do you believe in fairytales?

rita || 25 || she/her multi-fandom writings asks: always open | requests: open

[writeroutoftime]

hello! my name is rita and welcome to my blog! here I post my writings, and I hope you will enjoy! please review all the information below for any important announcements and navigation for my blog! ✨

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[anarchy-and-cake]

They don't talk about it on the show but it was actually really meaningful and clever that they had Dennis look skinny and sickly and pale and also have a harder time focusing in season one, then in season two, after having shelter and food for eight months, his skin is more flushed, he's filled out, the circles under his eyes are much less pronounced, and he's much calmer and steadier, has a better memory and quicker thinking. In season one he drills an IO into a person that doesn't need it, he confidently says "Everyone gets an IO," and then someone says "If unresponsive." When you're sleep and food deprived, your brain moves slower, your memory fails more, you have a harder time paying attention. And they don't talk about it but the difference is so clear and I like that they subtly show that. Say what you will about Trinity but giving him a place to stay and food in the fridge could have saved his career

[oldbutchdanielmolloy]

just watched a terrible movie for about 6 minutes total of screentime of an actor i like

[buffysummers]

Happy MAMMA MIA! day to those who celebrate

[oabf45]

He was so disappointed when he realized she wasn't talking about him LMAO. Old man STAND UP!

[chosominous]

Dana, Caleb, Whitaker & Abbot at the end of Robby’s shift :

[science-hoes]

biblically accurate joy kwon and jack abbot

[leesparksup]

Don't Ever Let Abbot Think He's Cool

pairing: jack abbot x plus-size! santos' sister! reader

summary: trinity is in the middle of a double and is desperate enough to have her sister show up at her job to bring her food. (takes place between seasons 1 & 2)

word count: 5.1 k ⚕♡

warning: y'all this one got away from me, it was just supposed to be a cute abbot x reader but sibling angst got mixed in and now we have this. reader is 12 years older than trinity so age gap, no smut just fluff and angst but if y'all like it than there may be some more in the future!

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You couldn’t be prouder of your baby sister. But if you were to ever tell her that to her face, she would probably punch you. The past week has been an inescapable nightmare for her; they were down a few staff members, which had her picking up the slack for the next month while replacements were found. That’s how you found yourself at the farthest entry of the ambulance bay, balancing a tray half-filled with two different types of lumpia and okoy, there was some chicken mixed in there as well.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing back there?” You looked towards the sliding doors and saw Trinity calling out to you. 

“It didn’t feel right going all the way down!” It honestly felt wrong to even be this close to the hospital without going through the front entrance. 

She waved her arms like she was directing air traffic. “Hurry up and get down here, I’m starving!” No way in hell were you running, you were carrying precious cargo, but you did pick up the pace for her sake. “What took you so long?”

You held up the tray, “Uh, I was finishing up the food.” The aluminum pan was handed over, and she almost dropped it from the unexpected weight.

She looked at you wide-eyed, “Jesus, why did you make so much?” 

You had gotten into a groove, and it felt nice to make familiar recipes. “Figured I’d make enough for you and your coworkers since I had access to the big kitchen at work. That’s if you choose not to be greedy, of course, if nothing else, leftovers.”

“None of them deserve your cooking,” she remarked as the sliding doors opened up to the emergency department. 

“Except you?”

“Except me.”

An older blonde woman called from behind the desk. “Trinity, you’re needed in room two now.”

Your sister held up the tray like it would cover for her. “But Dana food…”

Dana just shrugged with a small laugh, “Sorry kid.”

Trinity was already rushing towards room two. “Alright, fine, can my sister stay with you for a minute?”

“Sure, your sister can stay. Nice to meet you sweetie.”

“Nice to meet–” the tray of food was dropped back into your arms without warning. “Nice to meet you too.” 

She grabbed a stack of papers and knocked them against the desk to straighten them out. “Hate to say it but it’s the first time I’m hearing about you.”

You gave her a ‘what can you do about it look.’ It was normal at this point. “If you look up mystery in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of her underneath.” Sometimes it hurt, the fact that your sister never talked about you when you would mention her and her accomplishments to anyone who would listen. But you also couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep her private life separate in a workplace like this. 

There was a huff of laughter behind you, and suddenly, a warm body was leaning against the counter next to you.

“That has to be the most accurate description I’ve heard of her.” Holy shit, you thought hot doctors only existed in medical dramas, either that or you’ve just never had the pleasure of meeting one like this. Silver fox personified, god he’s gorgeous. “So Santos’ sister, huh?”

You had to shake yourself back to life. “Y-yeah, you know I feel like I should be offended, but I would have been more surprised if she had mentioned me before.” You finally introduced yourself, balancing the tray so that one hand was free.

His hand was strong, steady, calloused, gosh, he has really, really nice hands. “Dr. Abbot.”

He fits the bill, and right into your fantasies, woah, down girl. “Ahhh, the famous Dr. Abbot, don’t tell her I said this, but Trinity thinks you’re pretty cool, and that is high praise right there.”

He did a small playful fist pump, “I knew I could still relate to the kids.”

Someone likes to use old-man humour, don’t they? “Probably better than I can at this point.”

He looked out towards his younger residents, “comes with experience…” his remark trailed off, staring again at you like there’s a question unanswered. 

God, I probably look like a mess, you thought. Leggings that had a hole in both knees and an oversized volunteer shirt with about a dozen bleach stains screamed put together. You can hear your mother ‘you should always have makeup on, never know who you’re gonna meet.’ Damn, maybe she was right about some things. He’s staring. Why is he still staring? “Do I have something on my face?”

A short cough from him, clearing his throat and breaking his gaze. “Uh, n-no, sorry, you just look really familiar. Don’t tell me I’ve treated you here before.” Oh, if only you were so lucky. 

Thankfully, nothing had landed you in the hospital since moving to Pittsburgh with Trinity. Though now you feel like you should probably knock on some wood to keep up that winning streak. “Definitely not, but now that I’m thinking about it, so do you…oh wait, I know, the uh, the Veterans Center!”

He smiled and snapped his fingers, “That’s it, you’re with the Meals on Wheels crew, right?”  

“That’s me, we try to help get them set up with different plans.”

“It’s good work you’re doing there.” Lord is everything he says laced with such sincerity? He seemed like the type of person to choose every word carefully, to make sure it means something. 

You threw the compliment back, “It’s good work you’re doing here.” As if what you were doing could compare to his work, to your sister's work. 

“Just doing the best we can.” Something tells you his best goes above and beyond the normal. Something also tells you that you could become addicted to the small uptick at the corner of his mouth. So subtle, a blink and you’ll miss it moment. 

“That’s about all you can do some days.”

The silence shared between the two of you was charged, the background noise of the ED fading in and out the more seconds passed. Neither of you was aware of the small crowd that formed behind the desk. 

Trinity popped up behind Abbot, hand sanitizer being generously applied to her hands, before she scootched between you two. It cut the moment completely, well if there had actually been a moment and you weren’t imagining things. The cover of the tray was lifted and nearly smacked you in the face. “God, that was ridiculous. I’m starving.” She had already picked up two chicken skewers and an okoy fritter before glaring at the vultures surrounding them. 

“Why didn’t you tell us you have a sister?” A woman with glasses and a very put-together braid asked. No doubt this was Mel.

“I have a sister, there, now you know.” She responded mid-bite, determined to end the conversation there. Something she’d once said to you had always stuck. ‘The less people know, the better,’ it’s a motto she seemed determined to live by. 

Your arms were starting to get tired from carrying this tray. “She talks about you all so much, I feel like introductions aren’t even needed at this point.” Based off descriptions you were sure you could match up the names to the faces, but one you hoped to run into was the infamous Garcia, but you knew that would be unlikely, life of a surgeon and all that. 

“Shut the fuuuck up.” She said through clenched teeth and a mouthful of chicken. 

You gently nudged her, and she subtly did it back like it was muscle memory. “Aww come on, it’s been forever since I’ve gotten to embarrass you in front of your friends.” 

“Were you adopted?” Tired eyes, curls, ahh, Huckleberry.

“Was she?” Small, youthful, definitely Javadi. 

There was murder in your sister's eyes. “Don’t both of you have patients?”

The mythical Dr. Robby seemed to appear out of thin air. “Don’t you Santos? And I think foods supposed to be eaten in the lounge.”

She took another bite of chicken, almost mocking, like she was saying, ‘you’re just jealous cause I actually have decent food.’ “Thought you said eat when you can?”

You opened the lid again, the smell hitting every nose in the vicinity, setting off a few stomach growls. “You’re welcome to have one, please don’t let her hog it all.” You felt a short warning smack to your side.

Robby picked up one of the lumpia before taking the tray out of your hands. “Hmm, you can stay.” He gave Dr. Abbot a look as he passed by, taking a bite out of the roll. Prompting Abbot to take one for himself before the tray was carted off to the lounge for Santos to take care of later.  

Your sister looked over your shoulder, “shit I gotta go take care of this, find me before you leave.” She was already running down the hall, shovelling down the rest of her food, your soft ‘okay’ following after.

“I’m still not convinced you two are siblings.” Dr. Abbot said, taking a bite of the food he was able to snag. 

“Wanna see my driver's license?”

He groaned from the taste, eyes closed, head back, and he even did that small bend that people do when something is just that good. “Hmm, no, there it is, same snark.”

“Nobody ever believes we’re siblings, we’ve got different dads, not to mention the twelve years between us.” There are a couple of other reasons that run through your mind, but those are best kept to yourself.

“Well, the more I stand here, the more I start to see it.” Interesting.

“In a good or a bad way?”

He took the last bite. “All the good parts, I promise, you both have a very caring heart.”

Very interesting. “Huh, caring heart typically isn’t used to describe my sister.”

“I like to think we’ve worked together enough that I can see it, even when it’s hidden under all her spikes.” It surprised you to hear this kind of praise from someone above your sister; she had always had issues with authority. Constantly complained about the teachers and professors that she’d had over the years. Except for Dr. Abbot, he must be one hell of a teacher. 

“She really does care about her job. It’s nice to see that she’s got a good group of people behind her.”

“That’s the Pitt crew for you.” There it was again, that small movement, and there goes the silence again. Sometimes it’s better not to scramble to fill it.  “Hey, I uh, I think we used to work with Meals on Wheels before Covid happened, but I think it would be worth starting up again for the patients. I know it would help out a lot of the people we see.” 

Work, thank god, something you can confidently talk about. “Yeah, definitely, I’ll talk to my supervisor and see if I could maybe work as a representative for the hospital.” It would be a good chance to see Trinity more…and Dr. Abbot…no bad, bad brain. 

“Oh, I’d hate to add more to your plate.” Where does he hold all that sincerity?

“Nah, it wouldn’t be a problem at all, most likely they’d have me swing by a couple of days a week to review forms for anyone who was interested.” 

He crossed his arms, fully leaning into you, or is he leaning into the counter? And why is it getting harder to breathe right now? “Well, I know for a fact we’d be lucky to have you.” 

Once again, Trinity snuck up on you. “Alright, all done, thanks for bringing dinner by.” She gave you a quick one-armed hug before practically pushing you away like the hug wasn’t her idea in the first place.

“Okayyy…well, I’ll get out of your hair, really nice meeting you all, and I’ll see you at home Trinity.” You gave a wave to the few residents and nurses that had stuck around the desk. 

“Bye Sissy,” the term of endearment seemed to slip out of her sleep-deprived mouth before her brain could catch it. You could see the way she braced herself for war as her coworkers slowly turned their heads towards her. Shit-eating grins on all of their faces. 

“Bye Sissy,” you echoed back, adding fuel to the fire. 

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The month passed by, and like clockwork, you would bring Trinity and the Pitt crew whatever  you could to help feed them. After the first visit if Jack was available it meant that the tray you were carrying would be out of your hands the moment he saw you. It made your heart flutter, his fingers always brushed against yours. He had to know what he was doing.  

Honestly, it just felt nice to have other people outside of your work to talk to, and you wondered why you hadn’t been doing this before. 

Until one day, something snapped the fragile routine.

You were speaking with Jack, and he insisted on a first-name basis the next time you stopped by to bring Trinity dinner. The two of you were discussing the positives, among other things, patient satisfaction with the program inclusion, and what you were planning for the rest of the night, while he’s happily trapped here.   

Suddenly, your arm was yanked backwards, “Dr. Abbot, I need to borrow her for a second.”

Trinity was a lot stronger than she looked, not a lot of people knew that until she decided to reveal it. Like she was now, by dragging you towards the staff lounge. “Hey, hey, are you trying to dislocate my arm?”

“Oh, trust me, you’d know if I was.” Oh, she’s pissed, but why, you have no idea. 

You crossed your arms across your chest once she finally dropped the death grip that she had. “Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

“This has to stop.” 

“You just gestured to all of me. What does that even mean?”

She poked her finger against your chest, dangerously close to your tit, which she knows is sensitive. “You, you coming here, bringing food for everybody, and whatever this thing is that you have going on with Abbot, it has to stop.”

That stopped you in your tracks because nothing inappropriate was going on with Abbott, not that you wouldn’t mind if something inappropriate were happening. “Trinity, there’s nothing–”

She poked you again, “Don’t bullshit me alright. This is my job, and you cannot come in here and fuck it up.” 

You were brought back to a party that you didn’t know about and killed when you walked in the door. Back when she was being reckless and angry. “I wasn’t trying to–” 

Trinity was on a rampage right now, and you were the target. “And I don’t care if you’re desperate, pick someone else besides one of my fucking attendings.” This was humiliation at its finest, she wasn’t trying to be quiet or private, she wanted people to hear.

You took a deep breath in, trying to ground yourself. “I’ve only ever come here to bring you food Trin, and for work,  I see that you’re working doubles on the calendar, and I know you don’t eat like you should–”

She threw her hands up. “You’re not fucking mom okay! I’m not your problem, and you need to leave so I can do my fucking job!” She stormed out of the break room, a “what” thrown out to anyone who was looking her way.

You waited a second before adjusting your bag on your shoulder and walking out as well, head down, the refusal to make eye contact with anyone evident. A tear didn’t fall until the sliding doors closed behind you. 

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Trinity never thought that she would feel this hesitancy to enter her home again. But the weight of an apology was on her shoulders. Robby had chewed her out after her spectacle in the break room, told her to keep the family drama out of the ED, or her sister wouldn’t be allowed back. She didn’t want that, she never wanted that. The place somehow felt lighter when you showed up, helped make everything not feel so suffocating. 

But the look that Abbot gave her today just pissed her off, fuck that man and his obvious crush on you. If he wasn’t going to ask you out then he needed to knock off the goo-goo eyes at work. And they wanted to say that she was being unprofessional. 

Every movement was slow as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. She didn’t expect you to be sitting on the couch, an episode of Rick and Morty playing on the TV. She remembered you letting her watch an episode when she was way too young. “Hey…I brought home takeout.” 

You didn’t say anything as she set the bag down, but you could hear a soft, annoyed sigh behind you. “What episode are you watching?” She knew exactly what episode it was. “Are you not gonna say anything?” No, you were not. “Alright, fuck, I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have snapped at you today. That was really shitty of me.” Trinity Santos, the master of apologies, ladies and gentlemen. 

“So you still meant everything you said?” There was no move to look away from the screen. 

“I shouldn’t have brought mom up, that wasn’t fair to you–”

Your head shook in disbelief. “You have said that to me before so many times Trin, it really doesn’t phase me at this point. I know it’s your go-to when I’m ‘smothering’ you I just–I care. You know I care right? I’m not trying to be…”

It was obvious that she was reaching for the right words. “I know you’re not, it’s just–it’s hard sometimes…you’ve always been more of a mom to me and now that I’m older. It feels like I’m having to relarn how to be your sister.”

It made a lot of sense. Part of you hated that you had to be an adult at such a young age, but you wouldn’t give up your sister for the world. “I think I’m having to learn that too. I didn’t mean to encroach on your space or your work, I actively tried not to be in your way–”

She cut you off,  “You were never in the way, it’s actually been nice having you there, and you genuinely seem to enjoy that place, which is crazy to me since I’m itching to get out of there.”

You nudged her, and thankfully, she nudged back. “You enjoy it too.”

“Yeah, I think, I think I just got so used to it being you and me that I didn’t really bother to have friends at work in the beginning. And then you started being all buddy-buddy with everyone, and I thought that’s it, she’s gonna be everybody’s best friend, and I’m gonna be alone again.” You always thought that was just the way she liked it, on her own. ‘Nobody to disappoint her that way,’ she would say.

You paused the TV, sensing the shift. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

She scoffed, “How could I talk to you about feeling lonely?” 

Now you were the one scrambling, “Trinity…I’ve been alone a really long time–”

“Yeah cause you choose to be.” Maybe your sister does need a psych evaluation.

“Choose to be, I’m sorry, you think I choose to be alone?” She nodded her head like it was obvious, “No…no, that’s you, I don’t choose this.”

She looked like she was ready to ditch this conversation now. “Okay fuck you. If you’re so alone, go out and find someone.” It’s almost like you could hear your mom's voice in your ear, ‘you have such a pretty face, if you just had form like your sisters, you’d be a knockout.’ ‘Of course you’re gonna be alone if you never put yourself out there.’ How were you supposed to put yourself out there when she had been putting you down for so much of your life? 

Now your words had bite and sharpness to them. “You say that like it’s so easy. It is for you, it’s not for me, and it never has been.”

“What are you talking about? You never had a problem with making friends.” Friends that never stayed in contact, not one from high school or college, and it sure as hell wasn’t from a lack of trying on your part. 

“Yeah, and you never had a problem finding someone that wanted to be with you. There are different kinds of loneliness Trin.”

It took a second for her to fully understand what you meant. “Oh, oh, I didn’t realize you…missed that.” Honestly your last relationship was so long ago that you felt like a born again virgin somedays.

“Yeah, I’m not a nun. I just don’t talk to you about it cause you’ve never had that problem before.”

Trinity was tired of standing, so she reached into the fridge to grab some beer to go alongside the takeout. She handed one to you before placing the bag on the coffee table and sitting beside you. “Yeah, just a problem with people staying.”

You cracked open both bottles while she started to unbox the food. “To be fair, you’ve never asked anyone to stay before.”

Her shoulders shrugged. “True, probably something I need to be in therapy for.”

“You and me both Sissy.”

“I hope you know, I don’t actually care about you and Abbot, I mean, I do I–I want you to be happy. You deserve it, you’ve taken care of me my whole life and you–you deserve someone who wants to take care of you too. And if that’s Abbot then good for you, I guess.” What a world it would be if Jack Abbot wanted to take care of you. Maybe for a brief moment you thought he might have been interested, but after spending some time with him, you’re sure that subtle fliritng is just his default mode. Nothing else has really hinted at interest or even desire, which you wouldn’t be able to spot in a person anyway. 

Even though you wish it wasn’t true, “Trinity Jack’s not interested in me like that.” He probably wants someone in the same field anyway, it’s not like you’d understand half of what he talks about at work, you barely understand Trinity some days.

She took off the lid to her curry. “Uh, yes, he is.”

Accepting the takeout container from her, you pressed yourself against the back of the couch. “You sound awfully sure about that.”

She looked at you like she couldn’t believe someone could be so oblivious. “Okay, I’m starting to think that you’ve been alone because you’re just blind to when people like you, honestly, I should’ve caught on to that sooner.”

As sad as it was, it still made you laugh. “Well, can you blame me, I could never tell if it was a joke or not.” Boys had always been unnecessarily cruel to you growing up. 

“Just…take my word for it…he likes you.”

You wanted to believe her so badly. It would be so easy to. But even if you did believe her, what would you do with the information? It’s not like you’d make a move, no, you’ve done it before, and it never works. That’s why you decided that if someone actually liked you, then, it would have to be on them. At least nothing gets lost in translation that way. “I wouldn’t want to make things weird at work for you.”

She finished about a third of her beer. “Things are already weird, trust me, you’re fine. Listen, if he asks you out, just promise me you’ll say yes, at least give it a shot.” 

Who would have thought your baby sister would try to set you up with her attending? Just what was the world coming to? “Yeah that’s if he asks me out, which is a big if.”

A slow, smug smile crept onto her face. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks that he asks you out tomorrow when you bring me lunch.”

“You and I both know you don’t have that money.” One would think being a doctor would pay better, but the world’s becoming too expensive even for them. 

“That’s how confident I am.”

“I’m thinking you just want an excuse for me to bring you lunch tomorrow.”

“That too. Now put on the next episode.”

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The next day, you just ended up bringing the damn chicken soup in a crockpot since containers were a hassle. It seemed to be the right call, since the cold had brought in a wave of sickness throughout the ED. 

Hands came up from your left and took the crockpot from you, both of you on a familiar path to the break room. You sure would know those biceps anywherere. Not that you were objectifying him in that way, of course not, you would never. “She returns…you know, we had a bet going on whether you’d be back around.”

You thanked him per usual and asked, “oh yeah? Who won?”

He had a sort of playful scowl on his face. “Whittaker, he bet that Santos would apologize after work and you’d be back the next day. Kinda scary how well that kid knows her.”

“She’d never admit it, but she has a soft spot for him.” They reached the breakroom and Jack set soup down on the counter close to the outlet. You reached out to plug it in expecting him to take a step back. Only he didn’t, he just stood there without a care in the world.

Now the bastard was smirking at you, “want me to get that for you?”

Come on, pull up your big girl panties and fucking flirt with this man. You have the approval of you sister of all people. A leap of faith had you leaning in “that’s okay I got it.” Your arm brushed against his chest, and lord that is one sturdy man, of course you could tell that just by looking at him, but to actually feel it. “Can I ask what you ended up betting?” 

He leaned in even closer, “I was not a betting man this time around.”

“How come?”

His hand reached out, and inch away from you hip, a question, ‘am I allowed to’ and you leaned into the touch. “Didn’t want to take the chance that the outcome would be longer than I wanted.” That struck you, the way he said it, so simple, just a fact trapped in the room.

“You got lucky then, Trinity I didn’t speak for three months straight one time.”

The smallest tug had you jolting forward, quickly trying to catch yourself. Jack had you right where he wanted you. “Oh now I would’ve missed you way too much.”

“You mean my cooking.”

“That too but mostly you.”

“Good to know,” now’s when you say ‘I would have missed you too,’ go ahead. “Make sure you get some of the soup then who knows when Trinity might decide to banish me again.” What the fuck is wrong with you?

He gave you a full smile, one of his rare ones as his hand squeezed your side. You used to shrink away from touches like that but from him, every part of you just softly pleaded more, more. “Perish the thought,” he looked over at the pot, “I can’t remember the last time I had homemade chicken soup.”

“Hope it lives up to the memory if you remember it.”

Jack has a silent intensity about him and it keeps dragging you in. He’s just staring, a million questions he could be asking and somehow he’s asking each one simultaneously. “Hmm,” even his ‘hmms’ have a vocabulary of their own. “You know, if you ever get tired of cooking, I’d be happy to do it for you.”

Is this–is this him asking you out? “Oh, you’d cook for me, huh?” Friends have dinner together, hell you’ve been doing it a lot this past month. But friends don’t hold onto someone like this and they definitely don’t keep glancing down at your lips like they’re seconds away from kissing you. Fuck, you wish he would.

The hand on your waist glides to your spine and his hands have a way of making you feel small, and incredibly weak in the knees. “You sound surprised.”

“Just thought you lived off of adrenaline and protein shakes at this point.”

“I’ve been known to make a mean steak.” The mental image of Jack standing over a grill just about does you in. It’s almost sad. When’s the last time someone cooked for you?

“Hmm, I’m very picky about my steak.”

That smirk makes you want to reach up and kiss it away. “As am I, you have to be. You free tomorrow?”

What the hell is happening right now? “Uh, yeah, yeah, I am.”

“Great, so I’ll pick you up at six.”

“I’ll bring dessert.” It was unmistakable, the heat, the way his eyes wandered slowly across you. You hadn’t meant it that way, or maybe deep down you did, maybe this is what it was to actually flirt. Maybe you were even good at it.

“Can’t wait.” He took a step closer, christ he wanted kiss you. Just a quick one, something to tide him over during his shift, but he knew it wouldn’t be quick, it wouldn’t be enough and it wouldn’t be  appropriate for the workplace. 

Thankfully and annoyingly at the same time one of the nurses came through the door asking for him before he could give in. “Sorry sweetheart.” He felt like he had to pry himself away from you and you were just as desperate to hold on but you knew better. 

“Jeez, do your job Dr. Abbot,” you playfully teased, secretly it was a way to also catche your breath. But little did you know what that did to him. Eyes followed his back as he walked towards the door, his hand gripped the frame and he looked so close to turning back around, but he knew better. His head shook with a small laugh and then he was off. 

It was just you and the soup now, you checked the heat once more and made your way towards the exit. There was an overwhelming need to get some fresh air and run the last ten minutes over and over in your mind. 

Behind you, the almost evil voice of your sister whispered, “If you could send me that hundred bucks now, that would be great.”

ﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـ

a/n: hope you liked it, please let me know if you want to see more of this pairning! also i think I might start strictly writing plus-size characters from now on cause why the hell not, there's never enough of them! ⚕♡

here's my masterlist if you're insterested ــــ٨ـ🩺

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

seeing double

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.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

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! 🤍

[writeroutoftime]

Okay wait this was amazing!! I didn’t know I needed a Pitt/Grey’s crossover but I’m so glad you wrote this! Everyone was so well characterized and I love seeing Mark and Jack interact!! Such a fun read! 💛

[writeroutoftime]

drabble requests

hey everyone! it’s been a hot minute since I’ve posted my own writing but I’m hoping to slowly get started again! yes, I do have some requests in my inbox that I will get to but I was hoping for a few new ideas to get my brain flowing.

soooo…if anyone wants to send in some drabble requests for the pitt that would be lovely! just did a rewatch of season 1 and 2, so I feel prepared lol.

also happy to write for carmy from the bear - I’m all caught up on the last season!

open to angst, fluff, and hurt comfort - just no smut requests please. happy to write for:

Jack Abbot

Robby Robinavitch

Dennis Whitaker

Frank Langdon

Carmy Berzatto

[rr-after-dark]

"Yours" - Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: When Dr. Robby returns from his extended sabbatical, he discovers that the girlfriend he thought would be waiting for him has a baby bump – and absolutely hates him for leaving.

Tags/Notes: established relationship, groveling and forgiveness, acts of service, nurse!reader, pregnant!reader, getting back together, ft. trinity as a menace and dennis as a cutie

Content: pregnancy, pregnant sex (fingering), shaving scene

A/N: im not good at math <3 sorry i haven't posted in three weeks lmao

Word Count: 14.3k

The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, but somewhere around Bar Harbor Robby decided he needed more time. For what he wasn’t sure. But he knew he needed to stay far, far away from the Pitt for a little longer. With his position at the hospital safe, he stayed in New England through the end of the summer.

On his first day back, he’d been gone as long as the two of you were together. Six months. Six months without text messages or phone calls or, hell, postcards. Six months of feeling like Robby was a ghost in your life, something you had and lost that lingers around every corner. Six months of rebuilding your life after he disappeared from it.

You found out about Robby’s sabbatical the same way everyone else did, during one of his evening speeches exactly two weeks before he was scheduled to leave. Two weeks’ notice for a relationship you’d honestly believed was headed toward an engagement ring in a few months. He didn’t think to ask you, didn’t think to check in, didn’t even bother to tell you in the privacy of the home you’d basically moved into. Your life fell into brutal clarity in that moment: Robby was a huge part of your life, but you were a footnote in his.

He sent you a text five nights ago: Back in town. When can I see you?

You didn’t answer.

You don’t plan to.

The morning of September first, Jack hands off shift change seamlessly, like Robby had never left, and Robby finds his footing on the ED floor with a newness, a fluidity, a casual lightness on his shoulders that strikes everyone as foreign. A version of Robby with no tension in his shoulders and no sarcasm biting at his tongue might as well be a new doctor.

Once he has the ED machine churning on pace, Robby leans his elbows on the nurse’s station and scans the shift board. “And where’s my favorite nurse this morning? Night shift?”

Dana barely spares him a glance as she processes the last of a stack of paperwork. She’d always disapproved of Robby pursuing you, so she’s not exactly sympathetic when she tells him, “She transferred months ago. I’m sure the notice is in your email inbox if you ever get around to clearing that out.”

His mind spins at the idea of the Pitt without you – your steady hands, your shy smiles, your forgiving wit. “Transferred? Where? Why?”

“Not my business,” Dana replies with a shrug. She pushes a chart into his chest and says, “They need you in exam six.”

As Robby takes the chart and looks over it with blank eyes that don’t see a word, Princess stands up on her toes so she can meet Robby’s eyes. With a knowing but curious gaze, she tells him quietly, “She’s working at the hospital’s satellite methadone clinic up the street now. Rumor is that she had an ugly breakup with someone at the hospital and wanted to get some distance.”

Robby sucks in a sharp breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. His eyes focus to actually look at the chart and he mutters out, “Thanks for the info.”

She adds, “Smart money’s on Frank, by the way, since they were always so close.”

Robby grits his teeth. “They weren’t that close.”

“Whatever you say, cap.”

The biggest thing Robby notices in his shift once he’s working closely with his doctors again is a change in the batch of residents he helped onboard last year. They’ve gained confidence during his absence, which he’d expected, but there’s something else. To put it briefly, there’s a lot of scowling and it’s definitely in his direction. Even Whitaker, who used to glance up for his praise like a puppy, is now averting his eyes and keeping his sentences short, professional, unsmiling. The newest batch of students and interns is all polite deference and eager introductions, but the ones he’d come to know and care for and consider friends are acting like he stinks of BO and betrayal.

In the locker room preparing for his lunch break, he approaches Dana, trying to be casual about his tone, and asks, “What’s wrong with the kids, by the way? I have a sign that says ‘ignore me’ on my back or something I didn’t notice?”

She snickers, “Maybe they’re just mad that daddy went to the gas station for milk and didn’t come back for six months.” She gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and adds, “Give them some time; it’ll take a minute for people to find their rhythm around you again.”

He nods slowly and swallows, hoping that’s all this is. “Right, sure.”

The truth doesn’t even occur to him: You had been their favorite person around the hospital, his abandonment had made you leave, and they aren’t quite ready to forgive him for that.

—

It’s almost your lunch break when a whole flood of people arrives at once. You’re behind the check-in desk today and you can’t help groaning to yourself. You have to pee, your stomach has been growling non-stop for an hour, and you’re desperate to put your feet up.

You’re on autopilot as you check in patients, collect consent forms, and support doctors however you can without getting up from the desk. You’d started modified work duty this month and it’s driving you nuts not being able to do the hands-on clinical work you love. With your eyes on your monitor, the next patient enters your peripheral vision and you tell him, “I’ll be with you in just one moment.”

“No worries, gorgeous.”

Your focus snaps.

Anger rises up like bile in your throat. Part of you wants to cry, part wants to run, part wants to scream. Ultimately, with so many wars raging inside of your body, your expression goes flat as you meet Robby’s eyes. “You pick up an opioid habit while you were screwing your way up and down the eastern seaboard?”

Robby almost laughs. Almost. He hadn’t expected you to act so hostile – in his mind, you’re still the woman he loves, waiting patiently for his return home – and it pinches like frostbite. Voice soft and respectful, he offers, “I just wanted to stop by and see you.”

You set your jaw and cut back, “Well I didn’t want to see you, but I forgot that my opinion doesn’t affect your decisions.”

He sighs. “You’re still mad at me.”

You turn back to your computer and finish up the file you need to before lunch. “‘Still’ implies that eventually I’ll stop, which won’t be happening.”

“C’mon sweetheart, you can’t-”

“Don’t.” Your eyes flick up as you shake your head. “Just- just don’t.” After closing out your computer and sighing heavily, you tell him bluntly, “You’re officially eating into my lunch, so I’m gonna ask you to leave or I can get security. I’m happy either way.”

Robby presses, “Let me at least buy you lunch.”

You extend your hand and reply without emotion, “Sure, give me $20 and I’ll happily spend it.”

Robby grits his teeth and digs his heels in. “Please.”

Anxiety sparks in your chest as you realize he really isn’t going to leave without talking to you alone first. You’re going to have to stand up from behind the safety of the tall desk and half wall right in front of him. The moment was inevitable, but you’d hoped to at least be in control of it.

“Fine. Buy me lunch.” You’re almost laughing as you mutter, “Let’s see how this goes. Might as well do it in public.”

Then you get to your feet. You stretch your arms above your head, back tight from sitting all morning, and your navy scrub top rides up slightly.

Robby’s next words are breathless and desperate. “You’re pregnant.”

“Glad your eyes still work after six months of wind burn without your goddamn helmet.”

He swallows hard, barely hearing the malice in your voice now. “How- how far along?”

“Take a fucking guess, Doctor,” you huff, shouldering your bag and walking around the nurse’s station. He moves to follow you, but you point at the ‘only employees past this door’ sign and give him a mock pout. “Wait outside if you care so much.”

Robby debates for a second and says weakly, “It’s my lunch, too; I need to get back to the hospital.”

You give him a look that reeks of ‘that’s what I thought’ and say, “Then get back to the hospital. I’m immune to being left behind now.”

It’s not your hatred that hurts. It’s your apathy.

He sends you texts. You don’t reply.

He leaves you voicemails. You don’t listen.

After a few more days of silence, he’s got his head in his hands at the bar while Jack nurses a beer, pitying his sorry ass. He’s been silent for two straight beers, clearly gathering the courage to tell him the good news. It takes Jack reminding him that this is his only night off for Robby to choke out, “She’s pregnant. Very pregnant. Seven months, probably.”

“Ah.” Jack studies his best friend’s face for a long time before settling on a simple, succinct, thorough, “Fuck.”

Robby sucks in a long breath and lets it out slow. “Yeah. Fuck.”

“And she doesn’t want anything to do with you now.” It’s not a question. It’s the truth of the matter. Jack shakes his head and then gives Robby one of those pointed looks only a brother could get away with. “I don’t blame her.”

Robby balks, “You said I should go on the trip.”

“But I’m not your girlfriend.”

“And thank god for that.”

“You didn’t talk to her about leaving?”

“I didn’t realize I needed her permission.”

“You didn’t. But you should’ve wanted it.” Jack puts on that sage old friend voice and goes on, “You told me before you left that she’s the one. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“A lot. That’s why I had to go,” Robby replies, grappling with too much of himself. “Look, leaving was the right thing to do. I know that now more than ever. I figured a lot of shit out and I feel a hell of a lot better – about myself, my future, my life. But now? Now there’s going to be a baby. My baby. Our baby.” Robby gently thumps his forehead on the bartop and groans, “The whole time I was gone, I thought she’d be waiting for me when I came home. Every step of the way, I figured- I figured she’d still want me.”

“Delusions of grandeur,” Jack opines almost absently. Then he yanks Robby to sitting upright by the back of his hoodie. “She’s so far out of your league you’d have to get drafted first just to be her water boy. Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because she always waited for me,” Robby mutters, sounding so absolutely pathetic Jack debates recording it for blackmail down the road. “She- she was always there. She always stayed.”

“And you repaid her by leaving.”

Robby’s voice drops to an ashamed whisper. “I didn’t realize she loved me enough to care that I left.”

“But she did.”

“She did.” Robby stares straight ahead, through Jack and through the walls and through the world until his eyes settle back on his relationship with you – the one good part of his life that had spiraled squarely out of his control. “She was shining a light in my face, but I was too busy covering my own eyes to see her. Too deep in my own self-doubt and self-hatred to recognize what was right in front of me.”

“Alright, Socrates, pack it in.” Jack claps a hand on Robby’s back and summarizes, “You fucked it up and you need to fix it.”

“I fucked it up and I need to fix it,” Robby confirms. “But how do I even begin to say sorry for something like that?”

“She doesn’t want you to say sorry,” Jack replies. It’s effortless for him, this kind of thing. Robby is supremely jealous of how simple Jack makes it all sound. “She doesn’t want Robby the rich attractive attending anymore.”

“Flatterer.”

“Shut up. I’m saying she’s spent the last six months thinking you were gone. While you’re god knows where, she’s figuring out how to be a single mom on a nurse’s salary. So I know she doesn’t want what you used to be for her.”

Jack pauses for long enough that Robby has to sigh and prod, “You’re really gonna make me prompt you? Tell me what you think she wants.”

“She wants a dad for her kid. A real dad, not a sperm donor. She doesn’t want a boyfriend. She wants a husband. And a husband doesn’t have to run away to figure his shit out. Show up for the baby and you’re showing up for her.” Jack finishes off his beer, slaps down a handful of cash, and tells him, “Let’s get a cab. I think you need to cry yourself to sleep to figure out your next move.”

At nine a few nights later, after his shift, Robby knocks on the door of the new address he definitely didn’t steal from your personnel file. It’s a small townhouse in an okay part of town, better than your previous shoebox, but it’s still nothing compared to his spacious home further out of the city. The place he always imagined raising his family in. The place where you’d taken up half his closet, half his bathroom counterspace, half his life. Half his heart, undeniably.

When Trinity Santos answers the door, Robby nearly falls on his ass. With a green face mask cracking on her skin and her eyes burning with anger, he’s never seen her looking so full of wrath. Which is saying something. “What are you doing here, Dr. Robby?”

His brows furrow as he explains, “I was trying to see my girlfriend, but I guess I got the wrong address somehow.”

Santos scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You girlfriend? Pretty sure you forfeited that title when you ditched her like she didn’t mean anything to you.”

“Woah, Jesus,” Robby chuckles, holding his hands up. “Is that the general consensus? Guess that explains all the hostility today.”

“Not hostile, just professional.”

“You were definitely hostile.”

Trinity glares. “File a complaint.”

She moves to shut the door, but he catches it with one large hand. “Is she here?”

Trinity continues to use her body to block him from entering. She knows he’d never do anything crazy like push her, but she wants to make her allegiance perfectly clear. “Yup.”

“She lives with you and Whitaker now?”

“Yup. Saving money until the last minute.”

“God.” Robby runs his hand over the back of his head. “Can I- Can I just come in and see her?”

Holding bitter eye contact, Trinity calls over her shoulder, “Do you want to see Robby?”

Your voice is immediate. There’s more hurt in it than he’d heard this morning, and something about that makes him feel hopeful. Like there might still be something for him to hold onto. “He’s here?”

“At the door.”

Robby listens as a chair squeaks across the floor and your footsteps recede toward a staircase. Away from him. Fainter now, you call, “Get rid of him.”

Trinity nods and turns back to her boss. “You heard the woman. Go home.”

“Fuck, fine. It’s getting late anyway; she should sleep.” With a rough sigh, he reaches into his inner jacket pocket and hands her an envelope. “Can you give this to her at least?”

Santos snatches it from his hand and demands, “What is it?”

“It’s ten thousand dollars.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Robby.”

Without saying anything else, she slams the door in his face. Shaking her head, Trinity ascends the steps to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, and knocks on your door. You answer with puffy, tear-swollen eyes. Right away, Trinity wraps you up in a hug and sighs, “He’s the worst. I’ll kill him at work tomorrow.”

You laugh, sniffle, and shake your head. “No need. I was going to have to deal with this eventually, right?”

“Yeah, but it should be your choice on your terms, not him showing up unannounced.” You nod and pull back from the hug, swiping your cheeks one more time. Trinity holds up the envelope and says, “Robby wants me to give this to you. I can rip it up or hold onto it or-”

“I’ll take it.” You smile softly at her and add, “Thanks, Trin. You shouldn’t have to deal with my drama.”

“You deal with my gay soap opera with Yo,” she points out with a conspiratorial grin.

Your reply is interrupted by the sound of Dennis emerging from his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s been on the late-night shift the past couple weeks, slowly becoming nocturnal. “What’s going on?”

Trinity answers with malice lacing her tone, “Robby showed up.”

Dennis shakes his head. “Bastard.”

“You don’t have to say that,” you reply with a laugh. “I know you want to go back to being his personal assistant as soon as possible.”

“Trinity would kill me,” he mutters.

She punches him on the arm. “And I’d be right! We don’t defend shitty men who-”

“Robby’s not a shitty man; you know that,” he interrupts her. “He handled leaving in a shitty way; that doesn’t make him a shitty person.”

“You’re too forgiving, Nebraska.”

“And you’re not forgiving enough.”

You sigh sharply, “And I need to go to sleep.”

“At least open up the letter for us,” Trinity insists. “My nosiness is absolutely screaming for the intel. I won’t be able to sleep without it.”

Ripping open the envelope, you sigh, “I’m sure it’s just some stupid saccharine guilt bomb designed to make me-” Your voice falls to the ground and melts through the floorboards. There’s a folded-up note wrapped around something much more interesting. You hold it up to Trinity and Dennis and breathlessly announce, “It’s a check for ten thousand dollars.”

“Oh my god, I thought he was being a dick,” Trinity replies, her voice equally low and surprised, almost reverent – not for Robby but for the sheer amount of money. “Why the hell would he…?”

With shaking hands, you read the corresponding handwritten note to your roommates.

I don’t know whether or not when you’ll let me back into your life. That’s up to you. I accept it. I respect that it’s your choice. But I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad. You know I can’t do that. You know about my father. I’m never going to become him. I hope you believe that. So this isn’t a bribe to take me back. I promise it isn’t. It’s not an apology. I’m still working on that. It’s for our kid. For you as the mother of my child, not just the a woman I want need miss love care about. Nursery stuff, vitamins, doctor’s appointments, your favorite hot chocolate from Vino’s, anything you need until they’re born. I’m not going to let you want for anything. If money is all you’ll accept from me, then take every penny I have. Please. I promise I won’t abandon the baby. I promise I will do whatever you need from me and more. And I promise I love you. Both of you. I hope you’ll Please, let me prove it. Love, Sincerely, Yours, M.

All three of you hold your breath in the space that follows Robby’s painstakingly scrawled words.

Then Dennis takes a long breath and urges, “See? He’s good. He cares. He wants to take care of you and the baby. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”

Trinity shakes her head and swallows hard. “She could do a hell of a lot better, too. He still left.”

Dennis argues, “He didn’t know she was pregnant.”

You whisper, “Do I really want a man who would only stay because of a baby?”

Knowing far too much for his own good, Dennis touches your shoulder and presses, “Do you really want any man besides him?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to breathe. “I need sleep. I’ll…Fuck. I’ll let you guys know whenever I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”

Trinity brushes your cheek with her thumb. “Love you, sunshine. Goodnight.”

You wish her goodnight and Dennis a good shift before retreating into your bedroom. You change into your pajamas, ignoring the tee of Robby’s that still lives in your drawer, and curl up with your thoughts. In bed on your side, you rest your hand on your bump and wish the little life inside could tell you the right thing to do.

In his home across town, all Robby knows is that he’s never felt so much relief watching $10,000 leave his account.

In the morning, on your way out, the door thumps against something heavy on the stoop. A large plastic tote with a brown bag from your favorite cafe on top of it. You call over your shoulder for Trinity and she hauls the heavy box inside while you focus on the little bag of treats with a note card stapled to it. Inside the bag is your usual order that Robby always brought into the hospital for you in the mornings, the coffee replaced by a ginger tea but the bear claw looking as delectable as ever.

I figured you might want your things back from my place. I’m sorry for being gone longer than you expected for not giving you a key in the first place for unintentionally stealing your stuff for coming by last night. I don’t want to make anything worse. M.

Trinity reads the note over your shoulder and announces, “He’s groveling.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you should let him grovel.”

Biting the sweet fluffy pastry, you consider, “I don’t want to be cruel. I’m not going to keep his own baby from him.”

“Of course not. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Do you want him? Not just as your co-parent or sperm donor or whatever. A husband. A real man. Do you want to be Mrs. Robby someday soon?”

“Of course I do,” you sigh, “but I just…I don’t trust him anymore. How could I?”

“I’m just saying,” she reasons with a shrug, “if his baseline grovel is 10k, I for one would love to see where he goes from there. Maybe you’ll end up with a private plane or something.”

“Robby’s got money, but he doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“As far as we know,” she replies with a snicker. “Look, at the end of the day, you have to decide if you can trust him, so I say you tell him exactly what you need and see if he can hack it. Be blunt with him about your expectations. He can worship the ground you walk on from here on out or he can spend the rest of his life signing child support checks and seeing his kid every other weekend.”

You laugh and polish off the bear claw. “You’re a menace, Trinity Santos.”

“My specialty.” She pours herself a coffee and collects her bag. “Now do you want a ride or are you grabbing the bus?”

“It’s a beautiful morning; I don’t mind the bus.”

“Maybe Robby will get you a car.”

“Yeah,” you snort, “maybe.”

Right as your lunch break starts that afternoon, a delivery driver shows up by the staff entrance with an order bearing your name. After one of the other nurses calls you back, you take the heavy bag of absolutely heavenly-smelling Thai food and ask the driver, “Is this from Michael Robinavitch?”

“Yeah, he said you’d be expecting it.” He checks the order on his phone and reads, “The delivery instructions said ‘tell her I know for a fact she doesn’t eat enough protein to be growing a whole new person.’ Congratulations; he sounds like a nice dad.”

You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, he can be.”

And it goes on like that for the next five days before you decide what to do. Robby always orders you lunch. None of the following meals come with messages, though, just something carefully chosen for your tastes and needs. He even remembers the way you order things – extra lime on your pad thai, salsa verde instead of pico on your tacos, and any bonus dessert he can throw in – to the point where you wonder if people at the Pitt are helping him out, campaigning for the two of you to get back together.

Robby checks his phone way too many times that entire first week that he’s back. He keeps waiting for you to text, call, email, hell he’ll even take a DM at this point. But you don’t. It’s agony. If nothing else, Trinity’s dagger-glare has dulled into more of a butter-knife-glare by Friday afternoon.

Then.

After he clocks out and heads to the parking lot, there you are. Leaning on his fucking motorcycle. You’re a vision in the waning afternoon, sunlight catching your hair and brightening your eyes. You speak first: “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” Robby answers too fast. “Of course we can. Do you…want to go somewhere else?”

“No. I don’t.” You swallow hard and then nod to a nearby bench, sitting down before he does the same. With one hand on your belly, you train your eyes forward and tell him, “You said in your note that you want to prove you love me. But I know you love me. That’s not the problem.”

Robby has to resist the urge to take your hands in his, to tilt your face toward him, to do anything that would ground your bodies together. “Tell me.”

Confirming his every fear, you whisper, “I don’t trust you enough to raise a child with you.”

Throat thick and limbs heavy, he rasps, “You don’t want me to be involved with my own kid?”

“Of course I want you to be in her life; that’s not- that’s not what I meant. But I don’t know if I can trust you to be her dad – her mom’s partner – and not just her biological father.”

The world tilts slightly.

Robby’s breath catches in his throat. 

Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back. His voice trembles alongside his hands as he confirms, “It’s a girl?

You can’t help the way that softens you. You can see the universe he’s building behind his eyes: Robby holding a pink-blanket bundle, Robby learning to braid hair, Robby being fiercely protective and achingly tender.

You want to share that life with him so badly that it hurts. To sit by his side at dance recitals and tell bedtime stories together and be real.

“Yeah,” you settle for saying, intimately quiet, just for the two of you, “she’s a girl.”

“Wow. Holy shit. A girl. A little girl. Have you-” He clears his throat and swats a tear from his cheek. “Have you picked a name yet?”

You shake your head and admit, “I have some favorites, but it wouldn’t feel right to choose by myself. Without you, I mean. She’s not just mine.” Robby lets the next few tears fall onto his scrub pants and you can’t bear to watch. So you dig around in your purse and hand over the few ultrasound pictures you’d set aside, always hoping you’d be able to give them to him. One from each of your check-ups, a timeline from blob to baby. “Here. Yours to keep.”

Robby stares down at pure gold in his hands. He looks over each photo like a precious ancient text, smiling with those lovely wrinkles of his. After looking at the most recent one for a long time, he murmurs lovingly, “She’s got your nose.”

You touch your pointer finger to the picture and reply, “And your huge feet.”

His eyes stay locked on the scan for another full minute; he’s too choked up to add anything else. Once he’s finally starting to recover from growing a new chamber of his heart so quickly, he tucks the photos into his backpack, slides onto the sidewalk in front of you like he’s about to propose, and gazes up at your face. “I’ll do anything to be yours again.”

Biting your lower lip, you nod. Slow. Thinking. “I can’t just pick up where we left off.”

“I don’t expect you to. I don’t want that.” He sits back onto the bench next to you, this time tilting his whole body towards yours. Creating space he begs you to fill. “I know we can’t exactly start over, but I- I want to be new together. I want to fix what I broke.”

“Okay,” you whisper back, trying hard not to cry. Hormones and hope make a brutal cocktail. You sniffle hard and suggest, “Trinity told me you have the weekend off. Breakfast tomorrow? Well, brunch; the baby likes to sleep in.”

“Absolutely. Anywhere you want, any time.”

Your eyes narrow. “That fancy place you took me after the first time I slept over?”

“I’ll pick you up at ten.”

You wince as the baby launches a foot into your ribcage. “Sold.”

With those dumb beautiful wide cow eyes of his, Robby asks, “Are you okay?”

“Your daughter’s beating the shit out of me,” you groan. When he laughs, though, you soften even more. Tentative, you offer, “Do you want to feel?”

Robby’s voice is ragged and desperate like you’ve never heard it. It’s heavy with love and with need and with hope. One word holds every dream he’s ever had. “Please.”

You take his hand and guide it to the spot where the baby is currently dancing a samba, watching his tender, reverent expression every moment.

“Holy shit.” Robby laughs and grins at you while the baby nudges him over and over like she’s saying hi. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”

You roll your eyes and try not to smile. “Please; you’ve felt a million babies kick.”

“But this is-” He shakes his head and chuckles again at another flutter. “This is different. Is she always this active?”

“In the evening, yeah. Like she can tell I’m done with work and it’s playtime.” You put your hand over his, nothing more than an instinct, and rub your thumb over his skin. “She’s gonna terrorize us.”

‘Us’ settles, warm and cozy, in the hearth of Robby’s chest. He leans down and kisses your bump gently. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You’re halfway through the insanely decadent strawberries-and-cream crepes you ordered when you actually get up the confidence to break the charged silence between you and Robby. He’d overly complimented your cozy but stylish enough ribbed knit dress and you’d noted his freshly trimmed beard making him look too handsome for you to think clearly. Then a healthy dose of small talk while you waited for food. Now silence.

After licking a bit of vanilla cream from the corner of your mouth, you rush out, “I want you to audition to be my husband.”

One side of Robby’s lip ticks up into a cute, amused smirk. “Shall I prepare a monologue or a musical number? Will there be a dance portion?”

You hum teasingly, “There’ll be whatever I want; that’s the whole point.”

“This has Trinity Santos written all over it.”

You shrug and relent, “She may have had a hand in the concept.”

His fork wavers in the air. “Should I fear for my life?”

“No more than you usually do around her,” you giggle, just a bit, and Robby feels part of himself taking flight at the proof of any lightness left between the two of you. Then you go on seriously (so seriously it wraps back around to adorable for him), “For the next two weeks, I’m going to tell you what I need from you and you’re going to do it as soon as you can. Every time. I want to be the most needy, most demanding, most pregnant person in the entire world. If you can survive that, you can apologize. Give me a real, thoughtful apology and I’ll accept.”

Right away, Robby nods and confirms, “Consider it done.”

You raise a challenging eyebrow. “That easy?”

He puffs up his chest a bit. “I’m an emergency room doctor; I think I can handle a few midnight craving runs.”

“Is that so?”

“I’m 100% confident.”

“Great. Love that.” You sip your drink, gaze at him over the rim, and then tell him with the most vindictive smile you can manage, “The first thing I want you to do is sell the motorcycle.”

That night, Robby’s phone rings with a call from you for the first time in six months. It wakes him from a dead sleep, but he’s been craving your custom ringtone so much that he still manages to answer within less than a second. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he slurs out, “Hi, mama.”

“Hey, Michael.” He can clearly picture you sitting cross-legged on your bed with a menacing smile as you ask, “Can you bring me a tub of that cake batter ice cream I like? The one with the blue frosting swirl and rainbow sprinkles and the actual chunks of pound cake.”

Robby puts you on speaker so he can sit up, stretch his arms, and hit the lights. As he tugs on whatever clothes he runs into, he clarifies, “You mean the one they sell at that kitschy 24-hour diner roadside attraction thing off the highway out in Bridgeville?”

“That would be the one.” Sounding downright wistful, you tell him, “I’ve been craving it my whole pregnancy, but I felt bad asking Trinity to do nearly an hour of driving to scratch the itch.”

Robby frowns as he fumbles through tying his shoes. “You still don’t have a car?”

“I’m living with Dennis and Trinity to save money so I can get one by the time the baby needs to go to daycare,” you tell him softly, trying not to let it sound like an invitation. You swallow hard and repeat firmly, “Ice cream. One hour.”

He smiles to himself as he picks up his car keys. “See you soon.”

Before Robby opens the door to the garage, his phone pings with a text. It’s Whitaker, for some reason.

Good luck on your first mission. Her feet are killing her extra today, by the way.

With a grateful little smile, Robby grabs a tube of the cocoa butter lotion you’d put him onto back when you were together and tucks it conspiratorially in his pocket.

Noted. Thanks for the tip.

Dennis shoots off two more texts before Robby gets to driving.

I’m rooting for you.

If you could also grab me some of those real rootbeers in the dark bottles they sell there that would be great.

Robby rolls his eyes and starts the car. It takes almost exactly one hour to make his way to the neighboring town, stand in line at the Cracker-Barrel-esque diner shop, and head over to your place. It’s quiet this time of night in your neighborhood, so quiet that he doesn’t even have to knock. You answer the door in a crop top that sits on top of your bump and gray sweatpants that hang low beneath it, rolled up around your ankles. You’re visibly exhausted and need a shower and you’ve never been more beautiful.

Then you glance over his shoulder at the car still idling by the curb and your mouth falls open in shock.

“Michael David Robinavitch,” you say breathlessly, hopping down onto the stoop to get a better look, “is that a minivan?”

“Brand new Chrysler Pacifica,” he confirms, following you over and slapping his hand on the hood like it’s a sports car. “Most safety and security features in its class. Ain’t she a beaut?”

With a shy smile, you confirm, “You got rid of the motorcycle?”

Robby shrugs modestly. “Not very practical when you have kids.”

“Kids. Plural.”

He cuts you a look that’s all cocky and loving. “Yeah. Plural.” Then, before you can stop buffering and come up with a response, he slides open the side door of the van and removes his spoils. Hoisting heavy reusable bags, Robby announces, “Two gallons of ice cream as ordered. Hopefully that’ll last you until after my next shift.”

You squeal and grab one of the bags from him, practically skipping back into the house. You leave the front door open and Robby hesitantly takes it as an invitation to join you inside, lingering in the doorway as you beeline to the kitchen, scoop yourself a hearty bowl, and put the rest away in the freezer. You pause, turn to Robby, and check, “You want some?”

Robby carefully steps the rest of the way into the living room and closes the door behind him. “I think all that sugar and fat would give me a heart attack even faster than the stress.”

You sigh and flop down on the couch, lifting your feet onto the coffee table and settling the bowl on your stomach. “Try telling that to your daughter; all she wants is sugar and fat.”

“Thus why I keep sending you balanced meals to eat.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” you lilt gently, smiling around the spoon as you indulge in the ice cream. You close your eyes and throw your head back, moaning, “Fuck, this is so good. Are you sure you don’t want any?”

“I’m happier watching you eat it,” he chuckles as he memorizes your pleased expression. It’s the first time he’s seen you so content and not on the verge of yelling at him since he’s been back. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”

“Yeah, actually,” you tell him as you try to get comfortable, adjusting pillows around your limbs, “I want to hear about your trip.”

Robby’s brows go up; he genuinely hadn’t expected you to want to talk to him at all. “Really?”

“Yup.” You pat the couch next to you. “Princess kept calling it your midlife crisis fuck-a-thon, so I want to hear about all your exploits.”

Robby tilts his head to the side and says plainly, quietly, urgently, “I didn’t have sex with anyone while I was gone.”

You try to ignore the way that knowledge makes you breathless, focusing on creating perfectly balanced bites of ice cream. “You didn’t?”

“Of course not.” He shrugs, joins you on the couch, and says sheepishly, “I thought I had my girl waiting for me when I got back.”

“Girls don’t wait for men who don’t even text while they’re gone,” you murmur back, sounding more pathetic than you’d wanted.

“I know. I was really screwed up before I left because of everything with the shooting and with Langdon and I- I didn’t see anything clearly. Couldn’t.” Without making anything of it, Robby shifts your bare feet into his lap and starts to rub the arch of one with his thumbs, deep and perfect. He gives you a cheeky look and adds, “But someone I’m trying to impress told me that I had to earn the opportunity to apologize, so I won’t get into all that yet.”

You give him a pointed look. “Any particular reason you’re rubbing my feet?”

He shrugs innocently and reasons, “You’re pregnant; I’m sure they’re killing you all the time.”

“It’s just interesting timing,” you muse, “considering I was complaining about needing a foot massage to Whitaker right before he left for his shift and you just so happened to bring him that weird Pennsylvania root beer he’s been wanting.”

“A man has to have some secrets,” he murmurs. Then he removes all pretense and rucks up the legs of your sweats, takes the lotion from his pocket, and really gets down to business. While he works tension from your feet and ankles and calves, Robby tells you honestly, “All I really did on my trip was think.”

You tease, “Sounds horrible.”

“It was, a lot of the time.” Robby takes the empty bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table, promising to wash it before he leaves, and insists you just relax under the expert working of his hands. “I didn’t go because I needed a vacation. I needed to…reset. I watched a lot of sunsets in beautiful places, wrote in my journal twice a day, tried to get eight full hours of sleep every night.”

Your mouth falls open. “You wrote in a journal?”

“Still do,” he replies, sounding a little impressed with himself. “It helps me think. Helps me view my thoughts more rationally – see how stupid they can get, how untrue – when I can read them on the page instead of just repeating them over and over in my mind.”

“That’s really good,” you sigh, head on the cushion and eyes closed. He’s not sure if you’re talking about the journaling or the foot massage or both. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Just getting to hear your sounds of simple pleasure is enough. Interlocking your hands over your bump, you sleepily prod, “Tell me about all the beautiful sunsets, then.”

Robby knows you’re about two minutes from falling asleep, but he happily obliges regardless. He talks about the rolling Appalachians that separate Pittsburgh from the East Coast, the light over the Atlantic early in the morning, the busy cities and empty back roads alike. He talks about the old man he sat with for three hours in a coffee shop listening to him glow about his late wife. He talks about the beach where he saw a family playing and finally felt at peace about Heather’s miscarriage years ago. He talks about the synagogue in New York City where he went just to feel connected to some peace but a rabbi sought him out from the sea of faces and said the Tefilat Haderech over him. He recites the lines he remembers.

…lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace, and guide us in peace, and support us in peace, and cause us to reach our destination in life, joy, and peace…grant me grace, kindness, and mercy…bestow upon us abundant kindness…

After a while, he hears you softly snoring, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he touches your exposed belly, gently working the lotion over your stretch marks, and soothes, “Someday I’ll take you all the beautiful places I’ve seen. You’re going to have the most perfect life I can give you. You and your mom and me.”

Coming in quietly after her shift, Trinity walks into the living room, takes in the scene in front of her, and grins unabashedly. Big bad attending Dr. Robby waiting on you hand and foot just like she told you he should. Grabbing a late snack, she chuckles and praises, “Now this is what I like to see, Rob.”

Robby whispers back, “Be quiet. She’s out like a light.”

“You were just talking to her.”

He corrects, “I was talking to the baby. Mom might be asleep, but my little girl is up and kicking in there listening to my stories.”

She gives him a slap on the back as she walks by. “You’ll bore her to sleep soon enough, gramps.”

Robby’s eating leftovers in bed the next time you call on him. He pauses the TV and picks up the call. “Michael Robinavitch personal assistant service, how may I help you?”

You groan, “I want to shave my legs and I can’t reach anymore.”

He chuckles quietly and hastens to eat the last few bites of his dinner. “Sounds like something I can handle. Do I need to pick up anything to enhance your experience? Chocolate?”

Your voice perks up just a little. “Twix. Several.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And a blue raspberry slushee if you get the Twix at a 7/11.”

“I think I can manage that.”

Half an hour later, you’re in the bath sipping on a Big Gulp and wearing a bikini – much to Robby’s eye-rolling amusement, you insisted he had to earn even non-sexual nudity – while Robby lathers up your legs with your fancy moisturizing gel. You don’t miss the way he takes the time to massage the knots from your calves with those deliciously large hands. God, you missed his hands.

“You’ve got a real jungle going down here,” Robby tuts as he starts in above your ankles, working his way over your skin methodically and thoroughly, his glasses sitting low on his nose as if he’s prepping a surgical field. If this is a measure of how much he cares for you, then he’s not going to miss a single hair. “Gonna need a weed wacker for those shins.”

You glare at him. “I will send that razor straight through your hand, Michael.”

“I’m just saying you could’ve asked me a week ago.”

“I didn’t have any reason to shave my legs a week ago.”

“But you do now?” He raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Hot date?”

“With the OBGYN, yup. She’s a real hunk.”

He gives you a very pointed look at that. “Do you want me to trim your bush?”

“Michael!”

“I know you prefer to keep the topiary neat and the ground below smooth.”

“I will not hesitate to splash you.”

Robby just laughs. As he rinses off the razor and touches up some areas – he even shaves your big toes without saying a word, the gentleman – he sighs and lets his voice go low and honest. “That was a sincere offer. I’m not trying to get off on your personal maintenance, I promise. You always told me you felt uncomfortable when things got a little unruly.”

Sounding far too flirty for Robby’s sanity, you reply, “And you always told me you like unruly.”

“But it’s your body,” he replies. Earnest. Insistent. “I’m not going to push it, but it’s on the table if you change your mind. I want to do anything that will make being pregnant more comfortable for you. I know being up in the stirrups every few weeks can’t exactly be fun.”

After a moment, you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard above the gentle movement of the bath water. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad at you.”

His eyes drift up to yours. You both hold the eye contact for so long that, for some reason, tears sting at your waterline. His golden brown irises are too familiar, too warm, too full of love you’re afraid to accept and afraid to lose. Finally he says, “I want you to be mad at me until you don’t need to be anymore.”

You scoff, “You want me to be mad at you?”

He swallows hard and amends, “I want you to feel everything you need to feel. I can take it.”

And you want to kiss him.

You hate him – and you want to kiss him. So you sigh and say, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Untying the sides of your bikini bottoms, you confirm, “Let’s trim the bush.”

He makes a show of patting his pockets before announcing, “Crap, I think I left my pruning shears at home.”

You smile and roll your eyes, grateful for his levity and the effortless way he makes you feel safe in his presence. You slip the rest of the way out of the bikini, wring it out, and hand him the sopping fabric. He hangs it over the sink and returns to his place by your side.

As he cleans off the razor again, Robby assures you, “Tell me if you want me to stop. It’s okay if you change your mind any time. You know as well as I do that the OBGYN won’t care what your vulva looks like.”

You snicker, “I know. Get to it, doc.”

Robby chuckles, sinks his hands into the water, and guides your legs apart just enough to give him access. When his fingertips graze your labia, he hisses in a needy breath at the familiar feel of your soft lips. Then he curses softly, shaking his head with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Reflexive reaction. Nothing short of professionalism from here on out.”

You laugh, “It’s okay. Glad to know someone still finds me remotely attractive even though I feel like a beached whale.”

“You’ve never been more attractive,” he says quietly. Quickly. But he doesn’t let it hang. He gives a sharp soldier’s nod and gets to work, using his precise doctor’s fingertips to guide his motions. “You know, the last time I did this, it was because a woman had superglue in her pubes. Gluing her shut.”

You wince. “Jesus fuck. How does something like that even happen?”

He shrugs. “Freak sex accident, I’m assuming. That’s half the job.” Then he furrows his brow and drags his fingers up your innermost thigh, cleaning up the edges. “Alright, no more jokes, I’ve gotta focus when I’m relying on touch.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”

You close your eyes and lean your head back on the bath pillow Robby ordered to be delivered to your place a few nights ago. In the low light with a backdrop of soothing water sounds, you relax easily; Michael’s touch could never be unfamiliar to you. He uses the fingers of one hand to guide the other, methodically following his own touch along your labia, down near your entrance, up towards your clit. You try to control your breathing as his confident motions start to work some neglected parts of your brain. When he gently pushes against your mons to make the skin straighter and easier to shave, the heel of his hand rests against your clit and you can barely think. He’s not doing it on purpose – that much is clear from how he’s got his tongue slightly out in focus, attuned only to what he’s doing – but it’s working you up nonetheless.

Your shaky voice breaks through the silence. “Michael?”

Totally concentrated on the task at hand, he slows his hands and offers, “Hm?”

Like a guilty child, you admit, “You’re turning me on.”

Right away, he withdraws his hands from under the water and moves away from the tub. “Shit, I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to do any-”

“No, it’s- it’s okay,” you assure quickly. “I just haven’t been able to, um, do anything about, ah, that particular sort of thing for the last two-ish months. I’m a little…pent up. I didn’t want to, like, start moaning or something on accident.”

Robby hesitates. There’s a war in his eyes. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, trying not to think about anything at all. His cheeks turn red the way you always teased him for and he opens his mouth to talk. Closes it again. Repeats that a few times.

Ultimately, he doesn’t say a thing, just waits for you to lead.

You love him for not offering, for not cracking a joke, for not deflecting. He just creates space for you, leaning against your counter and keeping his eyes on your face. The man in front of you is the same Robby you’ve adored for years and claimed as yours for months, but he’s different, too. There’s a calm to him you haven’t seen before. When Robby used to touch you, it was hot and claiming and craving and yearning. You felt his desperation in every kiss. This man is waiting. Deferent.

For the first time, you’re in charge. You get to decide.

So you decide.

Gently, certain but sheepish, you ask, “Would you mind, um, helping me out with that?”

His voice is strangled and his face is contorted into something akin to agony. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want to change anything with where we’re at right now,” you clarify, speaking slow, like you’re worried about a nervous cat darting, “but I could really use some relief on that front. If that- if that wouldn’t be too weird.”

“Weird?” Robby laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “No, it wouldn’t be weird.”

“What would it be, then?”

He takes in a shaky breath and replies, “It wouldn’t have to be something.” Sitting down by the tub again, he says, “I said I’d do anything to make you comfortable. Anything.” He lets his hand once again drift below the water, looking at you like it’s a challenge. “I’m not a chicken about fingering a girl when she needs some help.” As his thumb ghosts over your clit, you gasp and stifle the ensuing moan with the back of your hand. Suppressing a self-satisfied smirk, Robby reminds you, “Just tell me if you want me to stop. This isn’t about me.”

You nod eagerly and tilt your hips forward to give him better access. Robby shakes his head a bit; you were always so greedy for him to touch you and it doesn’t seem like that’s changed. Robby uses the pad of his thumb to work your clit, keeping firm contact as he rubs it in small circles, not too fast but not teasing, either. Your need is obvious in the fast rising and falling of your chest, the twitching in your thighs, the way you bite your lower lip and pinch your eyes shut. He treats this like what it is: Relief.

When he can tell you’re wanting more – letting out those soft and desperate little moans he always replays when he jerks off – he dips his other hand between your legs and feels between your lips. You’re wet and begging and he’s not going to deny you for even a second. With the water not letting anything get particularly lubricated, Robby keeps his fingers seated inside of you, curling them instead of thrusting. Your pretty lips fall open in a pleased ‘o’ and Robby’s borderline dizzy from how good it feels to get you off again. He’s not sure if it’s the pregnancy or the desperation but you feel downright swollen with lust, hot and plush and like he could spend the rest of his life keeping you knocked up and-

Woah, asshole.

Calm down.

He takes a deep breath of his own, matching one of yours, and focuses back on you and not on his achingly hard cock straining for freedom from his sweats. As he massages your g-spot way too effortlessly, the palm of his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back slightly, just enough to light your nerves on fire from the intensity of his touch. Heat rises in your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. Robby knows how to work a long, hard orgasm out of you. He never rushes. He matches the curls of his fingers with his thumb on your clit and doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t race. He lets you feel every singular sparking second until you’re tightening up around him, your toes curling, your thighs clamping around his hand, your back arching as much as it’ll allow.

All Robby gives himself permission to say as you cum around his fingers is a soft, loving, “There you go. That’s it.”

When your pussy finally starts to release him, only faint fluttery aftershocks remaining, Robby pulls out of you, resists the urge to lick his fingers, and wipes his hands dry. He shuts his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before he can bear to look at you. The sweat on your brow, the blown darkness of your pupils, the slight swell from biting your lower lip. You’re too beautiful for him to cope with. Robby gazes at you only as long as he can handle before averting his eyes. 

To distract himself from the goddess bathing below him, Robby absently strokes your oversized towel hanging on the nearby rack and offers, “Ready to get out? I’ll help you up.”

Still breathless, you stare up at Robby in surprise. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t ask for any pleasure in exchange, only gave you what you needed, what you asked for. Pure, unadulterated respect. For your body, your boundaries, your desires. That’s so much sexier than the desperate love the two of you used to make between agonized sheets. “That would be good. Thank you.”

Robby pulls the stopper on the tub and extends his strong hands for you. Your eyes lock together as you stand with a groan. As he wraps you up in the towel, he holds your shoulders a moment and says urgently, earnestly, “Anything. Any time.”

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

In the morning, Robby’s securing his sleeves with his nicest cufflinks when you call him exactly when he’d expected. He may have snooped on your calendar – it was hanging on your wall as he helped you into bed, sue him – and saw that your OGBYN appointment this morning is, in fact, your third trimester anatomy scan at 9:00am. He knew as soon as he saw it that you were going to ask him to come at the last minute, so he’d asked Jack to stay a few hours late and he’d do the same at night.

He picks up the phone, trying not to sound to pleased with himself. “What can I do for you, oh glorious mother of my child?”

“Laying it on thick already,” you tease. He can hear you talking around your toothbrush and the image makes him smile as he smooths out his charcoal gray blazer and applies a few dabs of cologne. “Would you mind coming to my ultrasound with me today? Trinity was supposed to drive me but I guess she can’t now.”

Robby grins from ear to ear when he catches you in the blatant lie. Trinity’s working a double, which of course Robby would know as her supervisor. You were never planning on asking anyone else. Tucking that knowledge away in a secret place in his heart, Robby nudges, “Do you need a ride or am I invited in?”

“It’s your baby, dumbass,” you reply, the words half-formed now as you floss. After you rinse and spit again, you tell him more seriously, “I want you there.”

“You do?”

There’s a beat of silence where he’s worried he’s pushed too far. But then you say, “Yeah, I do. I wish you could’ve been there for the first few.”

With a deep breath, he replies, “Me too. I’d give anything to go back and-” He takes another deep breath and shakes his head at himself. “I’ll be there to pick you up in a few, okay?”

“See you soon, Michael.”

“Lo- See you, sweetheart.”

When you see Robby leaning against that goddamn minivan, you nearly jump his bones. He’s wearing slim-cut jeans that make his thighs look like tree trunks, his white button-down is undone just enough to show off some chest hair, and he’s got on a fucking blazer. A blazer. The bastard. When did he start putting mousse in his hair to make it so…tousled? Touchable. You can just imagine grabbing it while you ride him into oblivion.

Robby can’t suppress the very similar thoughts he’s having at seeing your outfit. You’re wearing a tea-length floral skirt with a slouchy, oversized sweater half-tucked into it. You look so comfy. Something about how soft and domestic you look as you approach him with your lace-hemmed socks and your oversized travel mug of tea is driving him crazy. He sees his whole life walking toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips.

Trying not to gawk too hard, you eye him up and down and say, “Michael, you look-” sexy as all fuck “-very handsome.”

He puffs up his chest. “Gotta look good; it’s my first time seeing my baby girl. I need to make a solid first impression.”

You roll your eyes, grinning as Robby pulls open the front door. “She can’t see you through my organs, babe.”

You don’t notice the word slipping out, so Robby doesn’t call attention to it. He just makes sure you’re buckled in and then sits on your other side with a glow in his gut. Then he reaches into his messenger bag in the backseat and hands over a king-sized Twix before starting the car and heading toward the hospital.

As you greedily open the wrapper, you hum, “What happened to Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein?”

“Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein knows you’re having your favorite burger with bacon and an egg on it from your favorite dive for lunch, on me,” he replies, glancing at you knowingly over the tops of his too-sexy sunglasses. “Throw in a side of sweet potato fries and I’m pretty sure science says that balances out a chocolate bar or two.”

You give a mock-salute with the half-eaten Twix. “Whatever you say, doctor.”

When Robby parks in his reserved spot near the ED, you both seem to realize the same thing at the same time. Robby stiffens up in his seat and offers, “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I can, ah, drop you off at the main entrance and meet you inside?”

You turn to him with one of those soft, shy smiles that made his heart stammer every time he looked your way when you started in the Pitt. “It’s okay. Really. I mean, you’re gonna be on paternity leave in at most ten weeks, so it’s not exactly a secret, right?”

“Fair point,” he concedes. “You know they’re gonna make it a whole thing, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“There might even be cake by the time we’re done.”

“God forbid.”

“Alright, fuck it.” Robby kills the engine and then walks around to your side of the van, helping you get your footing. “Let’s announce our lovechild to the world.”

“They probably already know; Trinity isn’t the most tight-lipped person,” you reason as he guides you with a large hand on the small of your back. It feels too protective and grounding for you to even pretend to protest.

“Jack didn’t know until I told him.”

“Because he’s such a notorious gossip.”

Robby can’t even respond because, as soon as you’re through the staff entrance, Dana’s staring straight forward at the two of you. Without moving her eyes from your stomach, she beelines your direction and gasps. After wrapping you up in a a warm hug, she looks you over and, disbelieving, mutters, “Holy hell, you are extremely pregnant.”

“Not extremely,” you balk as if it’s a ridiculous idea, “30 weeks.”

Dana seems to notice Robby’s presence and she narrows her eyes suspiciously, running the numbers in her head. “Thirty weeks, eh? Is that a new Robinavitch she’s growing?”

You absolutely beam when Robby blushes like a middle schooler. He confirms, “Yeah, that would be my little girl.”

“A girl!” Dana hugs both of you again and then looks at you seriously. “This one treating you like you deserve? Groveling profusely?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Good. As he should.”

Robby cuts in gently, “We’ve got an appointment upstairs, so we need to try to get through the floor to the elevator without too many interruptions.”

“Yeah, good fuckin’ luck with that,” Dana laughs as she gestures to the buzzing crowd gathering around the nurse’s station to get a look at you and Robby. “Have fun, lovebirds.”

Your cheeks are burning hot, so you poke Robby in the side and murmur, “Can you do one of your magical Dr. Robby speeches to make them go away? I don’t do well with public interrogations.”

“Your wish is my command,” he assures you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. In the nerves of the moment, you want to turn and nuzzle your face into the comfort of his broad chest.

Then Robby claps loud a few times until the handful of free doctors and nurses gather up, including a deeply amused Jack, Trinity, and Whitaker. He announces in his Big Serious Attending voice, “Alright guys, a handful of things to stop-slash-start the rumor mill. One: Yes, I’m wearing a blazer; pictures are $45 a pop. Two: Yes, your former APRN is heavily pregnant. Three: Yes, it is my baby. Four: I’m in a period of repentance to regain her favor after being an ass for the last six months, but we’re figuring it out. Finally: The buy-in for the due date betting pool starts at $25; I’m not skimping out on my firstborn. Any follow-up questions can be directed to the admirable godmother Dr. Trinity Santos. Got it?”

Whitaker gives a charming little whoop and starts off the clapping, joined quickly by everyone else. As Robby accepts a handful of congratulations, Jack pulls you into a strong hug and looks you in the eyes, serious and stern as ever. There’s an undeniable warmth in the twitch of his lips, though, as he tells you, “He’s got you, kid. I know he does. He loves you to death and he knows he fucked up.”

You squeeze his bicep gently. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”

“No problem.” Then he points at your bump and adds, “That’s Uncle Jackie to you, miss.”

You blink back hormonal tears as you laugh. “Uncle Jackie, huh?”

He grins and boasts, “I was born to be an irresponsible but lovable bad influence uncle. That girl is gonna have the biggest and most annoying family of doctors and nurses.”

The baby gives you a swift kick in the bladder like she heard him say it. You place your hand over the ginger spot and smile. “Yeah, she will. We’re lucky.”

And suddenly so much love washes through your body you’re not sure you can hold it all. When you watch Robby absolutely glowing talking about becoming a dad, you know this is right. He’s the right man for you. For her. You’re swept up into the collection of hugs and congratulations, too, but you can’t stop watching Robby’s smile lines. The way he checks in with you every time he laughs. The way he’s looking at you not like a girlfriend or a baby mama but like the sun of his solar system.

Robby tucks you under his arm easily and calls, “Alright, alright, we have an ultrasound to get to, people, let’s back off the pregnant lady. You all have lives to save and baby shower gifts to buy.”

You giggle under your breath as he leads you to the elevator. “Baby shower gifts. Please.”

“What? You don’t want a shower?”

“I just don’t know who would put it together; I don’t really have the time.”

Robby scoffs, “As if either of us could physically stop the nurses from throwing one now that the cat’s out of the bag.”

“Good point,” you concede, trying to suppress the smile that won’t stop threatening your cheeks.

Maybe it’s just luck or maybe it’s the presence of one of the hospital’s more important doctors standing behind you, but you’re in the exam room with Robby holding your hand within a few minutes of checking in. The OB attending, Dr. Montgomery, arrives shortly after your vitals are taken.

She’s borderline glaring after she greets you and extends a hand to Robby. “Dr. Robinavitch, good to see you back at the hospital after so long away.”

“Good to be back,” he replies carefully, shaking her hand. “I’m guessing you’ve been given a harsh but fair view of me the past few months.”

“That would be an accurate assessment, doctor.”

Robby does that thing where he kind of hunches his broad shoulder to seem smaller and more approachable. It’s what he does when he’s hiding from Gloria or talking to a little old lady with chlamydia. He insists, “Call me Michael, please.”

“We’ll see.”

You snicker, “Addie, I promise he’s putting the work in.”

“Fine. Claws away while we say hi to baby girl.” Dr. Montgomery preps the ultrasound station as you get your clothes tucked out of the way. As she applies the warmed gel and manuevers the wand, she tells you, mostly addressing Robby since he wasn’t there for the other appointments, “She was a little small at our last scan, so I’m gonna take a few extra measurements to track her progress.”

Robby nods slowly and stares at the back of the ultrasound monitor like he can see through it and gather information. “Has there been anything else on the scans I need to know about?”

You gaze up at him while Dr. Montgomery takes her notes. “Nope, she’s been a total champ. I’m the problem between the two of us.”

Robby strokes your hair with his other hand; you can tell it’s more to soothe himself than you, so you let him. “What does that mean?”

You lean into his touch unconsciously and reply, “I’m just anemic; I passed out early on. That’s how I found out I was pregnant in the first place.”

Guilt skewers Robby like an ice pick. “You’re taking iron now?”

You roll your eyes. “And eating spinach and letting handsome baby daddies buy me burgers.”

Robby’s ensuing smile is cute and proud. Dr. Montgomery looks up from the ultrasound and happily announces, “Baby girl’s growth has gotten much better since your last vosot. She’s no longer small for her gestational age and is now firmly average. Good work, mom. Have you been adding more protein and healthy fats to your diet like I suggested?”

When Robby opens his mouth to speak, you narrow your eyes at him an say, “Michael Robinavitch I will strangle you right now with my bare hands if you say ‘I told you so.’”

He chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I would never. I’m just glad to hear our girl’s healthy – and not a bowling ball. I was 11 pounds.”

You cringe at the thought. “Lucky she takes after me on that front.”

So softly it sounds more like a prayer, Robby asks, “Can we see her now?”

Flipping the monitor around with a smile, Dr. Montgomery replies, “Yeah, of course. There’s her side profile; she’s perfectly posed for us. I’ll turn on the doppler, too.”

Robby leans forward and looks at the screen. Something cracks open in his chest as the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, whooshing fast and steady. He lets out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Your eyes fly up to his and you see the tears flooding down his pink cheeks as he gazes at his daughter wriggling around on the monitor.

You squeeze his hand and he gasps a tiny bit like he just remembered you’re there. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“She’s perfect,” he breathes softly. Then he presses his lips to the top of your head and takes a trembling breath. Even his softest whisper trembles. “How could I ever leave you? I can’t believe I let myself miss this. You’re so fucking perfect. So strong. I love you so much.”

Tears thicken your throat as you lean up to press your forehead to his, sniffling out, “Mikey.”

He starts to cry in earnest, then, and you reach up to hold him. Your arms tangle together and your tears stain each other’s shoulders and there’s nothing but future in the places where your bodies touch.

Things get easier between you and Robby after that. You find yourself asking him for more and more trivial things just to see him and hear his voice. Your phone calls turn from a few sentences to a few minutes to an hour or more if you catch each other at a good time. He takes you shopping for baby clothes and even pretends to have an opinion about different fabrics when you ask. He stocks up on diapers, helps with your labor go bag, and does absolutely everything in his power to take the mental load off your shoulders.

From that new closeness, a quiet tension emerges. As you reach week 32 of your pregnancy, the shared knowledge of your needing to move hangs over you both, unspoken but omnipresent. Robby hasn’t pushed the issue yet, but you know it’s going to reach a tipping point.

That day comes during the worst rainstorm of the year one gloomy day in October. It’s your day off, so you’re treating yourself to a shopping spree when the rain starts. The forecast had only been for a light drizzle, so you were comfortable leaving the apartment in something cozy with an umbrella and rain boots. But the light drizzle turned torrential while you were inside a baby boutique on the other side of town.

Meanwhile, the heavy, dark, oppressive thunderstorm has the ED swamped. All the attendings are on staff to handle the onslaught of car accidents, falls, and asthma attacks. As he’s supervising Mohan’s work on an elderly woman’s obliterated tibia, his phone vibrates in his pocket.

While closing another line of sutures, Samira asks over her shoulder, “Is that mama?”

Robby slips his phone out just long enough to check. “Shit, yes, it is. She wouldn’t call me during weather like this if it wasn’t important. Do you mind if I-”

Mohan chuckles, “I think Mrs. Frost and I have this handled. Go save your woman from her aching feet or lack of chocolate bars.”

Robby gives the patient an apologetic smile and excuses himself. He ducks around the nearest quiet-ish corner where the hospital’s chaos lowers to a dull roar and manages to pick up right before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?”

He can hear you crying on the other side, the sound barely coming through the rain. “Can you come pick me up?”

Robby half-jogs toward the locker room, already stripping off his trauma gown and dodging questions from his fellow doctors as he goes. “Where are you?”

“A bus stop in East Liberty,” you sniffle out. “The buses are all delayed because of the weather and I tried to get ahold of Trinity but she didn’t pick up and I’m soaking wet and freezing and I can’t-”

“Breathe for me, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Robby can hear the shivering and the tears and the panic in your voice and his gut clenches up in pain. He spares a glance outside and sees that the rain is still a deluge, the clouds dark and murky above and the ground shiny and slick with oil leeching out below. Lightning strikes and thunder claps. “Which bus stop?”

As you tell him, he dumps his trauma gown, rummages through his things, and grabs his keys and his gym bag, which at least has a towel and some dry clothes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Is there somewhere warm and dry you can wait for me?”

“I- I don’t know. I’m all frazzled,” you admit. He can feel your reluctance to tell him, but you can’t stop it from spilling out through the crackling rain. “There was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone, asking all these gross questions about my boyfriend or whatever and I just ran to the closest public spot I could find.”

Anger flares in Robby’s chest. He scribbles out a note and hands it to Dana as he passes the nurse’s station, barely pausing to see her reaction – just long enough to see her annoyed but supportive nod – before he shoves out of the door into the rain. “Are you alone now? Are you safe?”

“I’m okay, just- just kinda scared and tired and- and-”

“Breathe, baby, breathe. I’m getting in the car right now.”

A few beats pass with nothing but the rain in Robby’s ears. Then your meek, nervous voice: “Would you stay on the phone with me?”

“Of course.” He guns the engine and peels out of the parking lot, careful but quick. “I’m right here with you. Just keep talking and the time’ll pass. Tell me about what you were doing. Shopping for something fun?”

“Yeah, I was.” You sniffle again and try to smile. “I bought this, um, this handmade baby wrap carrier thing. It’s really soft and, like, this quilted fabric that I think would be really comfy for her.”

“You gonna teach me how to baby wear like all the hip dads are doing?”

“Definitely.” You actually let out a small laugh as you tell him, “The whole ‘big man carrying baby’ thing is very sexy. I’m sure it’ll help you pick up chicks at the grocery store.”

Robby snorts. “You know perfectly well there are only two chicks I’m interested in picking up the rest of my life.

“Rest of your life, huh?”

“If they’ll have me.” He makes a turn and spots you huddling beneath a leaky bus stop shelter. “Alright, I’m only a minute away now, but I might be late because I have to stop and offer the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen a ride, okay? She’s soaking wet and very pregnant and dressed inappropriately for the weather.” Robby pulls up to the curb and pushes your door open as he hangs up the phone. “Hey, stranger, can I give you a lift?”

You slide into the car next to him, your eyes puffy from crying and your hair disastrous from the rain. As you buckle in, you pout and observe, “You turned on the seat warmers for me.”

“I also brought you a threadbare towel and a hoodie; I’m a real gentleman,” he replies as he opens up his gym bag in the backseat and hands them off.

Gratefully toweling off your hair and tucking yourself under the hoodie, you smile and nudge him. “Yeah, actually, you are.”

Robby gives your knee a quick squeeze and pulls the car into traffic, heading back toward the highway. You gradually begin to feel like a person instead of a pregnant popsicle.

Teeth still chattering a bit, you manage to get out, “I’m sorry for interrupting you at work; I’m sure things are swamped there.”

Despite the fact that his phone’s been ringing non-stop since he left, Robby replies earnestly, “Nothing’s more important to me than your safety.” He swallows hard and apologizes for himself, “I’m sorry for calling you baby on the phone; I wasn’t thinking. I heard you upset and I just went on autopilot.”

You tell him softly, “It’s okay, Michael.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, it really is,” you murmur back. “You missed the exit, by the way.”

Robby shakes his head. “I’m taking you back to my place; you need a warm bath and a hot meal and to sleep for twelve hours uninterrupted in a king size bed.”

You avert your eyes and admit, “That sounds really nice, Mikey.”

“I like hearing you call me that again,” he says gently. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by ordering me some orange chicken while I take a bubble bath.”

Robby chuckles, “Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as Robby has you inside, he’s helping you strip your exhausted, pruny body and drawing you a silky bath. As he collects some of his old comfy clothes for you to wear from his closet, you call out from the tub, “Would you actually make that matzo ball soup that you made when you gave me mono?”

“I did not give you mono,” he laughs, “but I will absolutely make you some nourishing comfort food.”

He can hear the teasing eye roll in your voice as you call back, “You had mono. You made out with me. I then had mono. Who the hell do you think I got it from?”

“Alright, whatever.” Robby sets down the clothes on the counter and points at you seriously. “Don’t you dare try to get out of that tub without my help, missy. I’ll be back once I’ve got the soup boiling.”

You smile at him fondly and bat your eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”

“Don’t play dirty with me.”

“I would never.” You sink deeper into the bubbles and sigh contentedly, “I’m more than happy to stay in here and turn myself into a little matzo ball.”

He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Good girl.”

“Now who’s playing dirty?”

“I would never.”

Robby slips out of the bathroom and you just…relax. While Robby takes care of you. While he waits on you.

God.

God.

Between the bubbles and the bergamot bath oil, the tension and nerves leave. The sound of the storm outside becomes white noise. From downstairs, the smell of rich schmaltzy chicken broth wafts into your nose and you feel settled. Held. By the time Robby returns to the bathroom, you know, deep down in your bones, that you’ve forgiven him.

Robby helps you out of the tub and wraps you up in a fluffy robe he must’ve been warming in the dryer for you. Then he grabs a tube of lotion, sits down on the bed, and gestures for you to join him. While he tends to your feet and legs, he pleads with you, “Move in here, sweetheart, please. I can’t- I can’t function not knowing if you’re okay. Not knowing where the baby’s going to be sleeping and not knowing if I can be there for her and for you and-”

“Michael.” It’s a whisper, a tender one at that. “I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to fit into your life.”

“I don’t want to make you feel that way; I swear.” He kisses your hand a few times and then takes a deep breath. “I’d like to apologize now. If you’d let me.”

You nod slowly and try to ignore the tears that rise to your waterline. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” After a deep breath, Robby starts, “Look, I’m not going to apologize for leaving. I needed to leave. I needed to-” He gestures wide and begging as he searches for the right words. “I needed to grow up. I know I’m a little old for that, but I think it’s the closest thing to true. I’m sorry I told you instead of talking it through. I’m sorry I went radio silent. But honestly?” 

Suddenly he reaches out and cups your cheek in his large hand. His palm is warm and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. With his thumb stroking your skin, he finishes, “What I’m the most sorry for is that I didn’t ask you to come with me. Every sunset, every motel mattress, every wide open highway would’ve been so much better if I shared them with you.”

He presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “I swear I’ll spend every single one with you from now on. I’ll be there for every birthday, every Chrismukkah, every fucking thing you want me at. Nothing has ever or will ever matter to me more than being your husband. The father of our children. So tell me what you want. Tell me every single thing you want for you and for me and for the baby and you’ll have it. Because I love you more than my stupid bike and more than my career and more than everything I’ve ever had. You are everything now.”

The air sparks like the lightning outside. For a full minute, it’s you and it’s Robby and it’s the storm.

Then you lean forward. You hold Robby’s face with both hands and search his golden brown eyes. His heart pounds in his ears. His lungs are tight and screaming.

And you kiss him.

It’s slow, so gentle, and he’s holding his breath. Then reality seems to settle softly on his shoulders and he smiles against your lips, slides his hands onto your waist, thumbs affectionate on your bump, and kisses you back. When you pull away only slightly, you inform him, “I want a house with a yard. One that I get a say in. Further from the city. I want a safe, sensible family car for myself. No black interior. Light brown. I want a big fat diamond ring. Four carats minimum. I want sex at least three times a week. Six orgasms for me as a baseline. And I want a husband who works at most 50 hours.”

Robby gazes at you with watery eyes. “Okay.”

You smack him on the chest and laugh, “‘Okay’? I was trying to be unreasonable, Michael!”

“Well I’m being serious. Let’s move to the suburbs and have a huge wedding and fuck whenever you want. I’ve got savings to get us through as long as we need. I’ll start my own practice, slow down, buy a grill, join the PTA, the whole nine yards.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” he assures seriously. “If you’re taking me back and making me a dad, you can be a hell of a lot more unreasonable than asking me to put my family first.”

“Fine.” You cross your arms over your chest and try not to grin. “I want a puppy.”

Robby grips his heart like you’ve stabbed him. “If you really want one – when the baby’s old enough that I won’t have a panic attack having a dog around her.”

“Deal.” You rest your forearms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I want you to mow the lawn shirtless on Saturday mornings.”

He melts under your touch and smiles. “Okay.”

You lean in closer, a smile of your own breaking out. “And I want my own craft room in the house.”

Glancing down at your lips, he promises once again, “Okay.”

“I want a hot tub.”

“Okay.”

“And a soaking tub.”

“Okay.”

“Manicures every other week. A tropical vacation every summer. Two more babies in the next ten years.”

“Okay, okay-” he kisses you again, soft and warm and unhurried “-very okay.”

Your hand slides down his chest and toys with the hem of his tee. You watch his stomach twitch and his chest gasp upwards as you purr, “And I want you to fuck me. Right now.”

Robby’s lips return to yours. Urgent now. He pulls you into his lap and drags kisses up your neck, tasting your clean skin and your pulse beneath him. His breath is hot and his every touch – slipping the robe from your shoulders, lazing his fingers along your arms, kissing the shell of your ear – is an act of worship. At last, he murmurs against your lips, “Okay.”

Support me on ko-fi if you'd like!

[writeroutoftime]

This is such an amazing story!! I love getting to see Robby actually have to work to earn back what he lost! This is sweet, funny, and such a wonderful read from start to finish! 💛

[lynxindisguise]

[se7entyrell]

hiii could we have some more vice president!jack and like the pitt!political au

your mood boards/drabbles give me so much life <333

read THIS and request your own, while slots are still open :) follow on from THIS post

As President Robinavitch's Chief of Staff, all lines of communications are supposed to go through Vice President Abbot's Chief. There are very few instances in which you should need one-on-one time with the VP.

Except Jack seems blissfully unaware of that fact, opting instead to take the schedule from you personally each week. Dana must know by now, you're sure of it. But she and Jack have also known each other since college, so his trust in her is completely unwavering.

"Robby can't make it to Seattle next week for the healthcare... you're not even listening to me," You arch an eyebrow, calendar in your hands.

"You're too far away," Jack grumbles, gesturing at the considerable distance between you both - he behind his desk, and you almost out the door. A necessity if you want to get anything done. "Can't concentrate when you might as well be in Canada."

"Mister Vice President," You warn, but you find yourself taking a few steps forward anyway, like your body is programmed to listen to him. His office in the Naval Observatory is one of the safer places for your little trysts, anyway.

There was that one time in the Eisenhower Building, late at night, when he'd fucked you over his desk while some of the staff were still working outside. Not your proudest moment, but you've always struggled to say no to him. And likewise him for you.

Jack's brow furrows a little. "You know I don't like the Vice President shit when we're alone, sweetheart."

He waits until you're within touching distance, fingers tightening around your wrist so he can pull you down onto his lap, lips immediately finding yours. "Jack, the schedule-"

"I'm a good multi-tasker," He replies, turning his attention to your neck, while a hand creeps under the waistband of your trousers. "Keep talking, honey, I'm listening-"

[writeroutoftime]

Okay but I’m so here for this concept! Like yes please??

[of-apollo]

₊⊹ FROM DOCTOR TO PATIENT !

PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader.

SUMMARY: Jack is that stage in life where a day off can never really be a day off. He always finds something that needs fixing, and as his wife, you’ve grown accustomed to that. You don’t expect him to be so clumsy at it, and you don’t expect to get hurt helping him when the doctor becomes the patient.

NOTES: Injuries (laceration on the arm, fractured ankle), household accidents, mentions of blood, medical setting, established marriage, very sweet and selfless Jack, hurt/comfort vibes.

REQUESTED BY: @dillydallyy

NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI

The rhythmic, heavy thud of the mallet against wood had been echoing through the house for the better part of an hour. Jack was upstairs on the landing, finally tackling the squeaky floorboard that had been driving you mad for weeks. You were down in the kitchen, enjoying the quiet weekend and waiting for the kettle to boil so you could bring him a cup of tea.

The comforting routine shattered in an instant. A sudden, metallic crunch echoed down the stairs, followed by a heavy thud and a sharp, choked gasp of pure agony. The silence that immediately followed was heavy and terrifying.

"Jack?" you called out, your heart leaping into your throat. There was no answer, just the sound of low, ragged breathing. Dropping the mug onto the counter, you bolted up the stairs, your socks slipping slightly on the carpet as you rounded the corner to the landing.

Jack had collapsed against the wall, his face entirely drained of colour and slick with a sudden, cold sweat. His eyes were clamped shut, and his right hand was wrapped desperately around his left forearm. Dark, thick blood was already spilling through his fingers, pooling rapidly on the pale timber he had just been prying up.

"Fuck, Jack," you breathed, dropping to your knees beside him. The sheer volume of blood made your stomach drop, your hands hovering over him, trembling violently. You had seen him in his hospital scrubs a thousand times, completely unshakable in the face of trauma, but seeing him as the patient completely paralysed you.

Jack opened his eyes, the pupils blown wide with shock and pain. Even as his breathing hitched, the seasoned emergency doctor in him fought through the agony. He looked at your shaking hands and forced his voice to remain steady, though it came out as a strained, gravelly rasp.

"Hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart," Jack whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as a fresh wave of pain hit him. "Don't look at the floor. Look at me. I need you to be my hands right now, okay? I slipped with the chisel. It’s deep."

"What do I do? Tell me what to do," you pleaded, your voice cracking as you tried to anchor yourself to his gaze.

"Go to the bathroom. Grab the first aid kit from the cabinet, and grab a clean towel," he instructed, his breath hitching as he shifted his weight. "Move fast, honey. Go on."

You scrambled to your feet, your socks skidding on the hallway runner as you burst into the bathroom. You grabbed the heavy medical kit and yanked a towel off the shelf, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Within seconds, you were back on the floor beside him, unfolding the towel with trembling fingers.

"Okay, I'm here. I have it," you said, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Good girl," Jack murmured, his head leaning back against the wallpaper. "I need you to open the kit and get the thickest trauma dressing in there. If not, the towel will do. You need to apply direct pressure right over my hand. Don't be gentle, sweetheart. You have to push down hard."

You nodded, swallowing down the rising panic. You folded the towel into a thick pad and placed it directly over his bleeding arm. As Jack slowly pulled his own crimson-stained hand away, the sight of the jagged, deep laceration made your vision swim, but you didn't hesitate. You placed both hands on the towel and leaned your entire body weight into his arm.

Jack let out a sharp, agonised groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans as his body went rigid.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sobbed, tears finally blurring your vision.

"Don't be sorry," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder now, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "You're doing perfectly. Keep holding it like that. We need to stem the flow before I can try to stand up."

For a few minutes, the landing was silent save for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing. You kept every ounce of your weight pressed onto his arm, feeling the warm pulse of his blood beneath the heavy fabric. Slowly, the bright red seeping through the white towel seemed to slow down, the direct pressure doing its job.

"Is it stopping?" you whispered, looking down at his pale face.

"It's slowing," Jack managed, offering a weak, strained version of his usual reassuring smile. "You're amazing, you know that? My brilliant girl. Now, we need to tie it off tight. Use the roller bandage from the kit. Wrap it over the towel, as tight as you can manage."

Working with one hand while keeping pressure with the other, you managed to fish out the heavy bandage. Under his quiet, patient whispers, you wrapped the fabric securely around his arm, pulling it taut until Jack gave a tight nod of approval.

"That’s it. That’s got it for now," Jack breathed, leaning back against the wall with a sigh of sheer exhaustion. His face was still ghostly pale, but the immediate, terrifying torrent of blood had been contained. "Now, can you grab your phone? We need to get the crew out here."

"It's on the top step," you said, turning your head to look at the mobile device resting just a few feet away near the banister.

You started to shift your weight to stand up, your muscles stiff from the tension. But as you moved, your foot found the slick, wet patch of blood that had splattered onto the edge of the exposed, loose floorboards. Before you could even register the lack of friction, your foot shot out from under you.

"Whoa—!" you cried out, your hands flailing for a grip that wasn't there.

Your momentum carried you sideways, right over the lip of the top step. With a sharp gasp of terror, you tumbled awkwardly down the first half-flight of stairs, your body bouncing painfully against the carpeted steps before you landed with a dull, heavy thud against the wall of the half-landing.

A searing, white-hot pain immediately exploded in your left ankle, so intense that it stole the air right out of your lungs. You lay there on your side, pinned to the floor by the sudden, throbbing agony, clutching your leg as tears stung your eyes.

"Honey? Sweetheart, talk to me!" Jack’s voice echoed down the stairwell, completely stripped of its professional calm. It was pure, unadulterated panic. "Are you alright? Answer me!"

"My ankle," you gasped out, your voice small and choked with pain. "Jack, I can't move it. It hurts so bad."

From the top of the stairs, you heard a heavy drag and a grunt of pain as Jack, completely disregarding his own severe injury, began crawling toward the edge of the landing. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with horror as he saw you curled into a ball on the landing below.

"Don't move, honey. Just stay completely still," Jack commanded, his voice thick with emotion as he held his bandaged arm tightly against his chest. "I'm coming down to you."

"Stay there, Jack, don't move!" you cried out, looking up at him through a blur of tears. The sight of him dragging himself toward the edge of the stairs, his face entirely grey and his newly wrapped bandage already showing a fresh blossom of crimson, was almost worse than the white-hot agony radiating from your ankle.

"I'm not leaving you down there, sweetheart," Jack panted, his voice strained as he carefully manoeuvred his weight onto his good arm, slowly lowering himself down the first step. Every movement was a battle against shock, his breath catching sharply in his throat with each hitch of his body. "Just keep breathing. Nice, deep breaths for me."

It took him what felt like an eternity, but Jack finally managed to slide down the half-flight of stairs, collapsing heavily onto the landing beside you. He let out a ragged groan, leaning his back against the wall and immediately reaching out with his uninjured right hand to cup your face. His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch warm and desperate.

"Look at me, honey. Let me see you," he murmured, his eyes scanning your face, looking for any signs of a head injury before his gaze drifted down to your left leg. "Where does it hurt the most? Is it just the ankle?"

"Yeah," you choked out, squeezing his hand tightly. "I just slipped on the... on the blood, Jack. I tried to grab the phone and my foot just went. It snapped so loud."

"Okay, okay, let me have a look. I'm going to be very gentle, I promise," he whispered, leaning forward slightly. With practiced, tender precision, his steady fingers gently hovered over your ankle, barely brushing the skin. Even that tiny movement made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulder.

"I know, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, his brow furrowed in deep concern as he assessed the rapidly swelling, distorted joint. "It’s a nasty sprain, possibly a fracture. We need to get that elevated and iced, but first, we need to actually call the ambulance. Where's the phone?"

You pointed a shaking finger up toward the top step where your mobile was still resting, completely out of reach for both of you.

Jack let out a dry, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Plan B. My phone is in my back pocket. Do you think you can reach it? My left arm is completely useless right now."

Carefully shifting your weight while trying not to jar your leg, you slid your hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. Your fingers were still trembling so hard you almost dropped it, but you managed to unlock the screen and hand it over to him.

Jack didn't dial the standard emergency number; instead, he tapped in a direct line straight to the local ambulance dispatch handling the Pitt’s intake area. He pressed the speaker button, setting the phone down on the carpet between you. Within two rings, a familiar, crisp voice boomed through the speaker.

"Ambulance dispatch, what is the nature of the emergency?"

"Hey, it's Jack Abbot," Jack said, leaning his head back against the wall, his voice dropping into that calm, authoritative tone he used when directing a chaotic trauma bay. "Listen, I need a crew at my house. We've got a bit of a situation here."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the sound of furious typing. "Jack? Dude, what’s gone on? You’re supposed to be off until Monday."

"Yeah, well, the world had other plans," Jack grunted, wincing as he shifted his bandaged arm. "I've managed to put a chisel through my left forearm. Deep laceration, heavy bleeding, but we've got a pressure dressing on it now. My wife just slipped on the landing trying to help me and has taken a tumble down the stairs. Suspected fractured left ankle, severe pain, non-weight bearing."

"Jesus, Jack, you don't do things by halves, do you?" he replied, his voice a mix of professional urgency and fond disbelief. "Alright, I’ve got a unit just three minutes away from your street. It’s Mac and Sally. They're en route now. Keep that pressure on your arm, and keep your wife still."

"Thanks. Tell them the front door is unlocked," Jack said before hanging up. He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening instantly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Hear that? Three minutes, honey. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."

"I was trying to help you, and I just made it worse," you whispered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your lashes. "Now you're stuck on the floor because of me."

"Don't you dare worry about that," Jack chided gently, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you as close to his side as he could manage without hurting either of your injuries. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. "You stopped the bleeding, sweetheart. You saved me from a massive haemorrhage. If anyone is to blame, it’s me and my DIY projects."

A few minutes later, the heavy thud of the front door swinging open echoed from downstairs, followed by the hurried footsteps of two paramedics moving into the hallway.

"Jack? Where are you, buddy?" a loud, cheerful voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.

"Up on the half-landing, Mac!" Jack shouted back, his voice cracking slightly with the effort. "Mind your step as you come up, it’s a bit of a disaster."

Two paramedics, loaded down with trauma bags and an extraction chair, rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. Mac, a burly man with a thick beard, stared at the two of you huddled together on the small landing. Jack pale and blood-stained, and you clutching a ballooning ankle.

Sally, his partner, let out a loud, astonished bark of laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, you have got to be joking. Jack, what on earth have you done to your poor wife?"

"I didn't do anything to her, she was trying to rescue me!" Jack protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he winced as Mac knelt down beside him.

"Hm, likely story, doc," Mac teased, his hands already moving efficiently to check the pulse in Jack’s wrist below the bloody bandage. "Honestly, Jack, we leave you unsupervised for one weekend."

While Mac focused on Jack, Sally slid gracefully onto the floor next to you, opening her kit with a reassuring smile. "Alright, let's have a look at this leg. Jack’s a terrible patient, so you're my priority right now."

The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of efficient, careful movement. Sally administered a dose of medication for your pain, which finally took the sharp, agonizing edge off your ankle, while Mac reinforced Jack’s dressing and got him a dose of something strong.

Despite their teasing, the paramedics were incredibly gentle, carefully loading you both onto separate carrying chairs to navigate the rest of the stairs. Jack refused to be loaded into the ambulance first, stubbornly waiting until you were securely inside so he could have his stretcher positioned right next to yours. The entire drive to the hospital, his hand never left yours, his thumb rhythmically stroking the back of your knuckles as he murmured sweet, groggy assurances that everything was going to be fine.

The moment the ambulance doors burst open at the Pitt, the familiar, sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of bleeping monitors washed over you. But the usual professional quiet of the admissions bay was shattered the instant Mac and Sally wheeled your matching gurneys through the automatic sliding doors.

"Heads up, team, we've got a double intake!" Mac called out at the top of his lungs, a massive, mischievous grin on his face. "Your best doctor has managed to incapacitate the entire Abbot household."

The reaction was instantaneous. Langdon, who had been charting at the central desk, dropped his pen entirely, his jaw hitting the floor. "What the... Dr Abbot?"

Dana emerged from Bay 4, a clipboard tucked under her arm, but stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes darting from Jack’s heavily bandaged, blood-stained arm to your elevated, ballooning ankle. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The hell did you do to this lovely lady, Jack?"

Within seconds, a small crowd of familiar faces converged on the two stretchers. Mel hurried over from the staff room, a half-eaten sandwich still in her hand, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and absolute amusement. "Oh my… are you okay? Well clearly not but… what happened?”

"I slipped on his blood!" you called out, the pain medication making you laugh weakly as the stretchers were wheeled side-by-side into the major trauma bays.

Robby walked out of the resuscitation unit, snapping off a pair of surgical gloves, his expression instantly melting into a look of profound, theatrical despair. He walked over to the foot of Jack’s bed, crossing his arms. "Abbot. I leave you in charge of your own home for twenty-four hours, and you bring your lovely wife into my ER on a stretcher? Explain yourself."

"It was a loose floorboard, Robby," Jack groaned, the morphine making his voice deep and slightly slurred, though he still managed to shoot a mean glare. "The chisel slipped. She was brilliant, actually. Total natural."

"And then she fell down the stairs because you're a terrible husband," Trinity chimed in, leaning against the doorframe of the bay with a massive smirk on her face. She looked over at you, giving you a sympathetic wink. "Don't worry, beautiful, we'll make sure his stitches hurt extra bad for making you go through this."

Samira pushed through the crowd, carrying a fresh bag of IV fluids and a splinting kit. She looked at the two of you, shaking her head in fond disbelief as she began setting up near your bed. "Right, let's get a look at this ankle, shall we?"

Despite the relentless teasing and the chorus of laughter echoing through the department, the underlying warmth and care from the staff were palpable. The curtains between your bays were pulled completely back, creating one large room so Jack could keep his eyes on you. Even as Samira gently examined your leg and Langdon began prepping Jack’s arm for a neat row of sutures, Jack kept his right hand stretched across the gap between the gurneys, his fingers hooked securely around yours.

"You're in good hands, sweetheart," Jack whispered, completely ignoring Trinity and Robby, who were currently debating which one of them got to write ‘DIY FAIL’ on his medical chart. He squeezed your hand tightly, his eyes soft with devotion. "They're going to fix us both up, and I promise you, I am never touching a tool again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Abbot," Langdon chuckled, pouring sterile saline over Jack’s forearm to clear away the dried blood. He winced on Jack's behalf as the true depth of the laceration was revealed. "Though looking at this, you won't be holding a chisel or a scalpel for at least a few weeks. You've sliced right down. You're lucky you missed the important stuff."

"I told you, she stopped the bleeding," Jack said, his voice thick with pride despite the sharp intake of breath he let out as Langdon administered the local anaesthetic around the edges of the wound. He kept his eyes locked onto yours, his grip on your fingers tightening as the needle did its work. "She was incredible, Langdon. Didn't even faint."

Over on your side of the bay, Samira was carefully wrapping a temporary fiberglass splint around your rapidly bruising ankle, having just come back from reviewing the digital X-rays that Robby had rushed through the scanner. "Well, your brilliant wife has a nasty grade-three sprain and a tiny fracture. No surgery needed, thank goodness, but you're going to be on crutches and a boot for a while."

"Hear that, honey?" Jack murmured, a look of profound relief washing over his pale features as the morphine and the local numbing agent finally took the edge off his pain. "No surgery. You're going to be just fine."

"I'm more worried about you," you admitted, your voice still a little breathless from the lingering adrenaline and the effects of the medication. "You look like you've been through hell."

Dana walked back into the bay, holding a selection of takeaway menus, placing them on the bedside table between your gurneys. "Right, since you two managed to completely ruin your Saturday, the department is buying dinner. Santos wants pizza, Mel wants Thai, so you two get the deciding vote. Consider it a consolation prize for having the most embarrassing admissions of the year."

"Pizza," Jack grunted without hesitation, earning a loud cheer from Santos, who was still lingering near the desk. Jack looked back at you, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. "We'll get the one you like, sweetheart."

As Langdon methodically began placing neat sutures into Jack’s arm, the initial chaotic energy of the department began to settle back into its usual professional rhythm. Robby and Dana headed back to the central desk to handle a new influx of patients from the waiting room, leaving the curtains open just enough for the staff to keep an eye on their favorite patient duo.

By the time Jack’s arm was neatly bandaged and your leg was securely immobilized in a heavy boot, the evening sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, warm shadows across the trauma bay. A delivery driver had dropped off three massive boxes of pizza, and Samira had kindly brought over two cups of tea, served in the mismatched mugs from the staff room.

Jack managed to shift his gurney a fraction closer to yours, his right arm slung comfortably over the metal guardrail so he could remain completely connected to you. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to both of you, the quiet hum of the hospital a strangely comforting background noise compared to the terror on the stairs just hours earlier.

"I really am sorry, honey," Jack whispered, his voice soft and entirely devoid of the bravado he had shown in front of his colleagues. He leaned his head against the side of his pillow, looking at you with an expression of pure, unfiltered devotion. "I wanted to fix that stupid floorboard so you wouldn't trip on it, and I ended up putting you in a cast instead."

"We're a matching set now," you teased gently, reaching over to squeeze his uninjured hand, gesturing to his heavily wrapped arm and your massive black boot. "Besides, you heard the crew. We really don't do things by halves."

Jack let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound warm and familiar as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your skin. "No, I suppose we don't. But from now on, we are hiring a professional for absolutely everything. Next weekend, you and I are staying on the couch."

— COME AND JOIN MY TAGLISTS !

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[writeroutoftime]

Oh this such a great story- perfect mix of hurt and comfort there!! I don’t know if I’ve ever read a story where Jack is a patient and I really enjoyed seeing that dynamic. It was so sweet how he’s literally bleeding out lol and he’s more worried about her!!

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Don't forget to feed your wip some lines of fresh words today and then let it roam free in your head.

[leahbear30]

I went a little insane but I’m insane over them so it’s ok

The Kiss but Mohabbot ✨🦢🐇

[eldritchbuddy]

they’ve been… friends… for a while