer felt familiar. Time apart was supposed to make things easier. Instead, a series of circumstances forces the two of you back into the same room, where everything left unsaid is still waiting.
Pairing: Husband! Robby x Wife! reader
WC: 6.5k
Warnings: 18+, smut, stressful work life, mentions of depression, not accurate lmao, strained marriage, arguments, lying, toxic dynamics, inappropriate workplace behavior, jack and mckay are two of reader’s close friends, mentions of a previous miscarriage, mentions of langdon’s addiction, fade to black at the end.
(this was my first robby fic, i hope i captured him well lol)
Working in the Pitt was its own kind of hell, a hell where life was sucked out of you. No fun, no laughs, only stress.
Before Michael, all you knew was work, home, and the few hours of sleep that you allowed yourself after your shift.
It was a cliche thing to say, but you always swore that your life brightened some when he came into it. He had a way about him, a way about him that made you feel at ease.
How the hell your marriage ended up in a spot where you were heavily considering divorce was beyond you. It had been another night of you trying to be there for him, but it turned into a fight— it always did. Your words were always wrong and rotten, no matter how softly they were spoken or how sweet they were laced.
Robby was a ticking time bomb and you weren’t going to let him drag you down with him. It was so unfair, because he acted as if you didn’t struggle too— like you didn’t also have a lot on your plate at work. It was all about him and his feelings.
The thought of your marriage being at that point was foreign, ridiculous even. You loved him and he loved you, how could things sour when that mattered most? How could you give up on him?
Robby was the man that couldn’t see yourself without, the one that made you smile at work, the one that would drop anything to be there for you.
Why would you abandon him when he just needed help?
God, you felt so fucking guilty for even considering it. The guilt gnawed at you every time you thought about it, you were being unfair.
He just needed space, is what you told yourself— hoping that it would turn out differently.
When the two of you got together it was with the help of Jack, he kept giving hints about how you’d do well together and how you two were looking for the same thing. How both of you had been alone for quite some time.
You brushed him off, because you weren’t looking for anything or anyone. You were okay with being by yourself and you had been okay with that for a really long time.
When you finally caved and said yes to the “blind date”, Jack joked that it would be it — you’d never be single again. Robby would be the one for you, the one that would make you change your mind.
You would roll your eyes and mock him, but he was right.
“Fuck.” You whined, your ass bouncing on his cock.
He smacked your ass, biting his lip.
“There you go, sweetheart.” He coached.
It had been so long since you had been touched, Robby was only the second person that you had ever slept with. It felt so fucking good, but you’d told yourself beforehand that it wouldn’t go that far. You didn’t plan to fuck him after the third date, you just couldn’t help yourself— he was so charming.
“I’m gonna cum—“
“Fuck, Robby.” You rasped, your pussy clenching around his cock.
“That’s it baby.” He groaned, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he kissed you again.
You kept riding him, riding out your orgasm while his cock twitched inside you.
“I’m so fucking close.” He panted.
You loved this, every fucking moment of it. “You can cum inside me, I’m on the pill.”
He looked at you, “you sure?”
You nodded.
It didn’t take long before Robby’s deep, guttural groans filled the air— his cum coating your walls.
The two of you stayed in each other’s arms, falling asleep together and waking up together the next morning.
You knew then that Jack was right, Robby was it.
A year later the two of you were married, married at the cathedral that you’d picked out.
It was perfect in every way imaginable and you had smiled more than you ever had in your life. The way that Robby looked at you, held your hand through every moment, whispered cute things into your ear— he was your soulmate.
Your wedding wasn’t big, but it had everyone who mattered there. It was exactly what the two of you had envisioned and talked about on numerous occasions.
Shortly after the wedding, the two of you started house hunting. You both sold your houses and wanted a space that was picked by both of you, something where you could potentially start a family.
Having children was something that you never considered, something that you had written off years ago. I mean, the Pitt was your life— it was all that you had time for. However, experiencing love and being loved made you feel differently about it.
Before you got married, the two of you were also on opposite shifts—just barely able to spend time together. With a little persuasion, you joined the day shift, which made things ten times easier for both of you.
Years later…
You took the empty chair at the nurses station, wanting to rest your feet. The emergency room was buzzing with patients, talking, and machines beeping— you could barely hear yourself think.
“Don’t go to sleep on us.” Dana spoke, nudging you as you blinked slowly.
You wanted to cry internally and externally, “I couldn’t even if I tried.”
The entire day had been more non-stop than usual and you were exhausted, truthfully beyond exhausted.
You glanced at your watch and stood up from the chair, dragging yourself to the next task— going to the bathroom for peace and quiet. On the way to the bathroom, you caught Robby once again grilling Samira for being too slow.
You watched as she walked away, looking like a bit more of her confidence had been shaved off.
Robby walked out of the room, putting hand sanitizer on his hands.
Things between the two of you were already tense, but you were going to say something— you had to. Not just because he was your husband, but his behavior and attitude was getting ridiculous. The low point in your marriage was an all new low, lower than it had ever been. You believed that it was something every marriage went through, something your marriage would overcome— but as the nights passed your confidence dwindled. Your patience for his treatment of you and everyone else thinned.
His behavior at home had been carried with him at work, the one thing he always warned everyone about. It was downright embarrassing to you and him.
He was losing himself right before your eyes— snappy with everyone, sleeping less, and talking less. You were losing your husband and you couldn’t stop it. You wanted to guide him through it and be there for him, but he only pushed you farther away. It had gotten to the point where you drove your own car to work and that you could barely work with him, without arguing.
He was affecting you and your career, he was ruining you.
You walked beside him, “can we have a word?”
He scoffed, the lines near his eyes deepening.
“Here we go—“
“Again.” He muttered.
You walked in front of him, halting his steps and trying not to let his words make you angry.
“Robby, you cannot keep treating Samira that way.” You gently reminded him.
“Dr. Mohan.” He corrected you.
Your brows furrowed, a confused look on your face.
“What?”
He pressed his hands together in front of him, his lips pursed and brows slightly raised.
“She is Dr.Mohan. We are professionals and she is not your friend, she is Dr. Mohan.”
You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief.
“We are professionals, you’re right— but that isn’t a lesson that I need.”
He pulled his shoulders back in offense, pointing his finger at himself.
“Are you trying to say that I need a fucking lesson in professionalism? That’s rich.”
“Robby.. what I’m saying is that—“
“Your treatment of her, constantly nagging and knocking her down a peg.. is unprofessional and comes off sexist.” You stammered.
He stared at you in disbelief.
“You, my lovely wife— are unbelievable.”
“I only say this out of concern, Michael. I love you, but—“
“Just because we are married does not mean that you can talk to me this way, I am still your superior. You need to remember your place and get back to work, we do not have time for bullshit.” He gritted.
You were admittedly startled by his tone, it sent shivers down your spine. The way that he so casually brushed you and your concern off, the way that he pulled the authority card.
It was as if the rose colored glasses that you had on and the excuses for him instantly vanished, that was it— the final straw. It wasn’t something big or catastrophic like you had imagined, it was that.
Your eyes watered as you stared at your husband, the eyes of your coworkers on both of you.
Robby stared at you and you didn’t even recognize him, his eyes no longer held the sanctuary that you used to get lost in.
You leaned close to him, making sure that he could hear you perfectly.
“I can’t do this anymore, Michael.. I thought that I could and that I could tolerate your cruelty, but I can’t.”
His brows raised, “my cruelty?”
“You need to get your shit out of the house and be gone by the time that I am at home.” You added.
Your words were sharp and short, no more apologies and excuses— just straight to the point.
He feigned a smile and nodded, walking away without saying anything.
You turned around to see everyone staring after, considering it was obvious the two of you were arguing.
“What the fuck is everyone looking at?” You yelled, tears finally falling from your eyes.
Dana stared at you a moment longer, before averting her gaze.
“She’s right people, this isn’t a zoo— get back to work!”
Although you appreciated her effort to keep eyes off of you and your failing marriage, everyone knew— it was obvious. Everyone noticed how things between the two of you seemed strained, how easily Robby snapped, or how it seemed like your light dimmed.
You loved him, but this was ridiculous and it just couldn’t continue— not this way.
After your shift, you went home and he was gone— along with his things. He didn’t even hesitate.
You stayed later for charting, hoping for anything from him— but there was nothing. You didn’t know what hurt worse, him not trying or him treating you that way.
When you got home, you realized that you still had a vial in your pocket and needed to return it. You drove back to the hospital, hoping to be in and out.
“Back so soon?” Dana questioned as she prepared to walk out of the door herself.
You held the vial in your hand, showing her. “I needed to return this.”
Dana stopped you in your tracks as you went to walk past her, her hand on your shoulder and her eyes giving you a look that you knew all too well.
“What was that with Robby earlier?”
You fidgeted with the vial, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall from your eyes again.
“He’s.. uh, just having a day— I guess.”
She leaned in closer to you, her brow slightly raised.
“He shouldn’t be like that with you, that isn’t okay and you don’t deserve it.”
You nodded, biting the inside of your lip.
“Tell me about it.”
Dana rubbed your shoulder and gave it a pat before she continued on her way while you continued on yours.
It was embarrassing, embarrassing that your marriage couldn’t even struggle in private— that everyone knew.
The emergency room had quieted some from earlier, but not by much. Dr. Abbott and Mateo were approaching the desk when you walked by, your mind completely focused on the task at hand and nothing else.
You were in the middle of returning the vial when Jack came to the side of you.
“What are you doing back here?” He asked.
You took a deep breath, your eyes red from crying and hands unable to stop shaking.
“I just brought back that vial, I realized I still had it in my pocket.”
He stared at you, his eyes raking over you and your appearance.
“Talk to me.”
Your brow raised, “about?”
He leaned against the wall, glancing around and making sure that the two of you were alone.
“I’ve heard about it, I mean everyone has— tell me what happened.”
You wiped your mouth, a sigh of defeat escaping your lips— your eyes sore from crying.
Jack grabbed your hand and guided you into a nearby empty room, shutting the door behind him.
“He’s just.. he’s slipping. I don’t know what’s going on, but nothing I say is right or okay. He’s an asshole most of the time, like I don’t even recognize him.. my own fucking husband.” You stammered.
Jack watched you, he watched how you also looked like you were falling apart and how you seemed completely alone.
“Why did he argue with you in front of people? What brought that about?”
You wiped your tears, shaking your head.
“He was scolding Dr. Mohan again. It’s like he’s always on her ass about one thing or another and she’s trying, she’s fucking trying.” You choked.
Jack tilted his head slightly and walked closer to you, pulling you into a hug.
“Hey, hey— it’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay and so will you.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
You pulled away, sniffing.
“Don’t, this isn’t your mess to clean up and I don’t want him getting upset over this too.”
“I don’t like him treating you this way. I won’t tolerate it.”
“It’ll be fine, just trust me.” You pleaded.
He rubbed your arm, “are you positive?”
You nodded, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to blow your nose.
“Have you—“
“Have you told him about the medical emergency that you had?”
You turned to Jack, your mind clouded by the hum of the light overhead and everything else.
“Oh, the miscarriage?”
He folded his arms, leaning against the counter— his brow raised.
“No.. no. I just didn’t think he’d handle it well—“
“You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone, that is not okay.” Jack interrupted.
You shrugged, your lips pursed.
“I didn’t go through it alone, I had you and McKay.”
“You needed your husband, not just us. He should’ve been there, he would’ve wanted to be there.”
“What was I supposed to do, Jack? Hmm?—“
“Tell my already suicidal husband that during his own meanness and selfish worries, I had a miscarriage. The baby that we once talked about, I lost?”
He nodded, “yes.”
You laughed in disagreement, “that totally would’ve gone well.”
“Maybe, it would’ve changed things for him— made him actually seek out help.”
“It would’ve just changed how soon he’d put a gun in his mouth.” You digressed.
“He will get through this, he will.” Jack spoke, his voice coming out softer for reassurance.
“I told him to pack his things after earlier.. I told him to be gone before I got home.”
“Well, was he gone?” Jack questioned.
“Yeah, most of his things were gone.” You sighed.
“Is that what you wanted?”
You threw your hands up in defeat, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want anymore, Jack. I am just tired of the back and forth, of this, of..”
You stopped yourself before you could finish your sentence, but both of you knew what it meant.
Mateo opened the door, interrupting the conversation.
“I need you right now.”
Jack looked at him and back at you, “I’ll be right back.”
Once he left, you took a few minutes to calm down before driving back home— but you left before he came back to the room. You were tired and wanted to go home. You needed to go home.
When you got home, you took a shower and practically collapsed. You didn’t have the mental capacity or energy to think about Robby. You barely had the capacity to think about yourself.
The next morning you had overslept and were running behind. You glanced at your phone as you rushed to get ready.
Two missed calls from Robby and three texts from him.
Is everything okay?
Where are you? They said that you didn’t call out.
If I don’t hear from you in the next twenty minutes, I’m leaving work and coming to the house.
You were more flustered about being late than anything else, so texting Robby back was the last thing on your mind at that moment.
You rushed in, your eyes still red and puffy— your voice hoarse.
“There she is! We were worried.” Dana smiled.
You set down your tumbler on the desk. “I overslept, I didn’t mean to.”
Langdon looked up from his chart, staring at you and how you looked. He wanted to ask if you were okay, but you were already walking away before he could.
You were walking to the bathroom, hoping to pee quickly before diving in. Robby appeared out of what seemed like thin air, leaning against the bathroom door in front of you.
“You were late.. an hour late, what happened?”
You scratched your brow, “I overslept.”
He bit his lip, “is that all? Or is there something that you’re not telling me?”
You rolled your eyes, signaling for him to move from in front of the door.
“For Christ sake, Michael l— I just overslept because I was exhausted. I was sad and exhausted, nothing more.”
Robby nodded and moved out of your way, walking back the other direction.
Dealing with him and the stress of what he was dealing with was making you snappy, making you act ugly towards other people. You weren’t being yourself.
When you came out of the bathroom, you bumped into Mckay.
“Are you okay?”
You scoffed, “what do you think?”
“That’s fair. If you’re interested, I need your assistance with this patient. She accidentally almost cut three fingers off.”
You agreed, putting hand sanitizer on your hand as the two of you approached the room.
After observing the wounds yourself and talking with the patient, you pulled your gloves off— standing up from the stool.
“Can you have Yoyo come check this out? I’m certain that it’s going to need more than just stitches.” You spoke to Cassie.
She nodded, picking the phone up from the hook on the wall near her.
You exited the room, putting on more hand sanitizer— your thoughts interrupted by Santos approaching.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Sure, what’s up?” You replied.
She glanced around, her hands in her pocket— “privately.”
The two of you went into an empty room and you didn’t know what to expect, quite frankly you were a little afraid.
Santos stood there, hesitant to open her mouth and tell you why she needed to talk.
“Everything okay?” You questioned, staring at her and her lost expression.
“I think that Langdon is stealing drugs from the hospital.” She blurted.
Her words threw you for a loop, like a prank was being played.
“Langdon?—“
“Frank?”
She slowly nodded, “yes.”
You crossed your arms, your eyes blinking more in that minute than they had since you’d woken up.
“What makes you say that? That’s a serious accusation, Santos.”
“There have been a few discrepancies with benzos on two cases of his.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose.
“You’re absolutely positive?”
“Yes.”
You sighed. “Okay, I’ll handle it from here—“
“Thank you for reporting it.”
She stood there a minute longer before exiting.
When she left, you started to laugh. It wasn’t due to anything being humorous— but it was the cherry on top. Robby’s star pupil was potentially stealing drugs from the hospital and you were going to tell him, it was the last thing that you needed.
Robby was busy, so you sat down and did the notes on a chart. You were so overwhelmed from the information that you could barely think straight.
Time passed with more people coming into the ER, so you had been too busy to talk to Robby— too busy to do anything.
You shook your head, walking from the last patient you had spoken to when you saw him. He glanced up from his iPad, staring at you.
“I need to talk to you.” You mouthed.
He put down the iPad, pulled off his glasses and walked towards you at the end of the hallway. The two of you hadn’t talked about what happened yesterday and he had hoped that you would, just maybe not at that moment.
“What’s going on?”
You leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath.
“Santos came to me earlier and made a troubling accusation—“
Robby sarcastically smiled, thinking that it would be nonsense.
“I can’t wait to hear this.”
“She accused Langdon of stealing drugs from the hospital.”
His smile dropped, “what the fuck are you talking about?”
“She said that on two occasions there have been clear and obvious discrepancies with benzos.”
“And she’s sure?” He questioned, gritting his teeth— his hands on his head.
“About as sure as she can be.”
Robby’s hand smacked the wall as he walked away from you and didn’t say anything else.
“Robby!” You yelled, calling after him to no avail.
Robby disappeared around the corner and you let him, you were just too tired to chase after him and try talking to him. It wasn’t worth the fight.
You made your way back over to the desk, rummaging through one of the drawers to find a report to fill out. Your task was interrupted as they always were, Whittaker asking for a hand.
The thoughts in your mind came and went at such a rampant speed that you couldn’t keep track. If you weren’t thinking or worried about your husband, you were thinking about how you felt inadequate and wanted to give up.
It was tiring.
You made quick work of helping Whittaker and returned to filling out the report. The report was tedious and exhaustingly long, you had finished most of it when you saw Robby again..
“I filled out the report, most of it anyway. I’ll just need your signature and get it sent to HR.” You mentioned, now walking beside Robby.
He rubbed hand sanitizer into his hands, “that won’t be necessary.”
You tilted your head in confusion, “what won’t be necessary?”
“The report, I handled it. Langdon is gone and it’s unnecessary.”
You stopped in your tracks, your feet squeaking slightly against the floor.
“You’re joking, right?”
He glanced at you, “nope.”
You grabbed his hand and forced him into the newly empty room that was closest to you. The smell of disinfectant lingering in the air.
“What Langdon did was a crime, it should be reported.”
He folded his arms in front of him.
“Santos reported it to you, you told me, and I handled it. There’s nothing more to it.”
You scoffed, shaking your head.
“He stole drugs and you’re trying to salvage his fucking career? Trying to help him out?”
Robby took a deep breath, holding his eyes shut for a moment.
“I am the senior attending, I don’t have to explain shit to you! I said it was handled and I meant that.”
You bit the inside of your lip, stepping closer to him and closing the gap between the two of you.
“You once again cut slack for Langdon, but you’d never do the same for me, or McKay, or Mohan— why is that?”
“We move just a little slower or become a step behind, take a small break, or make the wrong decision and you’re immediately riding our ass. Your precious pupil is a drug addict and you still spare him!”
Tears welled in your eyes, your lip beginning to quiver.
“I am doing my job and I don’t appreciate you taking me away from it, because you want to be emotional— because you can’t leave your self esteem issues at the door.” He hissed.
Your mouth was agape and it felt like your heart stilled in your chest for a moment.
“Wow.. just when I thought that you couldn’t get any lower.” You mumbled.
You stormed out of the room, Robby called your name and sounded remorseful— but you didn’t even bother.
The shift was the shift that kept on giving, no break in sight for you or anyone that day— especially after the pittfest nightmare.
You were so tired after that shift that you could barely keep your eyes open, you even fell asleep in the shower.
It was one of the hardest shifts that you had worked in a while, but nothing was harder than dealing with your husband— accepting how he was now.
After everything, you realized that you needed a break— you took off a week and simultaneously put in a transfer to another hospital. You couldn’t work with Robby anymore or just at that hospital in general.
You needed space and a lot of it.
Are you not coming in today?
Nevermind, I heard that you took time off. Take care of yourself.
Did you really put in a transfer request? You’re leaving the hospital, because of me?
I am sorry, baby.
Please, talk to me. I want to talk.
You ignored every text that Robby sent and reading them was like a knife twisting in your stomach. Things could have been so different.
All he had to do was accept your help, but even that was an unreasonable ask.
During your time off, you spent a lot of time lounging around your house—sorting things and watching a bit of some tv show.
It was odd being completely alone at home, Robby’s things being gone— his scent still lingering. You had been with Robby for years, made your life around him and now you were preparing for a life without him. A life without the man that you spent years loving and accepting.
You sat on the couch in your pajamas, scrolling through the options on Netflix— hoping to find something that would distract you.
Your phone dinged with a text from Jack.
Are you doing okay?
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, because that was the million dollar question— were you okay?
You: I’m okay, as okay as I can possibly be lol. Thanks for checking in on me though!
He started typing, then stopped, and then started again.
I came in to fill in for you and Robby came to me shortly after our shift started.
You: Why? Was he okay?
He brought up what happened between the two of you, mentioned that he’d really fucked up.
You: I’m not sure what to say.
I didn’t know what to say either, I just hope this means that he’ll get the help he needs.
You: I hope so too, but we’ll see.
He misses you, I think more than he’s letting on.
You read Jack’s last text and didn’t respond, you weren’t sure what to say— not really.
It'd been two months since you left the Pitt, two months since you’d separated from Robby.
You had gotten used to the silence that lingered in your life now, used to not waking up beside Robby, used to the new hospital that you worked at.
At this hospital things were different, the unit wasn’t much of a “family” like you were at the Pitt. Each of you did your job and went home, that was it. Surprisingly, you didn’t mind it— not at much as you thought you would.
You sat in the lounge, mindlessly scrolling on your phone when a text came through from Robby.
I just want to warn you, I will be stopping by the house to grab something from the garage. I won’t be there long.
You: That’s fine, I’m not sure I’ll be there though. Do you still have your key?
Yes.
Things between you and Robby were stuck in limbo, they weren’t inherently improving nor were they getting worse.
It had been two months and you had cancelled three divorce consultations, unable to go through with it. The two of you barely talked and had been living separately, you couldn’t understand why you were hesitant.
He’d text you every now and then, checking in on you and letting you know that he missed you. Each text made your skin warm and made your stomach flutter, you still were in love with him— even when you shouldn’t have been.
You missed him— you missed seeing his face, feeling his arms around you, missed hearing his voice, and his snores in the bed beside you.
A text came through, this one from McKay.
Are you still coming over tonight? There’s so much that I have to tell you.
You: Can we do it tomorrow night, instead? I don’t feel well and there’s something that I need to handle.
Sure! No problem.
Thankfully, the work day didn’t drag on and was finished before you could even begin to complain. You wanted to go home, pour yourself a glass of wine, and fall asleep watching some shitty reality show.
When you got home, Robby wasn’t there— you had missed him. You did however find a bouquet of roses on the counter with a note attached.
These are for you, your favorite flower— but still nowhere as beautiful as you. I am sorry for how I treated you, what I ruined between us. I do hope that one day you’re able to forgive me. I love you more than anything. — Michael
You sat the card back onto the table, tears welling in your eyes. You picked up your phone, your finger hovering over the text thread between the two of you.
You: Thank you for the flowers.
You’re welcome, do you like them?
You: Yes.
You: Would you like to come over?
You held your breath after you sent that text, the feeling of regret already creeping into your stomach.
Everything okay? or do you want me over there for something else?
You: I just want to talk.
I’ll be there in thirty.
You liked his message and there was a lump in your throat, you were supposed to be keeping your distance from him— not inviting him over.
You turned off the lights, leaving only the lamp near the front door on— lighting the vanilla candle that also sat on the table.
While trying to process what you did, you took a hot shower— hoping that maybe you’d change your mind afterwards. The water rinsed over your skin, the steam filling the bathroom as you stood there deep in thought.
Could your marriage truly recover? Was this a mistake?
Once you were out of the shower, you threw on one of your baggy t-shirts and made your way back downstairs. You were going to tell Robby nevermind, but as soon your foot touched the last step— the doorbell rang.
Your heart raced as you walked to the door, your fingers sweating when you unlocked it and opened it.
Robby stood there, his eyes raking over your appearance— wet hair, his baggy college t-shirt, and no pants on.
“You wanted me to come over?” He asked, walking past you and down the hall.
You locked the door, your words hung in your throat as you followed him into the kitchen.
“Did you mean it—“
“Do you mean what you wrote on the notecard?” You mumbled.
He leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Every word of it.”
You held back the tears that threatened to leave your eyes.
“Why now? It’s been two months.”
“Two months of agony, two months of feeling like I cannot breathe, two months of feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.”
You bit your lip and just stood there, somehow he felt like your husband again— like the man that you’d fallen in love with years ago.
“You need help, Michael.. professional help that I cannot give.”
He nodded, a pained look on his face.
“I know.”
Somehow in the midst of talking, the two of you ended up closer than you should’ve been— his body against yours.
Robby titled his head, his eyes staring into yours while one his hands rested against your hip.
“I’m sorry for leaving you.” You muttered.
“You had to, baby. I don’t blame you one bit.” He replied softly.
His hand came up to your cheek, his thumb rubbing against it. You felt like you could melt into him, melt like you always did.
“I missed you.” He confessed.
“I missed you too.”
There was a silence, a heat between the two of your bodies.
He gently pressed his lips against yours, his hand cupping your face. He kissed you like he was scared he’d be punished for it, waiting for you to push him away— only you didn’t.
You kissed him back and you welcomed it.
The kiss deepened, your tongue sliding into his mouth.
“I missed you so much, baby.” He breathed in between kissing.
You pulled your lips from his, grabbing his hand and bringing him to the bedroom. As soon as you were in the room, his lips were back on yours.
He pulled off your t-shirt, leaving you completely naked.
“You look.. so beautiful.”
You pulled Robby’s shirt off, your fingers raking over his hairy stomach as he placed open mouthed kisses against your skin.
“I want you.” You whined.
He pulled off his pants, a wet spot on his boxers from precum.
You pulled down his boxers, wrapping your hand around his thick cock— slowly pumping it.
“Hmm, that feels good honey.”
He kissed you fiercely, full of hunger and need— guiding you back onto the bed.
You laid on your back, your legs spread open— watching as he came between your legs.
“Please, fuck me.”
He chuckled, his necklace dangling in your face.
He guided his cock to your entrance, his tub rubbing against your sensitive clit.
“You ready for me?”
You nodded, bringing your mouth to his.
He pushed inside you, a gasp leaving your mouth and a groan leaving his.
His cock filled you, every inch of him stretching you as you got used to him again.
“That’s it, baby.” He groaned, slowly thrusting in and out of you.
It felt good to feel him inside you again, to be close with him, and to feel love for him.
He was so deep inside you, it felt like he was in your stomach— taking your breath with every thrust.
Robby pushed your leg up slightly, his cock going even deeper.
“Fuck.” You whimpered.
Hearing you moan and watching you take every inch of him just about pushed him over the edge prematurely.
“That feels so good, Robby."
“Good, baby. I want to make you feel so good.” He breathed.
The intense feeling in your stomach began to build, your pussy already clenching around his cock.
“I’m so close, I’m so close.” You moaned.
He kissed you with a chuckle, his thrusts faster and messier.
“Me too—“
“Be a good girl and cum for me, honey.”
You loved hearing him talk to you like that, hearing him coach you through your orgasm.
Your orgasm washed over you like a violent tidal wave, his name spilling from your lips over and over again.
“Yeah, just like that, baby.”
Robby’s orgasm followed yours within seconds, his cock slamming into you one last time— his warm cum coating your walls.
Both of you laid there for a moment, reeling from the high that you rode— also now more confused than ever.
Robby pulled out of you, handing you his shirt.
“Do you want me to go?”
You pulled the shirt over your head, getting off the bed.
“You can stay, but you’ll have to leave in the morning.”
Robby stayed and you slept in his arms like you used to, some of the best sleep that you had gotten in a while. You knew that once the morning came, things would go back to how they were.
That night was a weak moment and it made what you said no less true, Robby needed help and the two of you couldn’t be together until he got it.
Weeks later..
Things between you and Robby had managed to somehow get worse, he hadn’t gotten help like he needed to and he was continuing to spiral.
You’d given up and just completely avoided him, even though it was painful. You really hoped that he would’ve taken your advice, that the time apart would have opened his eyes.
You sat on the couch, eating popcorn and decided to open a bottle of wine— a well needed drink.
This was your favorite wine, you’d often buy two bottles when you went to the store.
You glanced at the tv from the kitchen, watching the red wine pour into the glass.
The whiff of wine made your brows furrow, it smelled off. You brought the glass to your mouth, tasting it to be sure.
It tasted wrong and off like something had been done to it, you leaned over the sink spitting it out.
It wasn’t old and it hadn’t been opened, but it didn’t taste right and you couldn’t figure out why.
You stood at the sink, leaning against it and absentmindedly rinsing out the wine— your mind elsewhere.
That’s when it hit you, it felt like a shove to the chest. You grabbed your phone from the couch and pulled up your period app.
You were probably panicking, being ridiculous— there was no way that you were pregnant.
The app loaded and you were late, very fucking late.
“No, no, no.” You mumbled, rushing up the stairs to your bathroom.
You’d kept spare pregnancy tests in your bathroom and never got around to throwing them out once the two of you split.
The bathroom lights hummed as you stood there near the sink, staring at yourself in the mirror.
It was going to be negative, there’s no way it would be positive.
The timer on your phone went off and you took a deep breath, completely preparing for there to be another explanation.
You slowly turned over both pregnancy tests.
They were positive.
You held your head in defeat, tears falling from your eyes.
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