rumors always start somewhere - and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and myrna overhearing you.
☆ no man's land | @butyoudidthis4what
there's a shooting where you work. jack is at the ed when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.
☆ edge of the dark | @thepencilnerd
what starts as quiet pining after too many long shifts becomes something heavier, messier, softer - until the only place it makes sense is in the dark.
☆ this city doesn't forget | @abbotjack
you weren't supposed to see him again. not like this. not in this dress, not in this city, not with his last name still catching in your throat. but pittsburgh remembers what you tried to bury.
☆ you, me, and the empty space between us | @mercvry-glow
jack abbot talks the reader off of the ledge.
☆ just a walk-in | @abbotsanatomy
jack's worst nightmare is you ending up in his er.
☆ bar fight | @tedmustache
a rough night leads the reader to the er, and jack's only priority is making sure she's okay.
☆ coffee swap | @tedmustache
it starts with coffee. then it becomes something more.
☆ safe and sound | @science-hoes
a stormy night in pittsburgh causes jack abbot to fall into a ptsd-induced psychosis episode, and the reader does everything in her power to bring them back.
☆ you say that like you care | @frombookstoretobookstore
after reader takes a punch to the face, abbot's emotions flare as he realizes he might care a little too much.
☆ overactive empathy | @lol-im-done
will a traumatic event force jack and the reader to confront their true feelings for each other or pull them apart forever?
☆ first thing | @stellamarielu
lazy mornings with jack are few and far between, but they always exceed your expectations.
☆ who you let in | @eddiesfaerie
jack has a soft spot. he didn't expect you to be the one to find it.
☆ you shouldn't be (down here with me) | @youvebeenlivingfictional
when you're almost shot at work, your body snaps into autopilot as your mind goes into overdrive. jack has always recognized parts of himself in you - he knows a mind teetering on the edge when he sees one.
☆ love me hard love me soft | @mercvry-glow
jack abbot isn't a soft man, but he'll learn for you.
☆ stop making this hurt | @mercvry-glow
you knew jack didn't want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.
☆ valkyries and betting pools | @nocapesdahling
one of the most popular and secret betting pools is focused on what's going on with you and dr. abbot. meanwhile, you just want to figure out if the man you've had a crush on for months likes you back.
☆ someone new | @quickestgold
after witnessing the fallout from jack's failed marriage, dana and robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. but when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of jack's feelings, their perspectives shift.
☆ don't make me someone you can't have | @abbotjack
the fallout didn't start the day of pitt fest - it started when you told jack abbot how you felt and he told you he didn't want you.
☆ say it first | @quickestgold
jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. but when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren't fought on the field or in the chaos of the er, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.
michael 'robby' robinavitch
☆ companionship | @asxgard
he’s not sure how he got here, perhaps it’s the aching loneliness or the overwhelming stress. you’re there because it seems like easy money and you have a pushy friend. all in all, it’s a good deal — he gets the companionship he’s after, no strings, and you get your utility bills paid on time. it’s pretty simple, easy, until your arrangement bleeds into something a bit more…complicated.
☆ lead the way | @traumaone
after over a year of pining over robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. robby comes to the rescue.
☆ booked for one | @abbotjack
a black tie charity gala in chicago. one bed. months of tension. and a storm that forces both of you to stop pretending.
☆ glasses be damned | @thepencilnerd
lazy sunday mornings. you in his shirt. him wearing - glasses? what could be better?
☆ drunk confessions | @thepencilnerd
you're out drinking with your colleagues. robby's not there - until he is.
☆ sticky-notes and leftovers | @thepencilnerd
a glimpse into your daily notions with robby after moving in.
☆ sweet nothings | @thebestandworstdayofjune
you own a bakery down the street from ptmh, and dr. robby is one of your favorite customers.
☆ peace | @xximperioxx
the reader comforts robby after a hard shift (she talks him off the ledge).
☆ work crush | @xximperioxx
the reader has a crush on robby. spoiler alert: it's reciprocated.
☆ doctor's orders | @tedmustache
when one rough day pushes things to a breaking point, unspoken feelings come dangerously close to the surface.
☆ the right moment is you | @cherriready
robby didn't mean to propose today. not during a long shift, not without a plan, and definitely not in front of the er. but when he saw her, he saw the rest of his life. no speeches. no perfect moment. just her. always her.
☆ stitched together | @hauntedhowlett-writes
after accidentally cutting your hand, you seek out your neighbor for help. a favor becomes a friendship and a friendship becomes something more.
Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x fem!grad student!reader
Summary: You were not Robby’s biggest fan and finding out the saddest man in your bar fucks was absolutely not going to change your opinion of him. Absolutely not.
Rating: Explicit (E)
Word Count: 17k
Series: GradSdtudent!Reader
Tags/Warnings: angst, depression, implication of suicidal ideation, description of injury, praise kink, mediocrely written smut, some lite humor, the tone is actually not that depressing I pinky swear, pathetic bar patron to remarkable lover trope (we all know that common trope).
Author's Note: As per the poll, I come to deliver grad student/bar tender dealing with pathetic Robby. Please comment with your thoughts and feelings, I yearn for the reactions. I’m not the most proud of the smut, but I’m trying to get better at writing it. Idk hope it’s enjoyable enough.
Pls note this has not really been proofread. And I'm incapable of writing something short. soz.
-- -- --
You winced as one of your least favorite regulars walked in. It probably wasn’t a fair group to put the poor man in, especially when ugly-ass-Hawaiian-shirt-guy called your coworker a cunt and then threw up on the floor of the bathroom, missing the toilet by a solid meter. There was also the guy who insisted that he was such a successful lover, no one could stomach to call him back in case they became addicted.
But Dr. Robinavitch—Robby as he insisted he be called—was a maudlin drunk. By the end of the night you were always a little worried to let him go home alone in case he did something he couldn’t take back. He tipped well, though, so that was something. He had been coming in more sporadically since July. One night, when he was more tipsy than drunk, he implied something had occurred and he began seeking help.
Tonight he looked more alert. Sometimes, when he came in, he wore the world on his shoulders. At least tonight you were greeted with a semi-convincing smile.
“Dr. Robby,” you greeted. You’d stopped asking how his day was months ago.
“How has your shift been?” He asked you.
“Not bad, only have another hours or so before I clock out,” you replied.
The bar was slow tonight. Despite how abysmal the tips were, you preferred it slow. It allowed you to read, or grade, or write while patrons largely entertained themselves. Aimless small talk wasn’t your forte, though you’d certainly improved over the course of this job. Thankfully, the dive bar seemed to attract the kinds of people who wanted to be left alone with their thoughts.
“Busy week?” He asked.
“No more than others. Want your usual?” You asked deflecting his question about your life outside these walls.
A few weeks ago, the last night Robby had truly been wasted (so much so, you cut him off) he’d caught you in a moment of weakness and you’d told him about your PhD work. Despite his normally depressive drunk state, he perked up and began asking you question after question. It seemed to raise his spirits, so you acquiesced assuming he’d forget by the next morning.
His brain was a steel trap, as evidenced by the fact he’d ask about your PhD, either explicitly or in a roundabout way the following half dozen times he came in. He rarely got shit-faced anymore. Most times, he tended to stay on the right side of tipsy. It certainly seemed like he was trying to have a better relationship with alcohol.
In fact, a couple visits previous, you and a coworker watched amazed as he flirted with and then subsequently took home a woman sitting next to him at the bar. It had been live texted in the bartender groups chat to a mixture of awe, surprise, and happiness. Dr. Robby was something of a local legend in his sad but overall non-troublesome behavior. He just liked to talk when drunk and you really didn’t like to talk to drunk people.
Bartending paid well, and needs must.
“Just a rum and coke,” he said settling in on his usual bar stool. It sat off to the side and gave the occupant an easy view of the bar, patio, and front door.
“Got it,” you replied ringing him up. “Tab?”
“Not tonight,” Robby said.
You hoped your surprise didn’t show on your face, but you knew you had a terrible poker face. Looks like the group chat would be getting new information on the bizarre man. Most of your coworkers liked Robby a lot, he was colloquially known as Sad Paddington Bear. Tipping well and not being a menace made him a perfect patron. You were just a little pickier than most, with your days being spent on campus with academics and undergrads—by the time you came to this job your threshold for unique characters had been reached.
Sometimes you felt bad for how unfriendly and uncurious you could be with patrons. Many of your regulars were fun to chat with. They had fascinating lives and stories. You suspected Robby would be one if he got out of his drink. But no one normal goes to get a PhD—including yourself—so you just did not have it in you for Robby’s particular brand of quirky.
“You look surprised,” Robby commented as he handed over his card.
“I don’t look like anything,” you attempted to lie.
Robby snorted, “Every thought you have is written on your face. It’s why I know you don’t like me.”
“I like you fine,” you replied sliding over the card and receipt. “You tip well, who wouldn’t like that?”
“So that’s why it always looks like you sucked on a lemon when I walked in?” He inquires signing the check.
“Maybe I just enjoy snacking on lemons,” you said moving behind the bar and beginning to mix his drink. You made a mental note to work on your ability to control your face. It really was a problem.
“I think that would be more peculiar than not liking me,” Robby told you, sliding the check back over.
He was one of three people currently sitting at the bar, so after you handed him his drink, you glanced at his receipt.
“Is tipping 100% trying to get me to like you more?”
“Yes,” he replied simply, taking a small sip. “Knew you didn’t like me.”
“I don’t like many people, Dr. Robinavitch. I fear you’re not unique. I’m very much the problem here.”
“And yet, for some reason I doubt that. You seem perfectly pleasant to me.”
You couldn’t help the disbelieving snort that his comment elicited. “Might want to get your eyes checked, if that’s what you’re seeing.”
“I see just fine. It’s reading that I need the glasses for,” he stated.
It was unnerving, being stared at by Robby. His eyes were a deep brown and they seemed to have the uncanny ability to stare through you. It made the hair on your neck stand on end. Being watched was fine by you. Lecturing in front of massive classrooms meant public speaking, being perceived, and observed phased you very little. Robby was not observing you. He seemed to be studying you, and that was more than a little uncomfortable.
“Whatever you say,” you replied a little uncomfortable.
“I’ll get you to like me,” he said, an almost charming smile graced his face. It still seemed a little sad.
“Or maybe you need to be okay with the fact you’re not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m certainly not.”
“I think you underestimate yourself.”
“I think you overestimate yourself. I can’t believe you got that smoking hot woman to go home with you.”
“Paying attention to me, then?” He asked. Clearly, it was an attempt to sound suave, but it missed the mark and sounded cheesy.
“The group chat with all the bartenders was very proud of you.”
“And what about you?”
“I wondered if you were too old to get hard on your own and if you popped a sildenafil on your way out.”
“Ouch,” Robby responded but he didn’t sound particularly hurt.
Another patron walked in and you happily took the opportunity to leave the disconsolate aura Robby seemed to emanate around him. All too fast, the patron paid and you got them their drink. Your book was back by Robby. When you glanced at him, he had plucked it from behind the bar and was reading it.
“Have a sudden craving to learn about reform politics in the American southwest?” You asked.
“It’s a well written book,” Robby commented.
“It is, one of the better books I’ve read this semester.”
“I like your notes in the margin; lots of interesting thoughts and connections.”
“Uh-huh.” You gently took the book from his hands and was about to walk away when he asked with a forced causal tone,
“Do you still have that office on the third floor of the social science building?”
You paused. “Why do you know what floor my office is on?”
“You mentioned once your window looks over the duck pond and the statue of the naked guy with the sword,” he said. “Third floor lines up with that.”
You blinked. “I mentioned that months ago.”
He shrugged. “I remember things.”
You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure how to. Most patrons forgot your name by their second drink. Robby remembered throwaway comments at 1AM while half-drunk. It was certainly a little odd, but no one else in your life seemed to pay that much attention to what you said.
“So do you like it better there than your old one?” he asked.
You stared. “My…old one?”
“The one you hated because the fluorescent light buzzed and flickered. You said it gave you headaches.”
You let out a slow breath. “Why do you remember that?”
He took a sip as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You were annoyed. You get more animated when you’re annoyed. It was interesting.”
“That’s not creepy at all,” you said flatly.
He looked mildly alarmed. “Was that creepy?”
“Yes.”
He grimaced. “Okay. Sorry. I just…listen.”
“To everything.”
“Well, yeah.” He hesitated. “You’re…” He trailed off.
“I what?” you asked cautiously.
“You’re the only person who talks to me like I’m not about to break or some shit, like I’m not some sad old man. You don’t like me enough to coddle me.”
You almost said you do think he’s sad, but stopped yourself. Something about the way he stared down at his drink made you uncomfortable. Apparently your stare and subsequent silence elicited a change in tactics.
“So,” he said, brightening with forced cheerfulness. “Conference are coming up, right? You said you hate them. Are you going to that one in—Chicago? MPSA?”
You frowned. “How do you even know when MPSA is?”
“You were complaining about airfare once.”
“That was in February.”
“It was a compelling rant.”
You gave him a look. “Robby. I don’t even tell my friends this stuff.”
He blinked. “We could be friends?”
“Don’t make this weird.”
He deflated slightly but nodded. “Okay. Sorry.” He was quiet for a beat. Then, softer: “I just, like talking to you. Makes it easier to not get drunk.”
You froze, not sure what to do with that.
He immediately panicked at your silence. “You don’t have to! I’m not trying to pry, I swear. Just, I like knowing how your brain works.”
“You say that like it’s a normal thing to say.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
He considered that. “Oh.”
You shook your head. “Robby, I’m not that interesting.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, almost offended. “You’re the most interesting part of my day.”
He realized what he’d said the moment it left his mouth. His eyes widened just slightly, like he wanted to catch the words and shove them back in.
You stared at him.
He took a quick, embarrassed sip of his drink. “That sounded less pathetic in my head.”
“I really doubt that,” you said.
He groaned quietly into his glass. “I’m going to die alone.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“Statistically accurate,” he muttered back.
Despite yourself, you snorted. “There’s no statistically valid way you could even determine that. It would be based on superficial evidence and the endogeneity would render the model completely pointless.”
He looked up, “What is endogeneity?”
“I am not giving you a stats lecture. Aren’t you a doctor. Shouldn’t you know stats?”
“No. I do calculations for drugs and chemical reactions to drugs. I don’t deal with probabilities. At least not like you do.”
“So how do you read case studies or evaluate the veracity of research?”
“Evaluate the veracity of research?”
“Yes, Dr. Robinavitch. If you don’t understand stats then how do you know if the research paper you’re reading is bullshit?”
“Well, it got published didn’t it?”
You felt your eye twitch. “I’ve never been more concerned for the medical profession than I am at this moment. This is why you guys stole “Doctor” from us, because you wanted to appear more like experts.”
“I think we had the title first.”
“I think you should check your facts. Academics were called doctor during the Middle Ages. Medical professionals started using it when they also spent time grave robbing.”
“You’re very passionate about this,” he commented.
“Yeah well,” you took a breath. “Respect is important.”
“So should I call you doctor?”
“I’d have to defend my dissertation first.”
“What’s your dissertation about?”
“Do you want another drink?” You asked ignoring his question.
“Nope,” he replied. “What’s your dissertation about?”
Letting out a harsh breath you said, “Local interest groups and how to encourage people to get involved in local politics.”
“Sounds fascinating,” he said.
“It does not,” you laughed.
“You can’t tell me what I do or don’t find interesting,” he shot back.
“You would be the first non-political scientist to find anything I do interesting.”
“Their loss.”
You stared at him and he held steady under your gaze. Normally, he’d cringe away. According to your students, you had a severe look that would render anyone hesitant and nervous. But Robby idly sipped his drink and kept looking back at you.
“You’re so weird,” you settled with saying.
“You’re not the first to say and I doubt you’ll be the last.”
With narrowed eyes, you turned and began cleaning up your station. You really just wanted to go home.
-- -- --
You were off this week, trying to meet a couple of important deadlines. It meant most evenings were spent on campus in your cramped but homey cubicle staring at numbers you could barely differentiate anymore. In high school you would have given anything to not do math, now you coded complex statistical models and calculated matrix algebra and derivatives. High school you would be devestated.
But current you, the one who was currently sitting in a too-cold-office space with a sweatshirt and a blanket, was fascinating by the results of your field experiment. It’s why you didn’t notice a group text erupting on your phone.
Priya: Sad Paddington Bear came in and asked about our favorite grumpy PhD student.
Rachel: he looked so sad when we told him she was off this week. apparently our girl has an admirer.
Priya: HOLY SHIT!!! He’s flirting with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Again!!!! He’s failing miserably and she seems charmed by it.
Oliver: I can’t believe I’m not there for this. Tell me everything!!!!!!!!
Rachel: she’s probably in her forties if I had to guess. he asked her name and if he could buy “the most beautiful woman in the bar” a drink. it was painfully cheesy
Oliver: did it work?????
Rachel: they’re talking rn!!!!!!!!!!!
Priya: I still can’t believe he has game.
Tanner: Hello all, this group chat is meant for work conversation only.
Priya: Fuck off, Tanner.
Rachel: fuck off tanner
Oliver: you’re a kill joy, tan
Rachel: THEYRE LEAVING TOGETHER. I REPEAT. THEY ARE LEAVING TOGETHER. SPB FUCKS!!!!!
Tanner: I am amazed Sad Paddington Bear has it in him. Guess he cannot count on impressing our grumpy coworker.
You: Fuck off Tanner, you dickhead.
Tanner: Case and point
Oliver: really changed your tune about the group chat there now that we are discussing how Paddington Bear fucks.
Tanner: It is work relevant.
You grumbled at your phone and tossed it in your backpack so it wouldn’t taunt you. So what if you were once again faced with the reality that Robby had game? You didn’t like Robby. He was sad and weird and paid way too much attention to you. Though, the attention he paid didn’t feel creepy so much as intense. He remembered things about you that most of your closest friends couldn’t recall. Not that you blamed them, you just lived in a niche world.
Robby fucking was in no way relevant to the edits you were making to your research nor did it help ease the exhaustion settling on your shoulders. You hadn’t been fucked well basically since you started the PhD program four years ago. It was an itch no one had been good enough to scratch. You briefly wondered if Robby was good in bed; probably not, you decided.
-- -- --
Robby was already at the bar when you clocked in. You were covering for Priya who went home sick, so it was only a couple hours until last call. Robby stared blearily at his empty cup; he didn’t even notice you walk in. Glancing at his tab you saw he had far out ordered his new normal. He was sitting four double gin and tonics deep; a large number for someone whose tab was only opened a little over an hour ago.
“You’re here,” he said syrupily. Robby never slurred, but he did manage to sound sleepy and sickly sweet at times.
“What happened to a healthier relationship with alcohol?” You asked sliding a glass of water with a straw in front of him and taking the mostly empty G&T away.
“I was drinking that,” he grumbled.
“I’ll take if off your tab,” you replied gesturing to the water.
He leaned down and took a drink from the straw. For some reason straws always got the drunk people to drink water. You likened it to a baby with a pacifier. Robby looked particularly sad tonight. You hoped he wasn’t going to talk your ear off. You weren’t sure how to square the man who took home, by all accounts, absolute bombshells, when he was now wasted on G&Ts in front of you.
“You’re my favorite,” he said. He took another drink.
“I’m literally the meanest person here,” you responded. “You have got to fix your self esteem.”
“Esteem is fine,” he replied.
You snorted. “People with healthy self esteem’s don’t gravitate towards people that are mean to them. I thought you said you were seeing someone professionally.”
“Stopped,” he mumbled.
“Healthy.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, his grin was goofy but his eyes were sad.
“Uh-huh,” you knew you sounded unconvinced.
“Do you know what my favorite thing about you is?” Robby asked apropos of nothing.
“No, and I don’t really care,” you sighed, as you began washing cups. You wished he didn’t insist on sitting by the good water spout so you could dishes in peace.
“You don’t lie to protect anyone’s feelings.”
That wasn’t exclusively true. You were far more tactful with your students than adult men at a bar you worked at to make your car payment hurt less.
“Not anyone here, that’s true,” you said.
“I lie all the time,” he announced. “I’m good at it to.”
“What do you lie about?” You asked disbelievingly. Immediately you wished you hadn’t said anything.
“That I’m fine,” he sighed. “I’m not fine. As demonstrated by the fact I’m shit faced on a Tuesday at…” he looked at his watched for longer than a sober man would need, “nine-twenty-seven pm.”
“No offense, Robby. If that’s what you’re lying about, you’re a shit liar.”
“No one else seems to have picked up on it,” he grumbled.
“Don’t you have friends or family?”
“Parents died when I was little. Raised my Bubbe, grandmother. Was the only person to sit shiva for her when she died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” you replied. “It must have been lonely to grieve like that for her.”
“You know what sitting shiva means?”
“I have met a Jewish person, before yes. I do live in Pittsburgh, you know,” you replied.
“You’re full of surprises,” Robby declared.
“I certainly am not,” you scoffed. Robby just shrugged and went silent. Eventually he said,
“All of her family had already passed and then it was just me. Sitting in the empty house watching distant family members and friends I barely knew putter around while I sat and stared. Seven days of nothing.”
“What about your friends?”
He just shrugged.
“Surely in your many years on this earth you’ve picked up a friend or two.”
“Sure, but I’m great at pushing them away. After Adamson died, after I all but killed him, there was no one willing to put up with me.”
“Adamson?”
“Mentor.” Robby said. “Incredible man. Changed the way I looked at the world. Showed me how to be a good doctor and good man. I think I’ve lost both since he passed.”
“How did he die?” You asked, quietly.
“COVID. I made the choice to take him off the ventilator because someone younger needed it. She died, too. Some fucking doctor I am,” Robby said acidicly. It was a tone of voice that surprised you.
“What a goddamn bitch of a situation,” you told him. “I’m sorry you were put in that position.”
“Maybe if I had been a better doctor…” Robby trailed off.
“What? You could have bare knuckle boxed death and won?” You asked, leaning a hip against the bar in front of him. “Way I see it, instead of death taking them easily, it had to fight you tooth and nail for it.”
“Still won.”
“Always will in the end,” you replied shrugging.
“Then maybe there isnt a point.”
“To being a doctor?” You asked.
“That, or keeping going. What’s the point if we all die?”
“Christ.”
“Sorry.”
“You apologize too much.”
“You sound like Jack.”
“Friend?”
“We used to be close,” Robby mumbled.
This was certainly more desolate that you really had the energy for.
“Dude,” you said before you could stop yourself. It was really none of your business. “You seem to be moderately intelligent, so you should know that you can stop pushing away your friends. I’m sure it’s not easy but it’s not a fact of life. Take some agency instead of letting things just happen to you.”
If anything he curled in deeper to himself and you immediately felt a wave of guilt and worry wash over you. When Robby got like this you always had half a mind to call in a welfare check on him when he got home. Maybe you shouldn’t be kicking a man while he’s down.
“See,” he said, a thick emotion in his voice. “No coddling from you.”
“Give me your phone,” you said.
He handed it over without question.
“Give me the password and someone to call for you.”
Robby gave you his four digit code. And said, “Jack, I guess. Don’t think he’s working tonight.”
You scrolled through his contacts (most of which had the Dr. prefix attached to them) and hit call. Almost immediately the phone picked up.
“You good, brother? You don’t normally call this late,” a deep male voice said.
“Uh, yeah. Not Robby. I’m a bartender at Solomon’s on tenth. Robby’s…” you weren’t sure how to say it, “not good? I managed to get him to give me your name. You able to come grab him?”
“Is he okay? Physically?” The man, Jack, asked. You could hear rustling on the other end and a metallic click before hurried footsteps.
“Yes, physically he’s fine. I’m not thrilled with the idea of him going home alone,” you replied. Turning away from Robby so he could see your mouth or hear you—though by the distant look in his eyes you doubted he was listening. “He’s talking a lot about Adamson and death. He is pretty wasted.”
“Fuck,” Jack hissed. “I know it’s not your job, but can you try and keep him there and mostly alive? I’m like twenty minutes away.”
“I can do that. I’ll try and sober him up some.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” Jack said.
You hung up and disappeared in the back where you knew the staff kept a shitty water kettle for the coffee part of Irish coffees. You quickly grabbed some fries from the kitchen and brewed a cup of coffee. When you came back, Robby was slumped against the bar.
“Rise and shine, sad boy. You need to eat and drink this,” you said placing the food and coffee in front of him. The water was almost empty so you refilled that as well.
“I’m good.”
“Eat the fries and drink the fucking coffee,” you snapped. “I’m trying to help you.”
“You don’t like me,” he shot back.
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have to like you to want you to be okay,” you replied flicking his forehead lightly.
“Asshole,” he grumbled sitting up and taking a sip of coffee. He coughed at the bitter taste.
“Sorry we don’t have anything good.”
“Probably for the best.”
You continued working while keeping an eye on Robby. He drank the coffee and ate the fries, slowly he was looking a little better when the door opened and a sturdy man in a US Army sweatshirt limped in. He had close cropped grey and silver hair. His facial expression was frantic and worried, but relaxed when he spied Robby stooped at the bar picking at the last couple fries.
“You look like shit,” you heard the man say.
“Normally that’s her line,” Robby said loosely. He lazily pointed at you. There wasn’t a legitimate reason you could avoid the pair, so you walked over.
“You’re the one that called?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” you replied introducing yourself.
“Oh, you’re that bartender,” Jack realized.
“Which one?” You inquired.
“He likes you.”
“He shouldn’t. I’m mean.”
“He’s fucked up that way,” Jack said. “Thank you, for taking care of him.”
“Just doing my job,” you said.
Jack snorted. “It’s not. Can I pay out his tab?”
“Don’t worry about it, the system will close it out,” you replied. “Just get him home safe.”
“Will do and thank you again,” Jack said pulling Robby to his feet. The pair ambled out into the chilly winter air and you couldn’t help but feel the lack of Robby’s presence haunting the edge of your bar.
-- -- --
It had been over two months since you’ve seen Robby. Most of you didn’t think about him. Regulars disappeared all the time. Regulars who seemed one bad day away from throwing themselves in the river also disappeared but you were hopeful his water logged body wouldn’t be found based on Jack’s presence. You had a sneaking suspicion that Robby’s view of his friendship was muddied by his lack of self esteem. If Jack wasn’t a friend you weren’t sure what else he could be.
Campus was close to the major hospital in the area. It was a good thing too, since the thin sheet of ice that coated all the sidewalks had sent many an undergrad to the clinic with a twisted ankle. You were hesitantly walking down a set of concrete steps after your lecture when an undergrad rushed by you and knocked you over.
You felt your feet fly out from under you and the hard crack of icy concrete on your elbow and you slid down the stairs. There was a distance “Sorry!” as the undergrad ran off.
“Fuck,” you managed trying to sit up. Your vision swam and you felt something warm and stick on the side of your face.
“Holy shit,” a voice said. You recognized her as one of the students from your class. “Professor? Are you okay?”
“Sure,” you said, trying to sit up again.
“Okay, maybe don’t do that. Your head is bleeding a lot. Ryan! Ryan, call 911. I think she needs an ambulance.”
“I’m fine,” you grumbled.
You started to take stock of your body now that the initial shock of the fall had worn off. Your leg was curled awkwardly under your body and with a heave, you managed to get it in front of you. Your legs felt fine, though there was a rip in your favorite pair of pants and blood seeping out of a gash in your leg. Trying to move your left arm sent nauseating pain through your body, so you kept it firmly tucked against you. With your non injured hand you tried to feel for whatever wound was on your head.
“Okay, definitely don’t do that,” your student said. “You’re covered in dirty ice, you’ll give yourself an infection. Ryan went to grab someone from the department too.”
As if on cue, you heard the slamming of footsteps behind you and the familiar voice of the graduate program director going, “Oh fuck. Are you all right?”
You were lying flat on your back in the icy concrete. In what world were you all right?
“The ambulance is here,” another voice said. The cloudy afternoon was beginning to get dimmer. Fuck, your head hurt. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to close your eyes for a minute.
The next time you came to, it felt like the world was moving. There were bright lights, loud voices and an incessant squeaking that made you want to cover your ears. Slowly, the rest of your body came back into focus and you heard a familiar voice say,
“Any LOC?”
A female voice behind you answered, “She’s been in and out since we picked her up. Oriented at first but lost consciousness before we got there.”
“Fuck off, I’m fine,” you hissed, very much not fine.
“I’ll take grumpy and incorrect over unconscious,” the voice said. “Okay, roll her to the bed and we’ll transfer on three. One…two..three.”
For a moment you felt yourself lift and then land on a less comfortable bed. The surface was harder, covered with that weird hospital paper, and colder than the gurney. Your eyes were still closed, but the lights above you were so bright you could feel them—white heat buzzing against your eyelids like someone pressing flashbulbs to your face.
Then came the hands.
One on your wrist. Another pushing up your sleeve. Cold pads sticking to your chest, your sweater no longer covering your tank top. Fingers checking your jaw. Gloves brushing your ribs. Something tight wrapped around your arm. Something else snapping against your ankle.
Too much.
Too many.
Your skin crawled under every point of contact. You tried to jerk away, but your body wouldn’t cooperate.
“This is worse than falling,” you said, and even you could hear the pitch of panic creeping into your voice. “Seriously—stop—just—”
“Mel, keep her talking and calm,” a voice said somewhere near your head. You knew that voice. You just couldn’t get your brain to land on the name.
“Hi there,” a woman said gently from your right. “I’m Mel. You’re okay, you’re at the hospital.”
Hospital. Right. You knew that. But it didn’t help. The beeping. The fluorescent hum. The rustle of paper gowns and gloves. Every sound was too loud. Every light was too sharp. Every hand on you felt like sandpaper over raw nerves.
“I want people to stop touching me,” you groaned, trying to pull your arm in, but someone grabbed your wrist before you got far. The movement sent agony lancing up your arm and you gasped, vision flashing white. “Fucking—ow—stop, stop—”
“Okay, arm fracture, careful,” Mel warned the nurse.
But the hands didn’t stop. They shifted instead—someone pressing down on your shoulder, another holding your chin steady as a light was shined in your eyes. You recoiled instinctively.
You hated this.
Too many people, too close, pinning you to a table like you were something to be restrained and examined. Every nerve ending screamed. Every second of it made your heart slam against your ribs, desperate for space, for air, for control.
“Hey,” Mel said softly, noticing the way your breathing hitched. “You’re safe. I know it feels like a lot. We’re just getting your vitals and making sure you’re stable.”
“This is not stable,” you snapped. You could hear yourself starting to spiral but couldn’t stop. “This is the opposite of stable. Get your fucking hands off—”
You heard your name.
Your eyes dragged to the sound.
Robby.
Standing at the foot of the bed, chart in hand, eyes on you. He looked, your sluggish brain struggled for the right word, not bad. He wore dark scrubs, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Everyone seemed to be responding to him. You closed your eyes as the room began to spin.
“Look at me,” he said.
You did. Even as your chest heaved and your hands balled into fists.
“No one is going to hurt you,” he said, voice even. Almost detached. “They’re doing their jobs. Let them get what they need, and I’ll make them back off.”
You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell him he didn’t get to manage you. You wanted to shove every hand away and rip off every wire and bolt out of the room. The panic sat high in your throat like you were going to choke on it.
The lights were too bright. The voices were too loud. The touches were too much.
“Fuck,” you whispered, and hated how small it sounded.
“We’ve got you,” he said. “Just breathe.”
You inhaled shakily.
Hand rested on your ankle. The room was still chaos. The light still pierced through your eyelids. Everything was too much, but if you focused on the warm hand that settled on your bare ankle it was almost bearable. Gritting your teeth, you tried to block out everything else except his touch. When you were more coherent, you would find the irony of relying on Robby amusing.
“Mel, give me next steps,” he said, hand still in place.
The doctor stood on your right, her tone soft and low—surprisingly rich, like honey poured into warm tea. “Head lac needs irrigation and staples. Bleeding’s controlled. Pupils equal, reactive, but she’s photosensitive. GCS is fourteen—dropped once en route but came back up. Left arm—obvious deformity, likely distal radius or ulna fracture, maybe both. Possible sprain or hairline fracture in the lateral malleolus on the left ankle—she’s guarding it.”
“She guarding everything,” one of the nurses muttered, adjusting the leads stuck to your chest.
“No shit,” you snapped. “Maybe stop poking me like I’m a Thanksgiving turkey.”
Mel hummed, sounding amused rather than offended. “Conversational. Good sign.”
“She’s always like this,” Robby said, almost under his breath.
You glared at him. “I am not.”
His mouth barely twitched. “CT ordered?”
“Waiting on transport,” Mel said. “Do you want C-spine? She denied neck pain, full range of motion at the scene.”
Robby glanced at you again, his eyes scanning your posture. You realized he was checking the subtle ways you moved—or didn’t. “No collar yet. If her pain spikes or she reports new symptoms, we’ll immobilize. For now, keep her semi-upright so she doesn’t pass out.”
“I can hear you, you know,” you muttered. “I’m not a mannequin.”
“Unfortunately,” Robby murmured, dry.
Before you could tell him to fuck off, Mel leaned closer, casting just a little shadow over your face—mercifully blocking the light. Her voice was gentle but matter-of-fact, her cadence a little off in a way that made you think she thought carefully about each word before she spoke. “We’re going to clean your head wound. It might hurt. We’ll be as quick and gentle as we can. Okay?”
Mel was easily becoming your favorite person in the room. She clearly outlined her actions and didn’t attempt to sugarcoat or mollify.
You exhaled slowly. “Fine. Just…please don’t surprise me.”
“I will do my best,” she said seriously, and you believed her.
An alcohol pad touched the edge of the gash at your temple and you jerked instinctively. Pain flared hot, crawling behind your eye.
“Shit—fuck—” you hissed.
“Almost done,” Mel promised, calm as ever.
Hands were still on your arms, wrists, shoulders—but the one on your ankle grounded you. You focused hard on that one, because if you let yourself feel all the others, you were going to come out swinging.
Robby’s thumb moved—just slightly. The smallest shift of pressure. The subtlest reminder to keep you in your body and not desperately trying to escape.
“Transport ready?” he asked without looking away from you.
“Any minute,” someone said from the doorway.
Mel finished cleaning. “She’s going to hate the staples.”
“She hates everything,” Robby said.
“I wouldn’t hate it if you let me sleep again,” you mumbled.
“No sleeping,” he warned automatically.
“You’re the worst doctor I’ve ever met.”
“Get in line,” he said. His tone was flat, but something deep in it—something only someone who had listened to him talk for hours in dim bar lighting—sounded faintly relieved.
You sucked in another breath, trying to brace yourself for whatever fresh hell came next.
And then you heard the gurney being unlocked again.
The CT was better than the trauma room. It was dark. The nurse gave you earplugs and a warm blanket. You were still dizzy and in a lot of pain, but even without Robby’s hand, you felt like panicky.
The nurse took off all your jewelry and removed everything from your pockets. She started an IV in your arm that you barely felt. She rarely spoke unless informing you what was coming next. Despite the loud humming of the machine, you preferred this to everything else.
Eventually the machine began, you moved back and forth through the machine. With your eyes closed and earplugs in, it was easy to let your body calm down.
By the time the test was done and you were wheeled back into the ER proper, you were given an actual room and no longer in the trauma bay. Mel let you keep the earplugs. A new nurse, or maybe a previous one you snapped at, helped you change into a hospital gown and graciously let you keep you underwear on. Small victories.
Mel came back with Robby and slowly stitched your head wound while Robby looked at your leg.
“What happened?” He asked softly. You were calmer, more coherent now.
“Someone knocked me over on some stairs. Gravity did the rest,” you said. “Sorry that I was such a bitch before.”
“You’re fine,” Robby said at the same time Mel replied with,
“You were a bit mean, but it is completely understandable given the circumstances.”
“Dr. King,” Robby sighed. He was about to say something but your giggles stopped him.
“Dr. King?” You asked.
“Call me, Mel.”
“Mel, I think you’re my favorite doctor. Please apologize to all the healthcare workers I was mean to, for me. I know they were just trying to help.”
“I’ll pass it along,” Mel said kindly. “I’m going to put in an order for pain meds and follow up with Ortho. Want me to finish her leg, Dr. Robby?”
“I got it, Mel. Check on South 15 for me,” he directed.
“Got it,” she replied leaving.
“I can dim the lights and use a head lamp if that would be easier?” He asked quietly. “It’s going to take me a bit to stitch this.”
“That would be helpful. My head is throbbing,” you replied.
Robby nodded and clicked off the lights before he washed his hands and gloved up. He slid on a dorky looking headlamp with magnifying glasses on it. You wanted to make a joke but a wave of nausea slammed into you at the sight of the open wound on your leg.
“I need you to stay still,” Robby said softly.
“Sorry, sorry. I looked too closely at my leg. I think I’m going to puke,” you gagged.
He slid over to the cabinet and pulled out a barf bag. You clutched it against your mouth breathing deeply with your eyes clenched closed. Eventually the nausea passed and you thankfully didn’t throw up in front of Robby.
“Do you need anything?”
“You’re being too nice to me, considering I called you a bad doctor,” you replied instead of answering.
“Water? Juice?” He asked ignoring you. Normally that was your move.
“Water, but I’d prefer the leg to be stitched first. If I open my eyes and see it, I might pass out again.”
“So you’re able to explain nuances of statistics and political socialization, but blood gets you?” Robby asked. You felt the pressure of the needle and pull of the thread, but nothing hurt.
“Not blood, blood is fine. The giant open wound on my thigh gets me. I shouldn’t be able to see my own muscles,” you said gagging again at the thought.
“I’ve never seen you break your composure. Even earlier when you were having a hard time,” Robby replied almost sounding amused. “It’s nice to know you’re human, too.”
“When have I ever appeared not human?”
Robby snorted. “I really don’t think you know how people perceive you.”
“Takes one to know one,” you shot back.
Robby let out a humorless chuckle. “Suppose you’re right.”
“Are you…okay?” You asked.
“Getting there,” he said.
He was silent for a minute and you thought that was the end of his statement. It was more than what you thought you’d get. Instead, Robby took a breath and continued,
“That night, Jack, he took me to a treatment facility. I was there for a week and I’ve been doing therapy and group twice a week ever since.”
“Good for you.”
“Apparently a lot go healthcare providers got fucked by COVID,” Robby said conversationally.
“If I got fucked by COVID, I can only imagine you did,” you said humorlessly.
“I owe some of it to you,” he said after a bout of silence.
“What in the world could I have done? I’m just your mean bartender.”
Robby chuckled. “True, but having a stranger you want to like you, call you pathetic and tell you to get your life together…well, I guess it was the kick I needed.”
“So does that mean you admit you have friends now?”
“Yes,” Robby sighed. You smiled.
“Good. I’m glad you’re no longer sad and morose haunting the end of my bar.”
“Instead you’re terrorizing my ER,” he commented. Your eyes were still closed but you could hear the smile in his voice.
“Your ER?”
“I’m the chief attending,” he replied.
“No shit,” you said. “Why would you care if I liked you when you’re impressive and shit.”
“Impressive and shit?”
“Answer the question.”
He sighed. “I think I’ll pass on that one. Anyways, about done with your last stitch.”
You didn’t push, but there was something odd in his voice. “Can I get those pain meds now?”
“Sure thing,” he said warmly. “Your leg is covered if you want to open your eyes.”
You did and there was a low light in the room, but the bright fluorescents were off. Robby smoothed the gauze over your thigh and you felt his warmth even through the latex gloves. He smiled at you as he departed. Shortly thereafter, a nurse came in with pain meds and sleep over took you.
The next time you saw Robby you were still a little high on pain meds which is what you’ll blame for asking,
“Do you still pick up women now that you’re not a drunk?”
“Christ,” he said. He had just entered the room to check on your wound. “Warm a guy before giving him the inquisition.”
“I’m just curious if you’re still a slut now.”
“I wasn’t a slut then,” he protested.
“See I thought it didn’t happen much because it never happened on my shift. But I compared notes. You picked up a lot of women.”
“It was a normal amount,” he defended.
“Sure,” you drawled.
“I might have been a little slutty,” he acknowledged.
“You have hidden depths. I think we misjudged you when naming you Sad Paddington Bear.”
“Sad Paddington Bear?”
“It’s what the bartenders call you. Although maybe we should have called you a sad gigolo.”
“You’re very nosy on pain meds,” he said.
“I really am. Haven’t been on them before. Lot nicer than feeling all the cuts and scraps on my body.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Stiff, sore, probably embarrassed when my heads back on normal.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Robby replied with a hand lightly resting on your knee. He seemed to realize what he was doing and removed his hand.
“When can I leave?” You asked. “I want to be in my own bed.”
“You’ll need another neuro test before I feel comfortable letting you go,” he said. “Do you have someone to stay with you? Friend? Family? …Partner?”
“I’ll call a friend. Family is in a different state. And no partner. Who knows, maybe I’m a slut too,” you said.
You watched his lips quirk up. “You don’t like people enough to be a slut.”
You snorted. “That is so accurate. Having someone sweaty uselessly humping me is so boring.”
“Uselessly?”
Once again, you’d like to thank the pain meds for your loose lips. “Let’s just say, it’s been a real lack of skill in my bedroom from other humans. My vibrator? Astounding. She does great work.”
Robby cleared his throat as color washed over his cheeks. “Right, well—“
“If you’re a slut, it stands to reason that you probably wouldn’t be useless,” you thought out loud.
“Okay, looks like we should dial back the pain meds,” Robby said.
“So you are useless?”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” he stated.
“Absolute babes went home with you apparently more than once. That must mean something,” you mumbled.
“You’re killing me,” Robby groaned.
“Where do you pick up women now that you don’t drink.”
“It’s really none of your business,” he tried to say. You continued talking,
“Coffee shop? I feel like you’d have a coffee shop you go to now.”
He did have a coffee shop he went to now and he didn’t like that you were able to puzzle that out so quickly while on pain meds.
“Look, I think we’re off track here,” Robby tried again.
“You’re hot, you know that?”
Robby cleared his throat and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I think I’ll send Mel in.”
“I’m just going to keep talking like this. Because for the first time in my life I cannot figure out how to shut up,” you stated. Distantly, you knew you’d be horrified by this later. But it wasn’t later. And the words kept coming.
Robby sighed and sat down next to you. “I’m not going to answer your questions.”
“That’s fine. Your prerogative.”
“So it seems we’re at an impass,” he stated.
“Apparently,” you said. “Although, I do have something to confess.”
“Is it going to make me uncomfortable as your current healthcare provider?” Robby asked tiredly. You snorted.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“All right, go ahead.”
“I don’t like you as a drunk, but as a doctor dealing with me on pain meds, I find you surprisingly charming. Long suffering, for sure, but charming too.”
“That is the meanest compliment I’ve received,” Robby half laughed, disbelievingly.
“It wasn’t meant to be mean!” You protested. “God these meds are fucking with me.”
Robby patted your hand and said, “Once the meds wear off and we check your brain again, I’ll discharge you. I…I am going to write down my number and if you feel comfortable, I just want you to let me know you’re okay.”
“Is this how you picked up the women?” You asked conspiratorially.
“No,” he said. Then almost to himself, added, “This is such a strange version of you.”
“Oh I know. I’m going to be mortified tomorrow.”
Robby snorted. “I’m putting my number in your discharge paperwork, okay?”
“Whatever you say, Dr. Robby. I think I might sleep again.”
“Probably a good call for both of us.”
-- -- --
It was two days post-discharge when the memory of your pain‐medicated encounter with Robby came swimming back.
“Oh fuck,” you groaned.
You were sitting on your couch with your leg propped on pillows and your arm in a sling, still in ratty pajamas you hadn’t changed out of since getting home. A dull ache radiated from every bruise and stitch, and the concussion made the world feel slightly tilted. But none of that compared to the slow, creeping horror pooling in your gut as you remembered exactly what you’d said to him.
Are you still a slut?
My vibrator does great work.
You're attractive, you know that?
You dragged your one good hand down your face and wished you could legally induce a coma. For your entire life, you had always been a little socially awkward. Most of the time your sense of humor never quite lined up with everyone else, your grasp of small talk was a battle fought for in awkward silences. Years of forcing yourself to get better at talking finally made you comfortable, but now you wanted to melt into your couch never to see another person again.
“Who was that?” you whispered to no one.
Part of you, the delusional part, hoped maybe you’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe it hadn’t been real. Then you glanced at your coffee table. The discharge folder sat there. Hesitantly, you opened the folder and tucked under the business card for the hospital was a Post-It with a phone number and one line written in neat block letters:
PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU’RE OKAY. —R
“Nope, it was real,” you muttered. “Kill me.”
You tossed the folder back on the table and stared at it like you were afraid it would explode. There were two choices now: one, fake your death or two, be an adult and text the confident and normal version of Robby who had put up with your drug addled word vomit. Option one was very tempting.
You spent the rest of the day alternately sleeping and cringing. Every time you drifted off, your brain generously replayed another snippet of the conversation in 4K quality. It was easy to remember his hand on yours, the way he so effortlessly kept you calm and from panicking. You even recalled his panicked look when you asked him if he was still a slut. Groaning you wondered if you could smother yourself with a pillow. But he had been so kind; his kindness was the only reason you hadn’t absolutely lost your shit.
(Realistically, you knew Mel would have been able to calm you down, but still.)
You stared at your phone.
“You should text him,” a traitorous part of you whispered.
“Absolutely not,” the rest of you replied.
You sat with that for ten minutes.
Then twenty.
Then an hour.
You almost threw a pillow across the room. “Goddammit.”
You grabbed your phone.
Fine.
You’d text him.
One simple, neutral message.
Something mature, like: thanks again for your help.
Something that did not reference slut discourse or vibrators or the fact that you maybe, possibly, kind of liked him.
You typed:
hey. i lived, thanks for the stitches i guess
You stared at it.
You deleted “i guess.”
You added:
and sorry if i was weird. pain meds are evil.
You hovered over “send” for a solid sixty seconds.
Then, daring to breathe, you hit send.
Three seconds later, anxiety punched you in the throat. You threw your phone on the chair next to you hoping you wouldn’t hear it if it buzzed with his response. Painfully, you stood and limped over to your tiny kitchen. Making tea with one hand took double the time it did with two, it meant you were busy for double the time it would have normally distracted you for. Perhaps, you could still unsend the message. You checked the clock. Five minutes had passed. Maybe he wouldn’t respond. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he’d changed his number. Maybe—
You heard your phone buzz. Fuck. For a moment you stared at the chair, and slowly limped over to it, grabbing the offending device and terrified to see the response.
Finally, you grabbed it.
Robby (unknown number):
Hello. I’m glad you are safe. How is your pain level today?
You glared. Of course he was more normal than you were in this situation. That really annoyed you. He was meant to be the one who was awkward and cringey. You eased back onto the couch with your tea and wrote out:
headachy and sore. the stitches itch, too.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Robby: Are you having any new symptoms?
• Worsening headache
• Dizziness
• Nausea
• Vision changes
• Difficulty focusing more than before
You rolled your eyes.
You: you text like a web-md checklist
Robby: That is perhaps the rudest thing you could say to a doctor. I just want to make sure you’re okay.
You: yeah, im fine. thank you for your concern Robby.
stitches are driving me crazy tho
There was a longer pause this time. Then:
Robby: I’m glad you’re better. Have you eaten today?
You: none of your business (yes, a friend brought me soup).
Robby: Sounds like you have good friends. I’m glad you’ve eaten. A good diet and sleep are your best healing assets right now.
You: best healing assets?
Robby: Was that inappropriate?
You: no you just sounded like a dork
Robby: Seems to be something I frequently deal with around you.
You: are you blaming me for your inability to talk to women?
Robby: I can talk to women just fine. Something you have already established.
You: touche. so it’s just me?
Robby: I think it is.
You: do you still think i don’t like you? is that why you’re so weird?
Robby: Partially
You: and the other part?
Robby: I’ll plead the fifth, that. Your stitches should be ready to come out in a week or so. If you don’t want to go to the doctor, I can take them out for you.
If you want, that is.
No pressure.
You: technically pleading the fifth is only something you can only do when dealing with the government, but i’ll allow it since you were very kind to me when i was an absolute nightmare on pain meds.
and that would be very appreciated. ill buy you a coffee as a thanks. and i won’t be mean
Robby: You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.
You: was that a joke?
Robby: Yes, evidently not a good one.
You: i am impressed, nonetheless.
Robby: Please keep me updated on how you’re feeling.
You: i make no promises. im terrible at texting
Robby: I’ve noticed. There has not been a single capitalization this whole time. You’re getting a PhD.
You: if you think about it, getting a phd is really the dumbest thing you could do, so i would argue it’s in character.
Robby: We’ll agree to disagree there.
Texting with Robby was strange. It was strange to communicate with someone you once dreaded seeing. It was very weird for him to offer to take out your stitches for you, saving you a trip to the campus clinic or urgent care; neither option seemed attractive to you.
The next week and a half passed like molasses. Each time you thought your body had improved enough to do an extra chore, or your brain had healed enough to open your laptop, your body aggressively reminded you that rest was still required. Thankfully, a few days into your boredom inducing bed rest, the TV became a viable option again assuming you kept the brightness down and the volume at a tolerable level.
Every so often you would text Robby an update or he would ask for one. You found yourself looking forward to the messages. Not drunk and seeking mental health help, he actually was funny and the maudlin angst had been replaced with the occasional dark joke. One time he sent you the middle finger emoji and you were unironically proud of him.
It wasn’t until the fifth day on bed rest did the occasional text turn into something more.
You: what do i do if the stitches are red and kinda making me nauseous?
Robby: Nauseous because you have a weak stomach or because you think it’s an additional symptom?
You: unclear, kinda been sick all day but i’ve also had a bitch of a headache too
Robby: I’m going to video call. I want to see the wound.
You phone rang a moment after you liked the message. Robby’s face appeared and it looked like he was at home. It was instinctually to search his background looking for any hint of his history that he hadn’t already poured out to your at the bar. He seemed to be sitting on a couch or chair, and behind him was a wall full of vinyl records. There was soft lamp light and the faint hum of music in the background.
“Sorry to bother you so late,” you told him wincing.
“I could have ignored your message,” he replied simply. You wondered if there was ever a world where he would ignore someone who needed him.
“I’ll owe you a whole meal when this is over,” you told him.
“You’re way too poor for me to take you up on that,” he replied, making you snort.
“That is unfortunately correct. Still, I’ll figure out a way to repay you,” you told him.
A faint blush appeared on his cheeks and you couldn’t figure out why he seemed flushed by your words. (Later, upon reflection you would hear the double entendre, but frankly, that was his problem not yours.) Clearing his throat, he said,
“Aim the camera at your wound, please.”
“Okay, I can’t really look at it, so you’ll have to tell me if my camera work is off,” you said.
You moved your phone so it reflected at your lap and the ratty cotton shorts you’d been living in. They barely covered any of your leg, which was useful when you had to change the dressing on your wound. Before it started turning red and weeping, it wasn’t that bad. Now, just looking at it made you sick.
“Can you turn on your phone flash light or make it brighter?” Robby asked.
“Sure thing,” You said, turning on your phone’s flashlight.
“Is it warm?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it throb?”
“No,” you replied.
“Are you running a fever?”
“How the fuck would I know?” you asked.
“Do you not have a thermometer?” he asked. For the first time, you heard a hint of exasperation in his voice. It made you smile.
“Maybe? My mom sent me a care package when I got the flu a few months ago. Let me see,” you told him, turning the phone back to your face.
You eased off the couch and limped to your kitchen where you shoved the box your mom had sent. Propping up your phone against the kitchen backsplash, you rummaged through the box and to your surprise, found a thermometer. It was the basic kind you put under your tongue.
“Gotta love a woman who can’t express her love with words and instead sends a care package to her adult daughter in her thirties,” you said, popping the cap off the thermometer and sticking it under your tongue.
You hadn’t glanced at your phone since aiming it at your leg in fear you’d see something that would make your stomach churn even more than it already was. Now, propped up, you could see that Robby slid on his reading glasses and to your shock and horror, he looked hot. So attractive in fact, you almost let the thermometer slip out of your mouth.
His rugged, slightly scraggly beard was reminiscent of how you’d seen him at the bar, but this time it was due to him rubbing his hand through the hair as he waited for you to measure your fever. Something about the addition of the glasses brought into focus how his narrow face was actually quite enticing. You briefly wondered what his beard would feel like between your legs.
“Christ,” you said without realizing that he could obviously hear and see you.
“Are you okay? You seemed freaked out,” Robby replied. “Is your temperature high?”
Thankfully, the thermometer beeped loudly, giving you a chance to pull it out of your mouth and look at it. “99.6.”
“Not too bad. You sure you’re good?”
“I am a bit freaked about the leg,” you said. It wasn’t a lie, but certainly wasn’t the whole truth. You briefly the revisited the idea of smothering yourself. What happened when you hit your head that made you think Robby was attractive?
“It certainly looks inflamed. I would do a good clean and put some antibiotic cream on it.”
“And what if cleaning it makes me gag?”
“Then I guess we’ll have to amputate,” he said.
You stared at him. “I’m annoyed that I found that funny.”
“And yet, you didn’t laugh.”
“Well, the annoyance won out in the end.”
Robby snorted. “Do you need me to come over and help clean it?”
“I can’t ask you to do that. Plus, I don’t think I’ve annoyed my friends enough about this yet. Why bother the very nice doctor when I could bug my friends?”
“So I’ve graduated from Sad Paddington Bear to very nice doctor?”
“Congratulations. It does not come with a pay increase. But what can you do? The economy is in shambles.”
He snorted and shook his head. “I want you to send me an update on your leg tomorrow, please. If it gets worse you’ll need to go to urgent care.”
“Ugh, anything but that,” you complained. “It’s terrible there.”
“And yet so much better than sepsis,” he replied.
“I dunno, juries out,” you grumbled limping back to the couch.
“How is your head?”
“Hurts and I can barely do anything. I can watch TV if I don’t look directly at the screen, so that’s something. Mainly listening to audiobooks of shit I’ve already read.”
You settled back onto your couch and buried yourself back under the covers you had created your nest from. The view of your camera caught the warmth of your couch and some of the quirky decor including the art print of a woman leading a man on a leash with “This Ain’t My First Rodeo” painted above it. Angling the camera away from the slightly inappropriate art work, you felt better with the section of wall that was now showing. It was a corner of your diploma and photo from a christmas party with your friends. Much more appropriate.
“What have you been listening to?”
“A lot of comedy and re-listening to my favorite book series. My entertainment is purely escapism since I spend most of my day reading, writing, or doing math about politics,” you told him.
“You’ll have to send me suggestions. Nothing I’ve read recently has kept much of my attention,” he replied.
You then delved into details of your favorite book series. The conversation spiraled from books to television to the records Robby had on current rotation. More than that, he asked questions about your PhD, hesitantly, and you answered. It didn’t feel like a weird overreach anymore. Robby really was intelligent and normal when not drunk or tipsy. You almost felt proud of him. By the time the phone call ended, you felt calmer about your leg and less worked up over the boredom.
You chose not to think about it too much.
-- -- --
When the stitches were due to come out, you almost didn’t text Robby. It felt like an imposition. Over the past day or so you felt tremendously better. Your head was no longer one overstimulation away from a migraine, you could feel your brain fog lifting, and movement didn’t hurt much. Everything was still a little sensitive, but the real annoyance was how bored and pent up you were. Still, the relief from getting the stitches removed almost didn’t beat the feeling of taking advantage of Robby.
Robby: Can I come by after my shift ends to take out your stitches? I want to look at everything and make sure it’s healing well.
You: you don’t have to
but yes please
if i think about having thread in my body too long it kinda freaks me out
Robby: Please send me your address. I’ll be by around 7:30 or 8:00pm.
You: you text like an octogenarian. here’s my address.
Robby: Octogenarians don’t text.
You: tell that to my grandma. she’s a whiz with those me-mojis or whatever the fuck they are.
Robby: That is not a real thing. I think you’re messing with me.
You: i am not. but regardless. see you tonight. and thank you again!
Robby: It really is not a problem. I want to do this.
You tried not to let that go to your head. It was weird someone liking you the way Robby did. Most people, even romantic prospects tended to tolerate your rough personality and busy schedule. Your friends were a niche group of individuals far more focused on their careers.
This was new. This wasn’t bad.
At 7:45 you heard a knock at your door. Slowly, only due to your leg—not anything else at all, you made your way to the door. You had slightly tidied up throughout the day. Being couch bound had made your living room a bit of a war zone. Now you had your laundry going and you’d even managed to load your dishwasher.
Opening the door to Robby was strange. You had seen him in exactly two places and now he was walking into your apartment. He even walked like a new person now. He didn’t slouch or slump or plod. He still had abysmal posture, but there was a surety that had replaced the downtrodden-ness of his person.
He wore dark cargo pants, a black scrub top with a navy blue long sleeved shirt underneath. Said shirt was pushed up to just below his elbows and your eyes focused on his forearms before finally stepping back and letting him into your space.
“Can I get you something to drink?” You asked.
“I don’t drink anymore,” he said.
“Congrats. I don’t drink at all. I have about five flavors of sparkling water and generic sprite,” you replied, shutting and locking the door. “I also make a mean hot chocolate.”
“I’m good for now,” he said. “Where do you want to do this?”
“Shouldn’t that be your call?”
“I just need to wash my hands,” he replied, shrugging. His hands were in his pockets.
“Then let’s do the living room. I’m still a little sore,” you told him. “Kitchen is right there. I even have out my Christmas hand soap.”
You pointed at the kitchen in the very open concept front part of your apartment. There was a small hallway just to the right of your front door that held a small hallway where your bathroom, washing closet, and bedroom door opened.
Your living room was a surprisingly decent size for your rent. It was big enough for a couch, bookshelves and your desk. Your kitchen was narrow, and looked even more so with Robby’s broad frame standing in front of your sink. He thoroughly washed his hands and dried them on a paper towel.
Sitting on the edge of your couch, you watch as he pulled over his backpack and grabbed a smattering of tools. There were scissors, hemostats, and various cleaning wipes and creams.
“Can I sit here?” Robby asked pointing to your coffee table. It was one of the few expensive things you owned.
“Yeah, she’s study enough,” you replied.
Robby sat down. Your shorts were plenty short and you found yourself curious how he was going to do this. He seemed confident and self assured. Dr. Robby was a man who wasn’t cowed by his snarky and too-mean bar tender.
“I’m going to slightly readjust you and put your leg on my lap, is that okay?” Robby asked sliding on his ready glass.
“Yes,” you said breathlessly. He glanced up at your tone and lightly put a hand on your knee.
“Don’t panic. This will be over quickly.”
Interesting, he read the slightly shocked and a tiny bit horny reaction you had to worried. You couldn’t help but be a little grateful. Not trusting your voice, you just nodded at him. He gingerly lifted your socked foot and put it in his lap. The fabric of his pants was scratchy against your skin, but you could fill the heat of his legs burning through.
“This has healed well,” Robby replied. He’d donned gloves at some point after putting your leg in his lap and was manually inspecting the wound. You stared up at the ceiling mostly to keep from seeing the stitches but an added benefit was not seeing Robby.
“Oh yeah, this looks great. You should be fine after we get the stitches out,” he said. You just hummed not trusting your voice.
The sensation of removing the stitches far outweighed any pleasantness from having Robby’s hands on your skin. You tried to focus on way his hand gripped your thigh or the way you could feel his stomach against your foot. Instead when you felt a thread pull through you shuddered and tried not to gag.
“Do you need a break?”
“No, I need you to finish this as quick as possible,” you said.
“Yes ma’am.”
He continued his ministrations and you desperately tried to focus on the subtle smell of his cologne. Or the growing yearning in your stomach for him to push you down on the couch and fuck you within an inch of your life.
That had been a startling realization but one that felt like it was always meant to happen. Another thread pulled through your skin and you heard yourself whine sharply. Not even horniess was getting your through this.
After the last thread was pulled from your leg, resulting in a twitch at the awful feeling, Robby took off his gloves and began putting his tools back in the backpack. Your leg was still in his lap.
“I was going to order dinner, if you want to stay,” you heard yourself say. “I can even watch a full episode of TV now.”
Robby snorted. And then said, “I would love to stay. Mainly to make sure you don’t look at your leg and pass out.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” you laughed.
"You didn't look down once that whole time," he said.
"And therefore, didn't pass out."
You managed to open your phone and scroll through the different food options. Your stomach was in shambles from the feeling of getting stitches removed, so picked the deli down the street. Handing the phone to Robby you had him pick his meal.
When he handed the phone back, he had already ordered and paid with his card details. You scowled at him.
"This was meant to pay you back for your kindness."
"It would feel unethical. I know how much grad students makes."
He had since moved to the opposite corner of the couch. From your propped up position, he looked a little tired, but more than that he looked amused. He was laughing at you. It ranckled you. But it also made you a little happy: sad, drunk Robby would never have laughed at you.
While waiting for the food, you both chatted about his work, your students, how taking time off has put you seriously behind and your unread emails are closer to 1,000 than not. Once the food arrive, you both tucked in.
Eventually, Robby asked,
“What’s the hardest thing about the whole PhD thing?”
It felt like a natural question from the previous conversation, so you didn't think twice about answering it.
“Having to not take criticism personally. Anything I finish, make progress on, or whatever gets critiqued and criticized and studied until it feels absolutely useless. But that’s just how it works—it’s how we make sure our research is the most accurate and representative of the world,” you said shrugging. “What about being a doctor? What’s the hardest thing about that.”
“Oh that’s easy, not being able to save everyone,” Robby told you.
“Yeah, I can imagine that would be difficult to contend with.”
“So does no one tell you “good job” or encourages you?”
“Not in so many words. One time I had a bit of a breakdown and planned on dropping out. My advisor said that would “be a waste” so it’s not like people are needlessly mean.”
“You make so much more sense now,” Robby said shaking his head.
“The fuck does that mean?” You said lightly kicking his thigh with your good foot. He grabbed your ankle and stretched it out over his lap. The movement made you tense but, frankly, you wanted this to continue so you forced yourself to relax.
“You’re one of the most tightly wound people I’ve ever met,” Robby laughed.
“I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black,” you grumbled. Hesitantly, you stretched out your bad leg and crossed it over your good one still rest on Robby’s thighs.
“Perhaps that’s why I know,” he said. His hand rested on your ankle and you tried not to stare at the way his hand dwarfed your not-small ankle.
“And what would the good doctor recommend for that? I hate to break it to you, but it’s not like I can call up my parents and ask them to say they’re proud of me and I’m doing a good job.”
“Someone should,” he said quietly. His thumb began to circle the bone of your ankle.
“I think I’ll be fine,” you laughed.
Robby was silent for a moment before saying, “I think you’re very impressive. I think you work very hard. And I’m really honored to know you.”
For an awful minute, you thought you were going to cry. “Knock it off.”
“Make me.”
“If you don’t I’ll make you talk about something even more uncomfortable,” you threatened.
“You can’t make me do anything.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll try.”
“I’ll take the chance,” he laughed. Robby hand drug up and down your leg. You knew it wasn’t smooth—your injury having made sure you missed your monthly waxing appointment—but he didn’t seem to care. Frankly, you refused to let yourself care, even if it danced in the back of your head.
“Brave considering you think I’m mean.”
“You’re not mean,” Robby said, looking over at you.
“Not what you used to think,” you commented.
“True, but I know you better now. You’re just blunt. It’s nice when you get used to it.”
You snorted. “You absolute liar.”
His hand landed on your knee and reached down to flick it. He caught your wrist before you could smack him. Eyes boring into yours, Robby said,
“I’m serious. I think you’re amazing.”
“You do huh?” You asked.
“Clearly.”
“Then why haven’t you done anything about it? I’m not good at schooling my features. You must know how I’m feeling.”
In an instant, Robby’s expression shuttered. “You did pick something uncomfortable.”
“So either this is a personal thing or I am way worse at reading you than I thought. I’m not wildly inclined to believe the latter since my feet are in your lap and I got a special house call for something I could have gone to the clinic for.”
Robby sighed and looked away from you. “It’s a personal thing.”
“Do I get let in on what the personal thing is?”
“I don’t want you to try and talk me out of it. Because you’ll win,” he murmured.
“If it’s not dumb, I won’t. I’m not a starry eyed romantic, Robby. Sometimes people that are attracted to one another shouldn’t do anything. Just because I want you to fuck me into my mattress and maybe also go on a date, doesn’t mean I’m going to do something bad for me or my goals. No offense, you’re not more important than finishing my PhD,” you told him.
He smiled ruefully. “I just am not good enough for you.”
“Oh, that is dumb,” you replied.
“Or maybe you just don’t know how impressive you are,” he challenged.
“Maybe,” you acquiesced. “But maybe not being “good enough” for someone is an archaic measure of comparability and I get to decide what is and is not good for me. Now, if you don’t feel ready for a relationship after everything, that’s different. But if you’re just worried about being…depressed or mentally ill, join the club then.”
“There’s also the age gap,” he added.
“I’m an academic. I’ve seen far less ethical relationships than a decade and some change. Not to mention you weren't my dissertation advisor,” you told him.
“For my peace of mind I'm going to ignore that last bit. And try closer to two decades,” he said.
“I’m an old man at heart,” you said back. “Doesn’t change the fact I want you to fuck me into the mattress.”
“I really don’t want you talk me into this,” Robby said quietly.
“Then you need to either tell me you don’t want this, which I’ll respect or you need to get out of your own way. I’m in favor of the latter.”
“Can I ask something first?”
“Always.”
“What changed for you? You really didn’t like me.”
“Valid question,” you said. He still had a grip on your wrist. Gently you pulled out of his grasp and wrapped your hand around his. “I am so picky about people. I always have been. But even more than that, no one normal does a PhD and I deal with those freaks all day. By the time I got to the bar, I was over dealing with everyone, not just you. Frankly, drunk you was a lot. But no one is their best self when they’re drunk. Sober you? He’s still awkward, a little earnest but very charming. Funny and confident too.”
“You are very different than when you’re at the bar,” he said.
“I’ll lay my cards on the table, Robby. I like you. I think you’re very attractive and getting to know you has been fun and I hate getting to know new people. If you’re amenable, I would really love for you to fuck me into my mattress tonight.”
“You’re still injured.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It isn’t a yes.”
“There’s one more episode of Bake Off before I’m caught up. I’m going to lay back down and if by the end of the episode you’re still undecided or the answer is no, I’ll respect that. But don’t take yourself out of the game just because you’re nervous that you’re not good enough of whatever.”
“Okay, yeah,” Robby replied softly.
You released his hand and he placed it back on your legs. Pressing play, you settled back to a prone position on the couch. The distracting pressure of his hands on your legs meant that most of the episode passed without you taking in too much of what was happening.
Periodically, you glanced over at Robby. He seemed deep in thought. His brow was furrowed and while he faced the TV, he seemed to stare at nothing. Sometimes his fingers would trace a pattern on your calves and then go still. At one point, you saw him stare at you from the corner of your eye, in a reminiscent way to how he used to watch you while he was wasted. Instead of feeling annoyed, you settled more deeply into the couch and held out your hand for him without looking. He took it.
The episode ended and you couldn’t help but feel nervous. No one liked being rejected and you hoped that Robby got out of his own way. You wanted him. You knew he wanted you too. It was torture to not crawl into his lap and kiss him within an inch of his life.
“Before you tell me,” you said. “I just want you to know that regardless of your decision, I am proud of the work you’ve put into yourself. And I’m not fibbing when I say you’re incredibly attractive.”
“You are a lot nicer than your give yourself credit for,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Then what was that?”
“Honesty, dick head.”
He snorted. “My head still isn’t fully on straight.”
“Neither is mine.”
“Sometimes I have really bad days.”
“Okay.”
“Sometimes I can be mean, too.”
“Join the club.”
“But I would be lying if I said I didn’t want this,” he breathed.
“Help me sit up,” you said grabbing at his arm. He helped you move into a sitting position, your arm and leg still a little sore. When you were next to him, you kept your legs draped over his and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes with conditions,” he told you.
“Ugh,” you groaned leaning your forehead on his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re still healing. I’m not going to fuck you into the mattress tonight.”
“But Robby,” you whined. “I just know you’re so good at sex.”
A surprise laugh erupted from him. “Thank you. I’m still not going to fuck you into the mattress. I will however, if you want, if you feel comfortable and up for it, I am more than willing to make sure any humping isn’t…I think the word you used was, useless.”
“Yeah?”
“I knew you would talk me out of it,” he sighed.
“Wanna see my bedroom?” You asked grinning.
“You look very proud of yourself,” he grumbled, pulling you into his lap.
“I’m not joking when I say it’s been years since I’ve had good sex. I just have a good feeling about this.”
“Because you saw me being a slut?”
“Nope, because you’re a doctor and I heard you went home with the same person more than once. That doesn’t happen unless you fuck.”
“You’re so strange,” he laughed, dipping his head closer to yours.
“Good. I don’t want you under the impression I’m normal.”
“Never a risk, trust me,” he laughed.
His nose bumped your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your mouth. The press of his lips was electric. You grinned and twisted your head to press your lips against his. It was exactly how you hoped it would be. His lips were soft against yours, but each movement decisive. His hands, so warm and large, held you on your waist and the inside of your thigh.
“You’re so soft,” he mumbled against your lips.
“I’m pleasantly surprised by the beard,” you replied.
“I oil it,” he replied placing kisses down your neck.
“Hot,” you replied, sounding strangled as his sucked gently on your pulse point. You felt goosebumps erupt along your back.
He laughed and his hand that rested on your thigh squeezed. You wished he’d move it up, maybe press against your already throbbing core. Instead he massaged your leg and continued his ministrations against your neck.
“Christ,” you hissed when he nipped at your skin. “Already so good.”
“You’re so responsive for me,” he said. “I’ll bet you make beautiful noises.”
“You’re more talkative than I guessed,” you replied.
He pulled back and you huffed, already missing the contact. “I meant what I said earlier.”
“You’ve said a lot tonight,” you told him, pulling his face back to yours.
“That you’re smart and impressive. That you’re a good researcher,” he said before wrapping a hand around your neck and kissing you harshly. “Since no one else seems willing to tell you, I will. You’re incredible.”
“Don’t you dare,” you whispered.
“Too bad,” he replied.
“Can we move this to my bedroom?” You asked, hoping to distract him.
“Please.”
He helped you stand and took a quick look at your leg. His thumb was gentle as he caressed the red, puckered line on your thigh. Placing a gentle kiss on it made a well of emotion rise to your throat. His hands gripped your waist and he stared up at you from the couch.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered.
Caressing his face you said, “You’re going to give me an ego.”
“Someone has to,” he said placing a kiss on your T-shirt covered stomach.
“You’re going to kill me,” he groaned, pulling him up.
“How’s your arm?” He asked, following you through your short hallway.
“A little stiff, but mostly healed.”
“Please promise me that you’ll say something if you’re uncomfortable,” he asked quietly.
“Pinky swear,” you said stopping in front of your bedroom holding out your pinky to him. He laughed, shaking his head, and wrapped his pinky around yours.
Thankfully, your bedroom was mostly clean. There was some laundry waiting to be folded. It was small enough that it was only a couple steps until Robby was prodding you to sit on the bed.
“Can I undress you?” He asked.
“I’m not exactly wearing much,” you said smiling.
“I know, trust me,” he grumbled, grabbing your leg and rubbing his hand up the skin.
“Will you take your shirt off?” You asked still grinning up at him.
“Anything you want,” he said.
Leaning back on the bed, resting on your elbows, you watched as he flushed. He was large in your tiny bedroom. He reached behind him and in one fell swoop, pulled off his scrub shirt and undershirt.
“That was hot,” you said eyeing him.
“Yeah?” He asked, standing in between your legs.
You couldn’t help but run your hands up his torso. Dark hair dusted his chest and down his stomach. It led down to the waistband of his pants. Even his body hair was soft. Without a shadow of a doubt, you knew he oiled this as well. Something about the intentionality of that action made you clench.
Lightly raking your nails down his stomach, you watched as his muscles twitches. His shoulders, just out of reach, were broader than you expected. With ease, you unbuttoned the cargo pants and slid them over his waist.
“I seem to recall trying to undress you,” he said, stepping out of his pants and socks all at once.
“I got distracted,” you saying eyeing his boxer briefs. He was only half hard and already straining against the fabric.
“Maybe I want to be distracted,” he replied tugging at your shirt. You lifted your arms for him, so your T-shirt could be pulled up over your head. You hadn’t worn a bra since being couch bound, so he had an immediate eyeful of your tits. “You’re stunning.”
“Yeah? Prove it?,” you goaded.
He huffed a laugh and pushed you back on the bed lightly, before pulling off your shorts and underwear. He kneeled down on your floor and kissed the inside of your thigh.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Already so wet.”
“Wetter than I’ve been in a long time,” you told him. He groaned and closed his eyes.
“I want to touch you,” he breathed.
“Please,” you begged. “I want you to touch me so bad.”
In a move that would live in your brain for the rest of your life, Robby stuck two of his fingers in his mouth to wet them before he ran them up and down your slit. The first finger that slid inside you felt foreign. It had been a long time since anyone had pressed into you. When Robby added his second finger you couldn’t help but gasp out a moan.
“You open up so pretty for me,” Robby breathed. “You’re so good.”
His words did something to you. You knew he was doing it on purpose.
“Shame no one else is willing to get on their knees and worship you like you deserve,” he continued softly. He pressed soft kisses up and down your thigh. “Such a beautiful pussy should be kissed and praised.”
The sound you made when Robby began sucking on your clit in earnest was more of a squeal than anything else. It felt like every nerve was focused on the feeling in between your thighs. His fingers worked in and out of your slowly and with a firm pressure that you felt deep in your stomach. His tongue and mouth were far more impressive than you could have imagined.
“Oh my god, you’re so good at this. What the fuck,” you whined, burying your fingers in his hair. You wanted him pull him closer and grind on his face, but his grip on your hips kept you still.
At some point he added a third finger which made you release a choked laugh. With your good leg, you threw it over his shoulder, allowing his fingers to move deeper and hit your g-spot more effectively. The sensation of him between your thighs was overwhelming and you felt your legs trembling just slightly.
You braved a look between your legs and saw him staring up at him. Even without seeing his face, you knew he was grinning at you. Apparently, Robby was a smug bastard in bed. A particularly strong suck had you arching off the bed calling Robby’s name.
“Stop, stop,” you breathed lightly pushing him away. “I can’t cum twice and I want to come on your cock.”
Robby pulled away from your pussy and was drenched with your fluid. He looked proud of himself when he said,
“You really do make the best noises.”
“You really are good at eating a girl out,” you said breathing heavily. “When I am healed I’m going to suck your brain out of your dick.”
Laughing, Robby stood (his knees let out a massive crack that had you giggling), and laid down next to you in the bed. His hand trailed up your stomach before cupping your tit in his hand. Even if you weren’t particularly sensitive on your tits, having his hands on you was a mesmerizing feeling.
You hummed at his touch and pulled him over into a kiss. Your hand ran up and down his side until your fingers slid under his boxer briefs. Unsurprisingly, he was hot and heavy in your hand. He wasn’t quite as big as you feared, but you were glad he slid that third finger inside you.
“You’re so hard,” you said in between kisses.
“We have to talk over this before we start,” he replied pulling back and removing your hand from his underwear.
“Ugh,” you groaned. “You and your consent and safe sex.”
“Would you rather me force you down and fuck you?” He asked unimpressed.
“Maybe not tonight but we should table that idea for later,” you replied rolling on your side to look at him. His ears were bright red at the thought.
“I think you might kill me.”
“Pity, this is a lot of fun.”
He laughed pulled you on top of him. You laid half on him, your head pillowed on his chest. Even though you desperately wanted to know what he felt like shoving his cock in you, cuddling with him was certainly very enjoyable in itself.
“How are you feeling?”
“Arm is a little sore. Leg doesn’t hurt. Emotionally, doing great. You?”
“My knees will feel that tomorrow, but I’m also good. Feeling quite amazing, in fact.”
“I’m glad you said yes,” you told him pressing a kiss on his chest.
“I think we both know that I can’t say no to you.” He sighed. Then said, “I’m clean, I get tested regularly. Haven’t had sex since my last test. Happy to show you.”
“I trust you. I haven’t had sex in well over a year with anything other than my vibrator and was good during my last wellness exam.”
“I can’t wait to see you use this vibrator,” he said. “Watching you fall apart is so beautiful. I want to turn your brain off.”
You snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“You don’t think I can?”
“If anyone could, it would be you. I just don’t think my brain ever turns off. Rather annoying.”
Robby’s hand traced light trails up and down your back making you shiver.
“Guess we’ll see.”
“If you take that as a challenge it won’t be sexy,” you complained. “I don’t care about my brain turning off. I care about this, us, feeling you finally fuck me.”
“Finally, huh?”
“Yeah, I’ve got an IUD, there’s condoms in my side table, there’s nothing stopping us,” you complained poking him.
“You’re injured. There’s a lot stopping us.”
“If you bail on me now because you’re worried about hurting me, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Trust me,” he said. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. One taste of you was addicting enough.”
“As much as I want to see you, if I’m on my stomach on the bed, there’s not much of a chance to hurt myself,” you said.
“I like that,” he said.
“I want you on top of me, though,” you grumbled. “And then when my leg and arm are healed I’m going to ride you like a bronco, I swear to Christ.”
“Whenever I imagined this, I have to be honest, this is exactly how I thought you would be,” Robby laughed as he kissed the top of your head. “So stubborn and smart. The best ideas.”
“Robby,” you warned.
He noticed you never truly told him to stop, and you were not someone who shied away from voicing your opinion on something. He slid out from under you and opened the drawer of your side table. There was a nail file, some tissues, a rather sleek looking vibrator, and a small box of condoms. They were barely within their expiration window. He wondered who you bought them for.
Once he slid the condom on, it took a minute for the two of you to find a position that was comfortable. The two of you propped your hips up on some pillows and you reveled in the feeling of Robby’s body hovering over your own.
The first slide of cock against your folds made you whine. When he finally pushed in, you gasped and clenched at your sheets. He was big and from this position, he was firmly pressed on your g-spot. The feeling of him fully sheathed in you made you released tension you had no idea you held in your body.
Hovering over you, caging you with his body, made your nerves dance and tingle. It was not a surprise to you that you liked a man that could push you around, but the feeling of Robby pressing his weight down—even partially—confirmed what you suspected: you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.
“You feel so good around me,” Robby groaned in your ear. “You’re so good for me.”
“Just like that,” you moaned as his slowly pistoned his hips.
“Yeah? Take it. take what I’m giving you, sweetheart. I want you to know how amazing I think you are.”
Each thrust from Robby sent delicious tingles through your body. He braced his forearms by your head and you felt his chest press down on your back. The pressure of him made you groan into the bed. His mouth was by your ear. You could hear each breath, moan, and gasp he let out.
“Don’t muffle those pretty sounds. I want you to fall apart. Let go for me. Be my good girl,” he murmured.
Tomorrow you could be embarrassed by the way your body reacted to Robby calling you good girl, right now you couldn’t hide the tremor it sent through you. Your pussy clenched around him tightly.
“Good girl does it for you?” He asked. You could hear his smile.
“Fuck off,” you grumbled. He slowed in you until he was just lightly grinding against you, making you whine.
“As much as I love your attitude, that isn’t nice. Don’t you want to be good for me? Tell me how you feel. Tell me how I make you feel.”
And suddenly you realized why Robby was so successful with women he slept with. His whispered commands against your ear sent you to another stratosphere. You were confident this man could make you erupt with the power of his words alone.
“You feel so good, Robby,” you panted, trying to grind back onto him but in this position you had no leverage. “You’re so big and I want to feel it forever. Your pressed against me so well and it’s making me crazy. I don’t want this to end.”
“I’m so proud of you for using your words, sweetheart. Do you want me to keep going?”
“Yes, please,” you whined.
His hips began to move again and you released a punched out groan at the renewed friction.
“Feel it,” he commanded. “Feel me inside you.”
“So good,” you mumbled.
“Not as good as you are. You're perfect. Made for me. Made for me to slide into. Made for me to ravish and worship. Every sound you make. Every twitch and tremor. I’m memorizing it. Archiving it. I want to watch you give into the pleasure.”
“Ah, your dirty talk is insane,” you told him as he began to thrust into you more earnestly.
“You bring it out of me sweetheart. You make me crazy. So pretty, so young, so smart. And you’re letting me fuck you. I want you to feel as lucky as I do.”
For a few minutes there was nothing but the sounds of his hips slamming against yours and his quiet pants against your ear. You wrapped you hands around his wrists that were pressed above your shoulders. It was an awkward position, but you needed to hold onto him. Each thrust of his hips and press of his body made soft groans erupt from your mouth. You found yourself wanting to be more vocal for him.
“You’re so perfect under me,” he grunted. “You fit me so well. Such a good girl for me.”
“Fuck,” you hissed. Your body clenched so tightly even Robby’s pace faltered
“Are you getting close, sweetheart?” He almost cooed.
“Yes, please keep going just like that,” you mumbled against the pillow.
“Ah-ah, I want to hear you,” he said, redoubling his efforts.
“Please, Robby,” you said louder. “Keep going. I want to cum on your cock.”
“Do you need me to touch your clit?” He asked.
You nodded. “Yes please.”
You were sure how he managed to hold himself up and also snake a hand under you to rub two thinking fingers along your clit. Frankly, it was none of your business, because the sharp increase in pleasure make your hips buck. Being caught between Robby’s pistoning hips and deft fingers was getting you closer far faster than you expected.
“Jesus Christ, I’m getting close.”
“Yeah? C’mon, then, be a good girl. Cum on my cock for me. I want to feel you clench around me. I want to feel you lose control because of me.”
“Robby,” you whined.
“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” He asked. You could hear the breathlessness in his own voice as his hips became a little more frantic.
“Yes,” you moaned.
“Say it.”
“I want to be a good girl for you,” you cried. In this moment you would have done anything he asked you.
It was only a few strokes of his cock and fingers before you felt your body tighten and sparks fly. It was a slow build up at first, it almost crested gently. But once the orgasm hit, your muscles locked up and each continuing rub of his fingers and movement of his hips overwhelmed your body until you were shaking underneath him.
“Such a good girl,” he growled in your ear as he managed to hold back his own orgasm. “Squeezing me so tight. Can’t wait to cum in this pussy.”
It was another two thrust before Robby buried his face in your neck with a long groan, as he lazily fucked you through his own orgasm. Goosebumps erupted down your back as his beard almost tickled you. For a minute, he was sheathed deep inside of you, blanketing your body with his own.
It felt luxurious.
(It felt safe)
You wouldn't have admit that last part out loud, but there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Robby’s arms would be a safe place to fall. For more than a few minutes, you soaked in the presence of another person against you, appreciating the feeling of his body heat, the scratch of his hair, the puff of his breathing. It was so human and so monumental.
When he went to move, you whined and halfheartedly managed to pull him back down against you, resulting in his deep chuckle. Some of his weight on his knees, he wrapped his arms around your middle and began to place featherlight kisses along your shoulder making you shiver against him.
“You feel so good,” he mumbled against your skin.
“Same,” you sighed, fully blissed out. “I just want to stay like this for a minute.”
“As long as you want, sweetheart,” he said, continuing his kisses. It almost tickles and you can’t help the shudder that travels from your neck through your hips.
“Sweetheart, huh?” You asked. “I think that’s an oxymoron.”
“You’re not very nice to yourself.”
“I’m just well aware of how I come across.”
“I really don’t think you are,” he said frankly. He placed his lips against your ear and whispered, “You don’t seem to know how every time you walk into a room, you absolutely own the place. Or how everyone turns and listens when you talk. You’re competent and commanding, and more than that you're kind.”
You couldn’t help but snort. “Am not.”
“Don’t know what planet you’re living on, but you go out of your way to make sure bar patrons get home safe, you cover shifts when it’s inconvenient, and you called Jack even when you didn’t have to. I owe you a lot for that.”
“You would have been fine,” you protested weakly. “I’m just being a good community member.”
“I don’t know if I would have been. And sweetheart, being a good community member is being kind,” Robby said.
“I just don’t believe you,” you finally said.
“Then I’ll keep saying it until you do. Just like I’ll keep telling you how brilliant you are and how amazing you are. And maybe one day, I’ll hear you say it back.”
“Doubt it.”
“I believe it enough for the both of us,” he said kissing your cheek.
He slowly peeled himself away from you, and almost immediately you missed the weight and warmth. You heard him dispose of the condom and wander into your bathroom. At some point you needed to move, but frankly, you were still boneless after a good fuck and even better orgasm. Feeling the bed dip at Robby’s arrival, you felt him gently run a washcloth between your legs. It was intimate and caring in a way you were unfamiliar with. Vulnerable in a way that made your throat feel scratchy.
“Let me help you readjust,” Robby said, after finishing. You heard the washcloth tossed into your laundry basket.
You let Robby ease you off the mound of pillow propping up your hips. The bad leg was a little stiff, but not painful as you rolled over on your side. It’s the first time you caught a glimpse of Robby. His skin was still flushed and his glasses were perched precariously on his nose. There was a crooked smile on his face as he leaned over and kissed you.
It was his eyes that caught your attention the most. They always held emotion. You had noticed the pain and heartbreak all those nights at the bar. Now, however, slowly laying down next to you, his eyes were soft, creased with a happiness that seemed to be foreign on his face.
“I’m glad you let me talk you into this,” you admitted.
He shifted so you were wrapped in his arms, chest to chest, nose to nose. The blankets were still kicked to the end of the bed, but neither of you felt cold. Brushing you nose with his, he said,
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. This was very nice. Memorable. I can confirm that you do fuck. And you fuck well,” you announced.
Robby chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.
“Was that all this was? A fuck?” His voice was vulnerable.
You knew the question was coming, which is why you didn’t stutter over your answer,
“Depends, on if you plan to keep your promise of reminding me how great I am all the time.”
“I think it’s something I could make time for,” he said grinning.
-- -- --
More of an author's note: I can't remember if I saw the sad paddington bear thing on tumblr or not. If I accidentally stole this from someone let me know and I'll tag and credt. I just couldn't find anything when I looked.
— Most my work is 18+. Anything marked with an astrik* contains explicit content. Minors DNI, you will be blocked.
— All work is my own. Please do not repost anywhere else without my consent.
Under the cut you’ll find all my works for Dr. Jack Abbot!
Series
Semper Fi masterlist (x f!doctor!reader) hiatus
Mini-Series
Night Shift (outlining)
Multipart
champagne problems (planning on hold)
One Shots
Cast — After an incident at baseball practice, you and your son end up in the ER.
In Your Defense — After getting on your nerves all day, you and Santos finally go toe-to-toe over a patient. Jack comes to your defense.
These Walls Have Eyes — Rumors always start somewhere — and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and Myrna overhearing you.
in the wreckage — It’s in the wreckage of what was that you find hope for what could be.
Any Excuse — A snapshot of your interactions with the ruggedly handsome ER doctor, and several of the excuses he uses to see you.
In the Vibrations - Sleep refused to take hold of you, but Michael never did.
Bedside Manner — After ignoring your symptoms for too long, Michael is forced to bring you into the ER.
Cursing* — Robby figures out what gets you all hot and bothered.
A Fresh Start — Forgiveness comes slowly, and you’re thankful for the fresh start.
Be. — You had no intentions of falling for the sad-eyed attending on one of your rotations. And yet, here you are.
Riled Up* — You would be lying if you said you didn’t do it on purpose.
Better Than Revenge* — Maybe having sex with your ex’s boss isn’t the best way to move on, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every moment of it.
ABOUT: Keeping a relationship a secret from your mother is hard—harder when you're the chief nurse's daughter and your boyfriend is the chief of the ER.
PAIRING: Michael Robinavitch x dana's daugther!reader
NOTES: I had so much fun writing this! I hope you enjoy it as I did :)
“It’s simple,” Robby says from behind you, pulling your bare body close to his. “Come with me on the sabbatical.”
You scoff. “My mother would kill me.”
“What is that, Miss Evans?” he murmurs against your shoulder, his arms tightening slightly around you. “Fearing your mother like a teenage girl?”
You pull away and stand, reaching for your robe. “Oh, she would hate having two fewer doctors to boss around in the ER. And she hates your motorcycle.”
Robby watches you tie the belt, slow and unimpressed. “She hates my motorcycle because it makes me look irresponsible.”
“It makes you look like you’re having a midlife crisis.”
You’re the daughter of Dana Evans — chief nurse, institutional legend, and unapologetic helicopter mother. She raised you with discipline, structure, and a near-religious respect for the ER. You learned to walk in hospital corridors. Learned to read off triage charts. Learned that competence was love, and composure was survival.
She raised you well enough to make you a doctor.
And she raised you well enough not to date one of the doctors she specifically told you to stay away from.
Yet here you are.
Barefoot on cold hardwood. Robe loosely tied. Heart hopelessly entangled with a man who lives on adrenaline and stubbornness in equal measure.
Robby watches you from across the room, reading the shift in your expression like it’s a monitor alarm.
“That look,” he says quietly. “That’s the internal committee meeting.”
You exhale softly. “You were explicitly categorized as a bad idea.”
He nods once. “I can see why Dana didn’t want me anywhere near her daughter. She knows me too well.”
There’s no teasing in his voice now. No arrogance. Just something uncomfortably honest.
“She knows what I’m like,” he continues. “The hours. The temper. The way I disappear into the job when things get bad.” His jaw tightens. “She’s watched me walk out of that ER at five in the morning covered in someone else’s blood.”
You lean against the bed, resting your head briefly against his bicep. “She also knows about your seven-week spiral,” you say lightly. “And the fact that when I was born, you were finishing med school.”
“I was twenty-six,” he corrects automatically.
You roll your eyes. “That does not help your case.”
He opens his mouth to argue—
And then you both hear it.
The unmistakable sound of your front door unlocking.
The metallic click. The soft push of wood against the frame.
You freeze.
Robby goes completely still. “Did you give anyone a key?” he whispers.
“My mother has one.”
Of course she does.
There’s the faint sound of sensible heels on hardwood. A purse being set down. The soft but commanding sigh of someone who has already decided she disapproves of something.
“Why is the chain not on?” Dana’s voice carries down the hallway. “You live alone. This is how people get murdered.”
Robby’s eyes widen.
You shove yourself upright so fast you nearly headbutt him. “Bathroom,” you hiss.
He glances down at himself. “I am naked.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Yours,” he whispers harshly.
The heels get closer.
“Sweetheart?” your mother calls. “I brought the staffing reports you asked for.”
You tighten the belt of your robe and point frantically toward the bathroom.
He moves — fast, silent, efficient. Years of sneaking naps in on-call rooms are finally useful.
Dana’s silhouette appears at the end of the hallway just as the bathroom door clicks shut.
You step away from the bed, forcing composure.
“Hey, Ma.”
She rounds the corner. Her eyes take in your flushed face. The slightly disheveled bed. The unmistakable fact that it is mid-afternoon and you are very clearly not dressed for productivity.
“Why do you look like you’ve run a code?” she asks calmly.
“I haven’t. It’s my free day.” You pivot quickly. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” she says, holding up a folder. “I brought the revised staffing projections. If Dr. Motorcycle disappears for a year, I need to know how catastrophic the damage will be.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s going to be just three months.”
“Three months,” she repeats flatly, as if you’ve said three minutes. “Yes. A quarter. A fiscal sneeze.”
“Mom, you’re the chief nurse of the ER, not the CEO of the hospital.”
Her gaze sharpens — but instead of firing back, her eyes drift, slow and deliberate, toward the closed bathroom door.
“…Is someone here, darling?” she asks.
You hold her stare for a second. You try.
But your mother raised you. She taught you how to hold pressure on a femoral artery and how to maintain eye contact during conflict. She also knows the exact microsecond your confidence fractures.
Your eyes give you away.
You sigh. “Yes.”
“Is it Dr. Motorcycle?”
You close your eyes briefly. “Robby.”
“I’m very aware of the name of my son-in-law,” she replies coolly. “Is he here? Tell Dr. Midlife Crisis he can come out. If he’s going to sabotage my staffing schedule, he can at least do it while wearing pants.”
You blink. “Son-in-law?”
Her eyebrow lifts. “If he’s going to rearrange my department’s call schedule and occupy my daughter’s bedroom in the middle of the afternoon, I’m operating under the assumption this is not casual.”
Your mouth opens. Closes. “That is not— we have not—”
She lifts a hand. “Tell him to come out.”
From the hallway, a pause.
Then the bathroom door opens.
Robby steps out composed, fully dressed, jacket on, posture straight. He looks like he’s about to present at grand rounds — not like he was hiding behind a hollow-core door five seconds ago.
“Dana,” he says evenly.
She looks him up and down once — assessing. “Robby. I’m hoping you intend to make my daughter an honest woman.”
You feel your soul leave your body.
Robby doesn’t flinch. “With respect,” he says carefully, “I intend to make your daughter whatever she wants to be.”
Dana’s eyes narrow slightly — not offended, but evaluating.
“And what,” she asks coolly, “does my daughter want to be?”
You open your mouth, but Robby answers first.
“She wants to be respected,” he says. “Challenged. Supported. She wants a partner, not a handler.”
The room goes very still.
“You rehearsed that,” Dana says.
“No,” he replies. “I’ve been listening.”
Something softens at the edges of her expression.
“Hm,” she hums, folding her arms. “Listening is a start.”
You finally cut in. “Can everyone please stop discussing my life like it’s a treatment plan?”
“If it were a treatment plan,” Dana replies calmly, “I’d want to ensure long-term stability.”
Robby glances at you. Softer. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Your mother catches that look. Of course she does.
“See that you don’t,” she says evenly. “Because if you hurt her, Robby, I will make your professional life profoundly inconvenient.”
“Understood.”
She nods once. “Sweetheart, I love you, but I can’t believe you’re going to make me call this man my son-in-law.”
“We are not engaged,” you say weakly.
Dana gives you a look. “You think I don’t recognize trajectory?”
“I haven’t proposed,” Robby says calmly.
“Yet,” she replies.
She turns back to him. “Three months. You take a sabbatical. You remove yourself from my emergency department. And you expect her to just… what? Stay here and wait?”
“No,” Robby says. “I asked her to come with me.”
Dana’s gaze snaps to you. “You did?”
“It was hypothetical,” you say quickly.
“It was not hypothetical,” Robby says quietly.
Silence settles — heavier now.
Dana looks at you. Not as chief nurse. Not as institutional legend.
As your mother.
“Do you want to go?” she asks.
Your throat tightens. “I don’t know.”
She exhales slowly. “Darling, if you leave, you are not abandoning the ER. And you are not abandoning me.”
“I know.”
“And if you stay,” she adds, “you are not choosing safety over love.”
Your chest aches at that.
She straightens, armor sliding back into place.
“I dislike this,” Dana announces briskly. “I dislike uncertainty. I dislike sabbaticals. And I deeply dislike motorcycles.”
“Noted,” Robby says.
“But,” she continues, adjusting the folder under her arm, “I dislike the idea of my daughter living half a life even more.”
She moves toward the door.
“And Robby?”
“Yes, Dana.”
“If you take her anywhere near that motorcycle without a helmet rated for catastrophic stupidity,” she says coolly, “I will personally end you.”
“Understood.”
She pauses at the threshold.
“Son-in-law remains provisional.”
The door closes.
The apartment is suddenly very quiet.
You look at Robby. He looks at you.
“Well,” he says softly, “that could have gone worse.”
You let out a shaky breath. “She didn’t threaten you with a spreadsheet.”
“That feels significant.”
You step into him, pressing your forehead briefly against his chest.
“Three months?” you murmur.
“Three months,” he confirms.
“And you’d really want me there?”
His hand slides gently to your waist — steady, warm.
“I don’t want a break from my life,” he says quietly. “I want you in it.”
Your heart does something inconvenient and irreversible.
Somewhere in the city, Dana Evans is absolutely updating a staffing grid.
And whether she likes it or not, she’s leaving a space open.
summary: a rough night ends up with you in your boss's truck a.k.a the shift where it all started for burn and abbot, to no one's surprise.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader is referred to as burn (like crash & burn, get it?), light swearing, mentions of seizures & death, inaccurate medical scenario prob (guys i'm only on my undergrad plz, i haven't taken the mcat), yearning by reader, technically apart of the controlled chaos series, but can be read on it's own
wc: 3.8k ... sorry
a/n: okay hi wow this ended up being way longer than i wanted it to be but my fingers were on cruise control hehehehe. enjoy how i think burn and jack first initiated things! xoxo <3
You’re not really sure how you ended up in the passenger seat of your boss's truck, but God, here we are. This night was doomed from the beginning.
It probably started when you walked into PTMC, absolutely drenched, swept up by the chaos of the city and the relentless downpour of rain that seemed to never cease nowadays.
6:45 PM - WEDNESDAY
“I’m never taking that route again,” you grumble as you walk in, shedding your soaked jacket before you can even reach the lockers.
The rain from the jacket drips onto the floor with a soft ‘plop’, while your boots squeak along the floor with no mercy.
“Stupid city, stupid bus, stupid—” your repeated complaints were momentarily silenced by the sight that was in front of you. It took a moment to process the scene in full, really.
John Shen, newly appointed attending, was engaged in an arm wrestle challenge with two men at once. Right in front of your locker. Blocking all hope of dry scrubs and salvation. You push past them with an eye roll as you hang up the poor-looking coat. One of the men who had been wrestling turned around to greet you, exhaustion rimming his sad eyes.
“Is it still raining out there?” Dennis Whitaker asks, knowing the obvious truth from the way your hair dripped. You just sigh and grab a pair of scrubs before nodding. It was going to be a long, long day.
Shen wins a round, presumably, because the room erupts in cheers, and a very angry ortho resident storms out without saying a word.
“Nice job, Johnny boy!!” you exclaim, coming around to clap him on the back and to grab a donut from his bag. Shen tries to grab it back, but fails before Parker Ellis walks in behind him and kicks him in the back of his knee.
“Stay sharp, Shen. You’re slacking,” Ellis grins, grabbing a donut as well before she collapses against the array of lockers. She took a once-over of your sopping state before raising a quizzical brow.
“New fashion statement burn, or what?” John lets out a howl before you shoot him a glare and grab another donut.
You roll your eyes and shake the new set of scrubs in your hands. “How’d you know? It’s French vintage,” you joked, exiting the locker room to change in the bathroom.
The bathroom, the perfect place of solace for the female staff recently, it seemed. You quickly shed your clothes, not wanting to be late for hand-offs for the nth time this month.
It was a bad habit, but there were worse ones to have. Like staring at your boss, for example. Not that you do that, of course?
You exit, making a beeline for your locker, but end up running into a solid wall of man. A man of many titles, doctor, medic, widow– but only one name: Jack Abbot. You reel back, uttering an immediate sorry and donning an apologetic smile.
“Eaaasy, killer,” Jack laughs, reaching an arm out to steady you as the momentum throws off your balance. He gives you a once-over, maybe twice, but hey, who’s counting? Your hair was still messy from the rain; you hadn’t had a chance to even look at it yet.
“Did you do something different with your hair?”
Jack asks out of the blue, not even bringing up how late you were for handoffs and how Robby would probably make some comment when you saw him.
You reach up to smooth out your frizz and laugh softly. “I mean, technically, yes,” you giggle, wondering how silly it looked, thinking Jack was making a joke. Instead, he just nods and turns, walking over to the nurse station, but not before calling over his shoulder.
“Looks good, Burn.”
You would be lying if you said your heart wasn’t beating out of your chest, but you don’t have time to focus on your hot boss, because Trinity Santos sneaks up behind you before you can.
“My lovely roommate who I haven’t seen in 14 hours! Where have you been?” Santos quips, poking your side incessantly.
You push away her hand and sigh. “The stupid bus stopped short, I had to walk half a mile in the rain.” Santos pouts and makes fake crying gestures.
“My poor baby, late for handoffs again.”
Trinity teases, waving a chart in her hand. This wasn’t out of the ordinary; you weren’t the most punctual resident that PTMC had seen, nor were you trying to be.
“Oh, great, so you’ll just pass your cases off to me? That way you don’t have to stay any longer, and I don’t have to get talked to by Robby?” you plead, not wanting to experience another hallway chat about being on time. Never from Abbot, however.
Trinity rolls her eyes, but hands you the chart anyway as she explains her caseload. Most patients during hand-off were those who needed beds but lacked space upstairs, meaning they stayed in the ED for monitoring.
As Santos gets into the incident of the day involving Whitaker and an elderly woman, your eyes trail off to a certain attending who was talking with Ellis.
“You paying attention? Or are you making googly eyes at our boss again?”
Trinity smirks, looking between the two of you. You smack her on instinct and avert your gaze. It’s not like you had a crush on him or anything; he was just…nice to look at, sometimes. Well, all the time, really.
Santos finishes explaining the patient before walking off to chart, too busy to tease you any further.
10 PM - WEDNESDAY
You stare at the countless messages that were plaguing your notifications, most from the work group chat you’ve come to love.
A sharp chill runs down your spine, probably the caffeine from your energy drink coursing through your body. It was an outrageous amount of caffeine to be drinking at 6 PM, but when you work the night shift, you need all you can get.
“Ohhh, Burn~ This girl in chairs has a sewing needle stuck through her finger.”
Shen walks behind you, waving the chart in his hands as if it were some sort of trophy. Your eyes widen. It had been a quiet night and you were *dying* for some sort of excitement.
“John, if you love me–” your pleas were silenced by Shen’s finger. He held the chart over your head, and you already knew he was going to barter.
“One, don’t question my love for you. That’s insulting. Two, I will give you Ms. Needle…If…,” John trails off, motioning for you to come in closer, so that no one else would hear. “If you cover me for the last two hours.”
Your lips part. That would be rough, to say the least. The night shift was infamously understaffed, so missing even one doctor was enough to send the emergency department into imbalance.
“Johnny boy, you’re an attending now, I can’t just cover–”
Shen’s finger is once again on your lips, quieting your worries, literally. He shakes his head with a smile before bringing you close again.
“You’ll be fine, it’s only an hour, and I got Ellis on it too.”
Parker was also just a resident, but the two of you could handle anything, especially with Abbot as backup. You groan and suck in a deep breath.
“God, this better be the best case I’ve ever seen,” you huff, grabbing the chart from Shen as he skips off, most likely to bother Ellis and retrieve his coffee.
“What should be?” Jack appears behind you, shoulders broad and hands in his pockets, coming from an exam room.
The chart that is in your hands feels suddenly heavy as you tuck it under your arm, trying to be nonchalant and not ogle him. You flash him a smile, pointing to the waiting room.
“Needle in finger. Ellis and I are taking it.”
You omit the part about Shen bartering with you, which could stay a secret between friends. Jack nods, looking over to see the kid standing with her mom.
“Probably a wild child trying to keep up with the trends,” Abbot jokes, shaking his head. You roll your eyes.
“Been there, done that,” you laugh softly, missing the way Jack’s eyebrow quirks slightly. “Wild children make interesting adults, though,” At least, you think they do.
“It seems that way.” Jack's gaze lands on you, but you don’t notice, already heading towards chairs, ready to investigate the patient who just cost you two hours of stability.
2 AM - THURSDAY
Your excitement for the night lasted as long as your ex-boyfriend, the girl already gone, the needle long forgotten. So now, you were doing what you do best– trolling Whitaker about his relationship with Robby while simultaneously defending him from Santos’ siege of questions.
It was getting to that point of the night where everyone seemed to hit a lull, even Abbot, who seemed to never take a break.
Santos and Whitaker eventually go to bed, leaving you to your devices once again. You sigh, spinning the chair by the charting station, hoping something exciting would come your way.
And, boy, did it, in the form of Jack Abbot. The attending suddenly reappears in your line of vision, running with a visibly lethargic young boy.
The child was flushed, sweat clinging to him like he had been sprayed with it. You quickly jump up to assist, calling out for a bed and a room. Jack sets the kid down with the urgency and gentleness that you wouldn’t expect from someone who looked so gruff.
“Kid was found unresponsive by mom, no idea when symptoms started,” Jack mumbles to you, already moving to check his vitals.
You nod and begin to push the bed into the room, locking eyes with Jack, who was wearing a grim expression. Jack takes over assessing him, while you order the remaining tests.
“Mateo, can we get him up to CT right away? And rush his cultures,” you call out the orders before returning to where Abbot was looking the boy over. You lift up the boy's shirt, noticing a blooming rash beginning to pepper his small frame.
“Shit.”
Jack’s eyes rush to meet yours, wide and pressing.
“What? What’s wrong?” He rushes over to your side, peering down to see where your gaze lands. He frowns softly before letting out a sigh and taking off his gloves. “Could be meningitis.”
“I’ll set up for a lumbar puncture then,” you sigh.
It never felt good to do spinal taps on kids. As you call out for a nurse, the monitor starts beeping fervently, and the child starts to seize. Jack immediately is on the boy, holding his head stable and barking out his vitals.
The next few minutes blur together, you and Jack working in tandem as you attempt to stop the seizure. You check the monitor as the waves rise and fall in a disjointed rhythm.
“He’s tachy– keep pushing that 0.5 of lorazepam,” you huff, the caffeine and adrenaline making you lose yourself in the whirlwind of codes and orders being called out.
Within minutes, the monitor emits a continuous tone. Your eyes reach to meet Jacks and you sigh, understanding each other without saying a word. He gives you a soft smile before tugging off his gloves and walking towards you.
“We did our best, okay? You were amazing tonight, always are,” Jack pats your shoulder as he walks out of the trauma room, probably letting the parents know. God, you wish this day would end quicker than it is.
5:45 AM - THURSDAY
Shen had left a while ago, leaving you and Ellis to run around for the last hour, preparing all of the patients to be transferred to the day shift.
You yawn softly, reaching for your small paper cup that held the world’s most disgusting coffee. The delicious iced caramel latte that Shen had been kind enough to doordash for you was long gone, leaving you to drink the sludge that Robby called ‘Coffee’.
“You actually drink that tar?”
Ellis grumbles, making a face like you were personally offending her. Coffee wasn’t something that you were particular about, especially after the atrocities you had to get used to during med school.
You just shrug and take another swig. “Coffee’s coffee, Parker. Any caffeine is good in my book,” Ellis shakes her head and continues to chart in silence.
It was nearing shift change, and with any luck, people would come in to relieve you from your torture. Not that you hated night shift– the opposite, actually, but you craved excitement on boring nights like these.
Your wishes are soon answered, as Mohan walks in 20 minutes to 6:00, looking like she just rose from the Garden of Eden. It was frustrating that the day shift looked so rejuvenated when they came in, while the night shift looked like zombies, but hey, at least someone was enjoying a normal sleep schedule.
The rest of the shift flies by, with Trinity, Dennis, and Robby all arriving not long after, making hand-off smooth and efficient. It was only about an hour later that you caught up on your charting and could finally make your way home.
7:25 AM - THURSDAY
Your fantasies of walking home to the sunrise and grabbing food on the way were quickly squashed when you realized it was still raining, if not harder than when you clocked in last night.
“You’ve got to be fucking with me,” you grumble, pulling your coat over your head. The bus was going to take forever, and you didn’t feel like walking through what the puddles of Pittsburgh were hiding.
With a groan, you turn around to walk back inside, only to be met with a familiar broad chest.
“You must really like bumping into people today, Kid.”
Jack laughs, steadying you for the second time this shift. It was almost like deja vu, really. You shoot him an apologetic smile before turning back to look at the flooding streets.
“Sorry, sorry. Just wanting to escape–” you motion to the dreary landscape, “this.
Jack looks down at you with his familiar teasing glare. “What, you mean you don’t like when it rains for 12 hours straight?” He shifts his weight, his prosthetic clicking softly.
You roll your eyes, noticing how his eyes crinkled at the corners, his age showing through laughter lines. It was cute, you thought, knowing that he smiled so often in his life that his skin adapted to it.
“Not when I have to walk home, no,” You huff. ‘Maybe Trinity would let me borrow her umbrella,’ you think, trying to brainstorm how to get as little wet as possible.
Before you could think of a solution, however, Jack is already pulling at your arm and leading you to the staff parking lot. You furrow your brow.
“Dr. Abbot?” you call out, not understanding what the rain had to do with whatever he was attempting to do. He leads you to his truck before opening the passenger door, eyebrow cocked like he’s expecting you to be in the seat already.
“Well, get in, Burn.”
Jack motions towards the seat like it was normal that you would be in his truck. It takes a moment to register that he was offering you a ride, and your heartbeat betrays any sort of calm disposition you are trying to have.
You consider just braving the weather, after all, isn’t it not appropriate to ride home with your boss? All hesitations are thrown from the window; however, when you remember just how far you would have to walk. In wet shoes, no less.
So that is how you found yourself in the passenger seat of Jack Abbot’s truck, only mildly wet from the rain this time.
Your fingers were flying across your screen, frantic messages being sent to the group chat you had with Trinity and Dennis, sending out SOS messages. All of your pleas were met with crude reaction pics and laughter at your expense.
With a grumble, you turn off your phone and turn to look at Jack, who seemed to already be looking at you.
“Something on my face, Unc?” you joke, catching Abbot’s gaze. He just smiled and looked away, rolling his soft eyes.
“Nah, just checking to make sure my favorite resident isn’t melting from a little water. That’s all,” Jack bites back a laugh as you hit his shoulder with a playful intensity.
“Aweee! I’m your favorite resident?” you beam with faux positivity. “Not Ellis?”
Jack shook his head and met your eyes. “Ellis is my best resident, but you’re fun too, I guess.” He remarks, the banter rolling off his tongue.
You don’t give him the satisfaction of laughing at his joke, and instead take in the rainy morning and thank your lucky stars you weren’t walking right now. It had been a rough shift; you really didn’t need wet shoes for the second time today.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you be quiet for longer than 30 seconds,” Abbot jokes, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at your tired state.
You shrug, feeling the effect of your day hit you like a ton of bricks. You usually felt better about nights like this after a glass of wine with Trinity and Dennis, or during hand-offs when you could see Mel, but you didn’t get the chance due to the chaos Shen created in his absence.
“I can be quiet sometimes, Abbot.”
You scoff playfully, turning your body back towards him. He raises an eyebrow, his expression screaming ‘no you can’t’, but doesn’t correct you. How merciful of him. You tuck your hair behind your ear.
“Do I look so edgy and mysterious?”
“Of course…and it’s Jack,” Abbot says with an all-too-casual tone. The rain seemed to grow harder the longer you were in the car. You furrow your brow in confusion.
“...That’s your name, isn’t it?” you quip, not understanding what the hell the old man was talking about. “Are you going senile already, Doctor Abbot?”
Jack rolled his eyes and gave you his signature frown that was much too pouty for a man in his 50s, but it suited him nonetheless.
“I’m saying to call me ‘Jack’, smartass,” Abbot grumbles softly, and if you squint, there might be a pink tint to his freckled ears. You just laugh softly and nod.
“Just teasing, Jack,” you try the name out. You had always referred to him as ‘Abbot’ to everyone else, or used his title when speaking to him directly (well, besides the casual ‘Unc’ here and there). His name didn’t feel as foreign on your lips as you thought it would. Jack smiles in the driver's seat and looks out the window to see an array of pedestrians with umbrellas.
“Do you always walk to work?” He asks suddenly, turning the radio down until it was just a whisper in the background.
“When it’s nice, otherwise I try to catch the bus. Sometimes the route gets interrupted, though, like today.” You shrug casually, public transportation was a girl’s best friend…mostly. “I used to ride in with Santos and Whitaker before I was put on the night shift, since Trin has a car.”
Mornings with Trinity and Dennis used to be the best part of your days, besides saving lives, you guessed. Whitaker would use his farmboy prowess to cook breakfast that was certainly not AHA-recommended, while you would make smoothies for everyone. Santos was a slow riser; you were lucky if she woke 5 minutes before you had to go in. Jack slows for a red light before turning to look at you.
“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow too, how about I swing by before I go in and we can drive together?”
Jack suggests, his eyes confirming that it was an honest offer. Your heart stills for a moment. If you didn’t know better, you would think you died at work, and this was heaven.
“Uhm, that would be amazing actually, but I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything–” Jack gives you a look that screams ‘Please, as if’ before shrugging.
“Not an inconvenience. I offered, didn’t I?” Jack’s voice was so earnest, you think it might kill you. The apartment you shared with Trinity and Dennis was only about two minutes away at this point, your bed so close it was calling your name.
“Thank you, Doctor– I mean, Jack,” you beam, turning to smile at him in gratefulness. Jack’s ears turn an embarrassing shade of pink suddenly as he turns onto your street. He clears his throat and nods.
“Of course, y/n.”
You pull up to your complex a few moments later, the rain still pouring as if it would never cease. However, this new offer made you wonder if you even wanted it to stop. Jack puts the car in park before hopping out, making his way to your car door.
“Wow, who knew the rugged and mysterious Doctor Abbot would be such a gentleman?” you joke, grabbing your go-bag and sliding out of your seat onto the wet concrete. Jack rolled his eyes, closing his door.
“I always am, aren’t I, Burn?” he jokes. The rain was beginning to drip down his face, and if you stood there any longer, you weren’t sure how long it would be before your staring problem was discovered.
“Keep telling yourself that, Unc,” you laugh before turning to run into your complex. You made it about halfway there before hearing Jack call your name from the curb. He was leaning out of his truck, head popping over the roof.
“Pick you up at 5?” Jack calls, his voice booming across the short distance. Your eyebrows furrowed.
“5? Isn’t that a bit early?” you call back. Shift change was typically at 6:30 with 7:00 as a hard deadline to punch in, but you knew Abbot was a bit of a workaholic. Jack shrugs from the truck and smiles.
“Thought we could get dinner before, I wanna hear about this Whitaker and Robby thing I keep hearing about.”
Jack shouts, water now staining his black undershirt. It was almost too much for you to handle; this was truly the most torturous day of your life.
Your expression widens to one of shock, but you find yourself nodding before the words can even come out.
“Oh, uhm, yeah.” you stutter slightly. “But you’re paying,” you joke.
“Always do.” Jack grins, wiping a bead of rain off his forehead. “See you at 5 then, Burn.”
Jack gets into his truck and gives you a wave before driving off into the rainy weather again, leaving you reeling in his wake. It was like all of your grandiose delusions were coming into fruition at once.
“Holy shit, Trinity is going to FREAK,” you breathe out, immediately opening your group chat. PTMC was about to get a whole lot more chaotic, it seemed.
summary: the everyday conversations between pittsburgh's most beloved trauma doctors (mostly.) and you! small snippets of how i think the pitt characters would interact when not over a patient.
warnings: MDNI 18+ . swearing, inappropriate usage of a work gc, bullying of characters (no one is safe), slight nsfw, crack fic. reader is referred to as 'burn', roommates with santos and whitaker trope, hucklerobby mentioned, afab reader.
wc: 22.5k
content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, no age gap, reader in her mid to late forties, rivals to lovers, med student flash backs, parental death, suicide, suicidal ideation, cat dad!robby, sabbatical!robby, biker!robby, motorcycle accident (minor injuries), whump, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, so much domestic fluff, discussions of mental health, complicated parental relationship, like literally so much domesticity it's sickening, robby nicknamed reader bambi back in med school, mostly used in flashbacks, reader has a tattoo
synopsis: michael robinavitch was practically your sworn enemy in med school. your sworn enemy that you'd slept with, regretably, once. then twenty years passed and back in pittsburgh, you see one michael robinavitch on hinge. ever the hopeless romantic, you can't help the curiosity that leads you to match with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't remember you.
a/n: this one is for all my fellow hopeless romantics. it's so romantic and dramatic it borders on cringe but whatever. i had a ton of fun writing all my deepest romantic and domestic fantasies. welcome to my dream house, i tried to paint it as cozy as possible. <3 -syd
Your favorite part of being called in to the hospital on a Saturday was the peace and quiet of the lab. Doubly so today, because you were called in during the night shift.
Pathology didn't really have "night shifts" or even weekend shifts so the lab was completely empty when you arrived. Immediately, you set up your space, your speaker, pulled out the iced coffee you'd made at home, unscrewing the cap on the Ball jar.
Originally, you'd planned to spend the night on the couch with your tabby cat, Brutus (named in such a way so when he inevitably destroyed your furniture or knocked your favorite mug off the table you could at least find some whimsy in crying "Et tu, Brute?" theatrically), and a movie that you'd heard would make you cry. You'd been meaning to cry for a while now, but hadn't been able to find the time. You supposed you could push it to another night, depending on how long you ended up being in the hospital tonight.
You hummed along to the playlist you'd started on your speaker as you prepared a blood smear from the sample you'd been called in for.
Jack Abbot was the attending on shift in the ED this evening. You had only met him in person once or twice, but you were glad it was him and not Michael. Or, Robby, it seemed he was going by these days. You hadn't yet run into him since being back at PTMC, but you were not eager to reminisce with him, especially since it was becoming more and more clear that he had no recollection of you.
It shouldn't have bothered you so much. It had been two med school rotations and one extremely disappointing hookup when you'd both gotten too drunk after shift. But he had been instrumental in you picking pathology for residency. At the time, the decision had been full of complicated emotions, resentment, a complete misunderstanding of who you were and what you wanted. But now, well, you thought maybe you owed him your gratitude.
Your phone pinged while you were prepping your slides and you eyed it and found it was a notification from Hinge.
From Robby.
You inhaled slowly and looked away as your screen went dark. You had no idea what the fuck you were doing, chatting with Robby on a dating site. You told yourself you just were curious when your thumb tapped the heart on his profile. Middle aged looked really really good on him, you wouldn't deny that, but you still saw the baby faced, skinny rod of a med student when you looked at him. And when he'd first initiated the chat, you realized very quickly he didn't remember you.
You found yourself preening under his attention, how he complimented your photos and your mind through conversations. The both of you established early on that you didn't want to discuss work beyond confirming that you were both doctors working in PTMC. But you repeatedly dodged his attempts to meet up and grab a drink. You weren't sure how long you could keep it all up without admitting that you knew him already. Intimately, even.
You suspected soon enough, he'd get tired of trying to get you to meet up with him and move on to the next thing. But thus far, he'd been persistent, going on weeks now.
But you didn't have time for him right now so you turned your attention back to your slides. Slipping one beneath the microscope, you focused the knobs slowly, letting your world narrow to the blood sample, the blood cells.
This was why you loved your job. How easy it was to slip outside yourself and into whatever sample you were looking at. There was always a clear answer hiding in the shape of the cells, just beneath the surface. There was always a clear path to diagnosis, to treatment, to healing. Everything made perfect sense under the light of a microscope.
And this sample, as always, made perfect sense after just a few minutes. You sighed, "Shit."
You couldn't risk just sending this back via the online portal for whenever the doctor deigned to check the chart next so you picked up the phone. It rang and rang and rang.
You shook your head and put the phone back on the receiver. As quickly as possible, you documented the chart, still trying to get ahold of someone, but no one was picking up the phone. What the fuck was going on down there?
Impatient, you decided to head down yourself after saving your changes in the chart. You walked briskly towards the elevators, rocked on your heels as you waited.
The second the elevator doors opened you were knocked practically on your ass by the noise and the chaos of the ED. It was rare you came down here at all and every time you did it felt like being thrown back to med school rotations. Suddenly you were again the floundering med student constantly being expected to be on the lookout for the daggers of the other students as well as practice medicine efficiently.
But you were an adult now, not the twenty year old naive kid genius walking around on wobbly legs. Pushing your shoulders back, you shook it off and headed for the hub. Luckily, Dr. Abbot was right there.
"Your phones not working down here or something?" You asked without preamble, hands on your hips.
Abbot looked up at you slowly and then over to the phone. You followed his gaze and saw that the phone was lying off the receiver, "Ah, shit, sorry." He put the receiver back on the hook, "What could be so urgent it coaxes path from the comforts of the cave upstairs?"
You smirked, "Your patient has TTP."
He sighed and picked up an iPad, "Fuck," he muttered when he pulled up the chart you'd just updated, "Okay, um," He shook his head, "I don't think we have the resources down here to start TPE."
You frowned, "Okay… Admit to ICU, then."
He laughed, "Yeah, right. Good luck getting the charge to agree to admit a patient on a Saturday night."
You bit your lip, and then sighed, "Alright, give me… fifteen minutes and I'll be back down here with an apheresis machine, I'll run it."
He raised his eyebrows, "Really? You'd do that?"
You shrugged, "I could run apheresis in my sleep."
Slowly Abbot nodded and smirked at you, "Alright, great. Thank you."
Later, you sat in the hub of the emergency department after setting up the patient for TPE and finally opened your messages from Michael—Robby, you corrected yourself.
What's my favorite homebody up to this evening? Any way I can convince you to grab a drink?
You stifled a smirk and typed back, I'm on call tonight. Sorry, cowboy.
"Hey," You looked up to see Abbot leaning over the counter to look at you, "Seriously, thank you for staying."
"No problem," You eyed the chaos around you, "Seemed like you guys could use the help."
"Always." He laughed and nodded, "Listen, some of us in the ED are getting together for a poker night next Friday, would you… be interested in coming?"
You blinked up at him, unsure of what to make of the offer. Was he flirting or just being nice? You'd heard that Jack Abbot flirted with everyone, so likely he didn't mean anything by it at all. While you were trying to figure it out, your phone pinged again. Robby. You flipped your phone facedown on the workstation desk.
"Why not?" You said and smiled up at him.
"Great," He unlocked his phone and handed it to you, "Here, put your number in and I'll text you the details."
Having entered your information, you returned his phone to him and then he was off. Sighing, you turned back to your phone to open Robby's latest message.
They're working you too hard. I thought path was supposed to be easy?
You rolled your eyes at this, but were unsurprised. For as much as you remembered him complaining about surgeons during your rotations, that they had a superiority complex, he had the same issues. And so had you, once upon a time, but you had grown out of it.
Having a work-life balance doesn't make the whole specialty "easy."
Almost immediately, a reply was on your phone: Sorry, I didn't mean to diminish your specialty. The ED would cease to function without collaboration from path, I know that. And your diagnoses have saved our asses on multiple occasions when we were busy chasing zebras.
Well. That was new. An apology without hesitation that seemed to drip through with humility and sincerity.
Though, it also was not lost on you that he had incentive to be nicer to you in the context of a dating app considering he'd been trying to fuck you for the last few weeks.
Apology accepted, you texted back, I know your true frustration lies with the inability to have your way with me tonight. You stifled a smile after hitting send. It reminded you of being in college, the casual flirtation. You hadn't had time for this sort of thing in med school or residency, doing your best to just survive. Then, when you were finally an attending, you were so burnt out you remembered practically sleep walking through the first couple of years. By the time that was all over, you felt so out of practice you'd mostly isolated yourself until now.
You'd had a few one night stands since creating a Hinge profile, but since you and Robby had begun chatting he had taken up all of your mental space. This irritated you greatly on top of the fact that he didn't seem to remember you.
And here I thought I was doing an excellent job at concealing my desperation.
You huffed a laugh and shook your head, Could you show me just how desperate you are for me?
You fidgeted with your fingers anxiously as you waited for his response, wondering for just a few moments if you had been too brazen, too forward—The phone pinged.
You slid open your phone and felt lightheaded as you took in the photo he'd sent you. His fist was wrapped around the considerable length of his very erect cock, dark tufts of hair at the base of his fist. You had both been pretty drunk the time you'd hooked up in the darkness of Robby's messy studio apartment and as he'd had trouble maintaining an erection that night, you'd never gotten a good look at it. Not like this.
There was a lump in your throat and you swallowed hard as another message came through: The photos you sent in that pretty lingerie set will have to do for tonight.
You felt your cheeks heat and blinked the steamy feeling from your eyes. Locking your phone, you placed it face down in front of you and stared off into the distance for a while.
And after a minute or so of this, when your galloping heart slowed and lucid thinking began to ease its way behind your eyes again, you had only a single thought:
Oh, no.
***
An unseasonable heat wave had domed around Pittsburgh the last couple of days and so when Robby headed to Jack's place for poker night that Friday, the sun had gone down, but the residual heat warmed him enough that he didn't need a jacket.
He had been waffling back and forth on whether or not to skip the night all together. The week had been crushing him, slowly, a boulder rolling incremently into a brick wall, an unstoppable force.
There had been a few patients they'd lost that really stuck with him this week. They'd been short on residents which meant he'd had to do a bit more hands on care than usual.
And more and more when he found things growing particularly dark, he'd reach for you. You, with your gorgeous smile and silly cat and constant, almost oppressive optimism.
He'd tease you about it, but really he admired it. How no matter how bleak of a day you had, he had, you'd find a way to turn it on its head.
Sure, you'd had to stage the breast cancer of a woman in her thirties and the news wasn't good, but you'd gotten to hold her hand and tell her about all the ground breaking treatment that was available to her. Sure, you'd cried about her for days later, but she'd sent you a card the next week thanking you for the simple act of holding her hand. Of showing her kindness. And maybe you'd get to see her through to remission as you'd done for countless others.
That was your favorite part, you'd tell him. Diagnosing sucked, but treatment plans and seeing people through to the other side, sliding biopsies under your microscope to see healthy tissue. Remission.
"That's why you're so miserable down there," You'd told him, "You mostly see people on their worst days, you don't get to celebrate with them when they make it to recovery. You don't get to see the returns."
He craved your perspective, wanted desperately to have it himself. But he wasn't sure it was possible for him the way it was for you. With your nine to five and weekends off and time to date—though apparently, not time for him.
He had thought at first that you were simply waiting him out, waiting to see if he'd lose interest. You'd been open about the fact that your time on dating apps had largely led you to become disillusioned with the possibility of a real, fulfilling relationship. He felt the same, mostly. The only thing the apps had ever been good for was a night or two to fill the oppressive silence of his house.
But he continued trying with you, which had led to the two of you sexting and him being as open as he could remember being in recent years about how badly he wanted someone. Still, you avoided him.
He'd texted you earlier to see if you were around tonight and you had left him on read, so begrudgingly, he'd be going to poker night instead. Anything other than being alone with his thoughts tonight after they'd lost a woman with eclampsia and her baby.
But when he walked into Jack's living room, a beer in hand, he was stunned to see you sitting on the couch, immersed in conversation with Mckay and Al Hashimi.
Your eyes darted to his and then quickly away, but he saw the way your eyes widened and your chest swelled. You didn't know he was going to be there.
"Hey man, you made it," Jack clapped Robby on the shoulder, "Glad you came."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you, "You invited path?"
Jack followed his gaze, "Oh, yeah, she helped us out last weekend with a TTP patient. Figured it was only polite. Honestly, I didn't think she'd come. Why, do you know her?"
With effort, Robby tore his eyes away from you, "Wha—? Oh, no. No more than you do, you know, the rare occasion path comes down."
Jack narrowed his eyes at Robby, "Right," he said slowly, "Okay. Well, can I interest you in a round of Blackjack?"
Robby chuckled and shook his head, "No thank you, learned my lesson years ago not to play cards with you."
Jack smirked and watched as Robby's gaze flitted back to you, "I think she's too well adjusted for you."
Robby's head whipped back around, a hot flush crawling up his neck, "Excuse me?" He said through nervous laughter.
Jack shrugged, "I'm just saying, she seems like she wouldn't tolerate your bullshit and you'd probably get bored at how… normal she is."
Robby blinked at him, "Who said I'm interested?"
Jack rolled his eyes, "Please, don't insult me, brother. The last time I saw you look at a woman like that was the first time you met Heather. And you'll recall she also was unwilling to put up with your bullshit."
He knew Jack was mostly being playful, but it stung nonetheless, the thought that someone else besides himself thought he was incapable of being in a healthy and loving relationship. That no one in their right mind could want to stay with him.
For just a second he was eight years old again wondering if he was such a terrible, rotten son that it'd pushed his mother to end her own life—The thought rushed up against the dam in his brain and just as quickly receded. He wouldn't think about that. Not now. Not here.
He forced a smile for Jack, "You don't need to remind me. I remember."
After a moment Jack squeezed his shoulders, "But what do I know, hm? Go shoot your shot."
Robby rolled his eyes, "You have far too many Gen Z staff on your shift."
But still, Robby wandered over to you eventually, surprised to find that he was a bit nervous, "Is this why you didn't answer my text earlier?" He asked quietly as he sat down.
You turned just a bit towards him, "I didn't think you'd be here, honestly. It doesn't seem like your scene."
He laughed, "Meaning?"
"Meaning it's too… jovial," You teased.
He ran a hand over the back of his head, "Well, I'm glad I came. It's nice to finally meet you in person."
You grimaced, "Yeah, we've met before, Michael."
He frowned and turned fully to you, "What're you—? No we haven't."
You nodded slowly, "We have, yeah. We went to med school together. Did rotations together."
For a moment he paused and tilted his head, turned your name over in his head, "No… No, you're too young to have gone to med school with me—" His eyes caught on your wrist as your fingers tapped lightly against the glass of your beer bottle. A tattoo in looping scroll that read As you wish. With a dagger beneath the words. The feeling of nostalgia almost violently overtook him. There was only one other woman he'd ever met who had that tattoo of a quote from The Princess Bride in that exact spot.
"Bambi?" He asked, sounding almost breathless.
You wrinkled your nose and turned away from him, "I always hated that nickname."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you. There were a million thoughts running through his head as suddenly images flashed behind his eyes, the two of you twenty years younger and constantly at each other's throats, desperate to prove you were better than the other. But the first thought that he blurted out of his mouth was, "You went into pathology?"
You laughed and shook your head, "I knew you didn't mean it when you said you respected my specialty—"
"That's not what I meant—"
"What else could you have meant by the condescension dripping from your tone right now?"
He opened and closed his mouth before hanging his head, "I'm just… Surprised, is all. You were… a force in the ER. You could have had your pick of any emergency medicine residency in the country, surely."
You stared ahead for a few moments, tightlipped and eyes glossy, "Emergency medicine nearly burned me out just at rotations, I imagine I would have been… a shell of myself had I stayed. And at the time, you certainly agreed."
He huffed in indignation, "That is categorically false, I thought you were brilliant."
"Well you sure had a funny way of showing it. Talking over me, talking down to me in front of attendings, basically celebrating every mistake I made—"
"Everyone else practically worshiped you. I was just trying to make sure I wasn't overlooked. You know how cutthroat it was down there—"
"Exactly," You nodded, "Which is why I'm actually grateful for the way you treated me. It wore me down enough that I knew if I couldn't get through even a rotation or two, there was no way I'd make it through a residency. Not in that environment."
He pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands, "Look, I'm… I apologize… For how I spoke to you back then, I was a stupid kid, I was just trying to survive as best I knew how. It's not an excuse, I just. I'm sorry."
You didn't seem upset as you looked at him, eyes gently passing over his face. You lifted the beer bottle to your lips and he watched the lights refract off the glass.
"It's fine," You said eventually, "You were far from the only reason I went into path."
"Why didn't you say anything? When we—When we started talking? Why didn't you tell me?"
You shrugged, "I thought maybe you'd forgotten me altogether. Or worse, that remembering me would mean you'd no longer be interested."
You carefully avoided looking at him when you said this, but screwed your mouth down to the side as you chewed your cheek.
Robby sat back and took a sip from his own beer, "It seems like I should have been the one to worry about that. Since I was the one who treated you so horribly."
You cleared your throat and turned back towards him. He was struck again by a sense of nostalgia at the intensity in your gaze. He had nicknamed you Bambi all those years ago because of your skittishness, the way that everything seemed to terrify you. Despite how smart you were and how clearly gifted a doctor you would become, you were easily startled and easily overwhelmed by the din of the emergency room. It hadn't been all that uncommon to find you in the ambulance bay after a hard case, slouched on the ground against the wall, hands trembling as they cradled your face.
But it had also been the intensity in your eyes, how every emotion was always so clearly reflected in their glossy pools, that had been the real inspiration behind the nickname. He had never intended it to be cruel, though it appeared that's how you'd interpreted it. It was something he had admired about you, the ease with which you'd connected with your patients because the empathy was so clear on your face. Of course, he had never told you that. Afraid to let on to any perceived weakness around you.
He suspected, though, that you hated the nickname because he had also used it as a weapon against your naivete. He remembered the ways he'd called attention to your age and when the Bambi nickname had spread there had been no way for you to escape it.
Now, though, your eyes were glossy again and he felt bowled over by the way you stared at him, a wistfulness in your expression, "Are you actually sorry or is it just that you think I'm hot now?"
He was so surprised by your question, he gave out a short laugh, "Please, I thought you were hot then, too."
You snorted, "Well, now I know you're lying."
"The nickname Bambi, if nothing else, implies that I found you adorable at the very least."
You rolled your eyes, "Even if I agreed with that assessment—which I don't—it was very clear from that one time we slept together that you were uninterested—"
"Woah—woah—woah— back up. When we slept together?"
You looked at him blankly for a few moments, "Oh my God," You said quickly, seemingly embarrassed as you looked away from him, "You don't remember. It was so bad you don't even remember."
Robby's brain was still working overtime to catch up with you, "Hold on—I would remember sleeping with you."
You stood up from the couch, and he remembered this about you—You had been spooked, you were about to dart back into the woods, never to be seen again. But he stood at the same time, towering above you, "Don't go," he said quietly, "whatever happened was twenty something years ago, it doesn't mean anything—"
"It does to me." You said firmly, "Excuse me," And you forced your way past him.
Robby watched you walk away for a moment, then turned his head to see Jack shaking his head, a slight smirk on his face. A very blatant I told you so if Robby'd ever seen one.
"Shit," Robby muttered under his breath and hung his head.
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Michael was being very touchy that evening and overly kind, paying for your drinks and wrapping an arm around you in the booth. It was making you shy. Despite the way he talked to you, at you, over you, there were cases every now and then when you caught him looking at you with what looked like awe or reverence. But just as quickly, it'd dissipate and you'd be left wondering if you'd imagined it.
"Let me walk you home," he said, slurring only a little, his words just slightly stumbling into one another like dominos. He wrapped your jacket around your shoulders as he spoke.
"I'm fine," You smiled at him, "I think you're the one who needs to be walked home."
He held up his hands in mock surrender, a boyish grin on his face, "You got me. I do need to be chaperoned home if you would be so kind."
You rolled your eyes, but secretly you were pleased. You wanted to be his friend, wanted him to respect you so you didn't have to keep having panic attacks alone in the bathroom. You were still very much like a scared little kid in that way, just wanting at least one other person to just see you, truly.
So you allowed Michael to swing his arm around your shoulders as he directed you towards his place. It was just a couple of blocks from the hospital, but when you got to the building, a rundown, brutalist slab of concrete, you frowned, "You live here?"
"Now, don't sound so disgusted, princess," he teased and pulled you along behind him inside the building, "Not all of us have wealthy parents to fund our gorgeous apartments in buildings that have doormen."
You felt your cheeks heat, "That's not—That's not entirely true." He looked at you dubiously, eyebrows raised, and you furrowed yours, "I pay for my utilities," You grumbled.
He chuckled and ran a hand over his jaw before sliding his key into his door.
"If it's not too revolting to you," He said softly as he pushed the door open, "You're welcome to come inside for a drink."
Something changed in the tone of his voice and as you tried to place it, you saw the way his eyes roved down your body.
You had never had sex with anyone before, had never had the time. You were in college by the time you were fifteen and because you were so young no one really wanted to hang out with you. You didn't get invited to parties or study sessions (unless someone was trying to inadvertently get you to do their homework). Once you got to medical school, you were still only seventeen, still too young for any of your peers to show much interest.
When you turned twenty one, the shift had been subtle. But suddenly, you were being included to go out for drinks. Then people raised their eyebrows less when you said you were in med school. The stares lingered longer and traveled farther.
And now Michael was looking at you like that, too.
Maybe you should've thought it over more, said goodnight and gone straight home. But you were so painfully lonely. You should've hated him for the way he'd treated you, but it only spurred you on. You were used to having to compete for scraps of love from people who seemed to not like you much. Had been doing it since you learned to talk.
So you followed him inside.
It was freezing inside his apartment. So cold, in fact, your breath was beginning to cloud in front of you.
"Jesus Christ, Michael, is your heat broken or something?"
"Uh, no," He said from the kitchen. You heard the sound of glasses and bottles clinking before he reappeared, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other, "Just… trying to conserve. But we can turn the heat on for you, princess." He said with a wink.
You sat on his couch with your arms crossed and felt your lip jut out in a pout, "I'm not spoiled, you know. I just—It's just as cold outside as it is in here. Can't be good for you. Or the pipes."
"Many of us," He said as he poured you each a glass, amber liquid sloshing up the sides, "Had to learn to live without. I didn't grow up in a mansion like you."
You scoffed, "I'm not the sort of rich you think I am, I grew up in the suburbs. My parents still have to work for a living. Yes, it was comfortable, but we're not fucking millionaires. We don't have, like, a fucking second house in the Hamptons."
He nodded, "Still seems pretty rich to me."
You rolled your eyes, "Well, what do your parents do then?"
That insufferable smirk finally fell from his face and for a second you felt vindicated.
"If you must know," He started, staring intently at the liquor in his glass, "I don't know who my father is, never met him. And my mother killed herself when I was eight. I found her swinging from the rafters one day when I got home from school."
You stared at him, stunned, while he knocked back the rest of his whiskey and poured himself another, "My grandparents took me in after that and then when I was sixteen, my grandfather died. When I was twenty, my grandmother joined him. So now it's just me."
He raised his glass, forced smile on his face, "May their memories be a blessing." He said, and tossed back the entirety of his drink in one go.
"Michael," you said softly, reaching for him when he began to pour more whiskey, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
Not unkindly, he pushed your hand away, "You know, I've been thinking that I want people to start calling me Robby."
You frowned, thrown by the change in subject, "What?"
"Yeah, I just, people have trouble with Robinavitch. And Adamson asked me, if he could call me Robby. And I—I really like him and I want him to like me so I think—I think I'm just gonna have everyone call me Robby. It sounds friendlier, don't you think? Once I become a doctor? Doctor Robby."
You felt a sort of tenderness towards him now, after he'd revealed so much of himself to you. You had the distinct urge to hold him, cradle him to you, tell him it was all going to be okay.
"I like Michael," You said quietly, "If it's alright with you."
Finally he met your gaze again and his eyes softened just slightly. Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, he reached a hand out to cup your cheek. When you leaned into his palm, he stroked his thumb against your cheek bone.
"Sure, Bambi. You can still call me Michael."
You couldn't say which of you closed the distance first, just that the next thing you remembered, his warm, wet mouth was on yours.
At first, the kisses were slow and hesitant. You remembered it was you who deepened it, a whine clamoring out of your throat and into his mouth.
Before you knew it, you had climbed into his lap and pushed him down into the couch. You felt him harden against you and it felt instinctual, the way your hips ground down against him, chasing the friction.
"Fuck," he breathed into your mouth, his hand cradling the back of your neck, "This good?"
You nodded fervently, "Do you have a condom?"
He raised his eyebrows, "Are you sure?"
You nodded again and so he pushed his hand between you, pushing his hand into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a foil packet.
You blinked, "Were you… planning this?"
"No," He said and teared the packet open with his teeth, "But I like to be prepared just in case."
Rolling your eyes, you pulled back to allow him to push his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprung up between you and you felt your breaths grow shallow as you watched him work the condom on.
Carefully, you hiked your dress up to your hips, hoping he didn't notice the way your hands shook. His eyes stayed on yours as you shifted your underwear to the side and slowly lowered yourself onto him.
"Oh, God." He sighed, sounding just a breathless as you felt at the stretch of him. It burned for just a moment, almost pleasantly, "Look at me," He said and your eyes locked back on his.
You leaned your forehead against his as you slowly moved your hips along the length of him, "Is this—Is it good?" You asked, your voice small and uncertain.
"Yeah," He said quickly, pushed his mouth up into yours, "So good," he whispered into your mouth.
But less than a minute later, the sensation changed. It was difficult to move against him, in fact, you weren't even sure he was inside you anymore, "Did you—I mean—Are you—soft?" You could hear your own panic and desperation in your voice as your hips slowed.
A scarlet flush was creeping up his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if to avoid your gaze, "Yeah, I—I think so. S'probably whiskey dick." He finally opened his eyes and maybe sensed your impending humiliation, "Hey—hey—it's not you," He cupped your cheeks with both hands, "It's not you, I swear, you're perfect."
He pulled your face down to his again and you allowed yourself to get lost in the taste of him again, "It's me," he murmured between kisses, "I'm fuckin' defective, it's my fault."
"Michael—"
"Come up here, sit on my face," He said abruptly.
You raised your eyebrows, "Wh—what?"
"Please," He said, sounding desperate, "Please, I wanna taste you. Lemme take care of you."
You sighed and hid your face in your hands, "You don't have to, like, make it up to me—"
"I want to," he said again, "If you do, too. Please."
You couldn't deny that the idea of it had embers of arousal stirring in your belly. You hadn't prepared for the possibility of someone's mouth on you like that, but you didn't want to admit that to him. You didn't want to have to explain the depth of your inexperience lest it kill whatever remained of his desire.
So, you swallowed and moved your way up his body, let him position you, his arms wrapped around your thighs and pulling you to his mouth.
You were immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, gasping and whimpering when he moaned against you, your whole body twitching as it reverberated through your core.
But again, it wasn't long before things slowed, and then—stopped completely. Blinking, you looked down and saw that Michael had fallen asleep.
No, he couldn't have—could he? You leaned in a bit closer, leaning back to fully pull yourself off his face. Oh my God, was that drool on the corner of his mouth?
Mortified, and at a loss for what else to do, you carefully and quietly climbed off him, grabbed your things, and slipped out of his apartment. Heels in hand, you paused outside of his door and exhaled in relief.
You left his apartment feeling even more conflicted about him than before and also feeling a bit dejected. This was the guy who had once tripped you up in a trauma and then said "Don't worry Bambi, it's normal to be a bit wobbly on your legs when you're still just a fawn."
It shouldn't have surprised you at all that he found you unattractive, that obviously he had only allowed you to initiate because you were sat in front of him, willing and able. Like an idiot. Like the naive little kid he had told everyone you were.
You felt stupid and humiliated. And God knew you didn't believe in the fucking patriarchal construct of virginity, but you couldn't deny it made you feel a bit bitter that you had wasted it on Michael Robinavitch. You wouldn't make such an idiotic decision ever again.
He could say a lot about you, but you'd never made the same mistake twice. You didn't intend to start now.
***
Robby watched you through the glass, leaned over Jack's balcony with your arms wrapped around yourself.
This had to be a new record of how quickly he could fuck things up with a potential romantic partner. Once he'd recognized you, he'd felt stupid that he hadn't recognized you immediately when he saw your profile. And maybe there had been some familiarity there, something he'd mistaken for instant attraction and chemistry.
That said, he had wracked his brain and the two of you sleeping together he was near positive had never happened. Or at least, for the life of him, he couldn't remember it. And yes it was true he'd always given you a hard time, but he had also always been enamored by you. Honestly, he'd thought it'd been obvious, especially towards the end of M4.
So he found it hard to believe that he wouldn't remember that. But he also didn't think that you were a liar.
Carefully, he slid the glass door open and stepped outside. The night had cooled significantly since his arrival and as he got closer to you, he saw goosebumps along your arms. You didn't startle when he came up next to you and positioned himself at such an angle as to shield you from the breeze.
"I'm sorry that I don't remember," He said softly after a few moments, "But I'd like you to tell me about it, if you're up for it."
You shook your head, "It's not your fault. It was really horrible, I don't blame you for not remembering."
He groaned, "You know, you could say a lot of shit about me and I wouldn't blink, but hearing I'm bad in bed is a new one for me and I'm not a fan."
You laughed and turned to him, "Oh yeah? You've become something of a casanova in your old age?"
He winced, "Not that old."
You hummed and turned back towards the treeline, "What was it? That made you finally remember me tonight?"
"The Princess Bride tattoo."
You looked at your wrist, "Huh. I would've thought this was one of the things you picked on me for behind my back. Called it childish."
He shook his head, "Nah, The Princess Bride's a classic. I actually always really liked it, thought it was romantic."
You rolled your eyes at that, as if you didn't quite believe him, but didn't comment further. After a moment you sighed, "It was during MS4. We were almost done with our last rotation in the ER and some of the residents invited us out for drinks."
"Oh," Robby said, frowning, "I do remember that. I got really drunk and you walked me back to my apartment."
You nodded, "Right."
"But we didn't… I invited you in for a drink and…" He trailed off. He was drawing a blank, "Did you come inside? I just thought… You never liked me, I thought for sure you declined. I don't remember anything after that."
You narrowed your eyes at him and then sighed, "Well, you did down something like three fingers of whiskey in quick succession once we got in your apartment so I guess it's possible you blacked out."
"You always made me nervous so it's no surprise I drank so much."
You opened and closed your mouth for a moment, but then shook your head quickly, "Yeah, I guess that was it."
"Then what happened?"
You sighed, "We really don't have to rehash this—"
"Please," he pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, "I want to know."
You shook your head and then shrugged, "Fine. About a minute after you put it in, I was riding you and you went soft. So then you… you asked me to sit on your face instead. Which I did. And a minute or two later you… fell asleep."
Robby was silent for a moment as he processed what you'd said. You were deliberately looking away from him, running a hand nervously over the back of your neck.
"Wow," He said finally, "And you still liked my Hinge profile decades later?"
You gave a short laugh, "I was curious if anything had changed, I guess."
He hummed, "A lot has changed, I would say." He ran a finger lightly over the back of your arm and watched as goosebumps spread—But you didn't move away, not even when he bent to your ear and said lowly, "I'd like a chance to make it up to you."
You swallowed and then turned to face him, your faces impossibly close, "Have you ever been married, Michael?"
He frowned and pulled away marginally, "Um… no? Have you?"
You shook your head and looked off into the distance over his shoulder, wistfully, "I got close, once." You sighed, "Listen, I'm too old to be doing this… friends with benefits, situationship, whatever, bullshit. Sex is great, but I have plenty of vibrators that do the job just fine and without the emotional turmoil. So I'm not interested in casual sex. I'm looking for a partner, not a dildo. If you want me you'll have to romance me and mean it."
Robby's eyes roved over your face. Maybe it was your shared memories or the fact that you knew him before he was broken beyond repair, but he felt a tender ache in his chest looking into your eyes. Just as warm and inviting as he remembered.
There were few people these days who could entice him to commit to anything. A real relationship meant having to open himself up to someone else. Allowing them to see the ugliest parts of himself and hope they didn't leave. It usually ended in him lashing out instead so at least he had some semblence of control over the end of the relationship.
Or at least, that was the hypothesis of his last therapist, who he still wasn't entirely sure wasn't full of shit.
But either way, when he thought about pursuing a real, full relationship with you, he didn't feel his usual urge to run. Instead, he felt a curiosity. The need to take you apart, to learn you like he would a medical procedure.
Maybe he wasn't broken after all. Maybe he could have full, healthy relationships like everyone else.
He brought one of his hands up to your neck, watched how you tried to stifle the urge to lean into his touch—Good, you were touch starved, just like him—and his thumb lightly toyed with one of the hoops hanging from your ear.
"'As you wish'." He said softly, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward.
"What? You don't believe me?" He tilted his head downward to force eye contact with you, "I've been the one begging you to go on a date with me for weeks."
"A date?" You raised your eyebrows, "They're calling a drink at the bar before taking someone to bed a date now, are they?"
He scoffed, "What, so you want a string quartet and a night out at the ballet?"
You furrowed your brow, "And so what if I did?"
He stared at you for a moment and then chuckled, "Then I'd tell you to wear your favorite dress."
You narrowed your eyes, but then shook your head, "Just dinner would be more than enough."
He nodded, "I can do that. Would you allow me to cook for you?"
You smirked and ran your hands up his forearms, "Sure, but it has to be at my place."
He grinned, ran his thumb back and forth across the skin just below your ear, "Friday night?"
You tilted your head a bit, "You're serious about this?"
"Yeah," He said softly, eyes heavy lidded from both alcohol and desire as he looked into your face, "Are you?"
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as your eyes darted back and forth between his eyes, assessing. You still didn't quite believe him, he could tell. You had always been distrustful, convinced everyone was out to hurt you to a nearly paranoid level. The decades it seemed had done nothing to smooth that over.
But still, you nodded and leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek, "See you Friday, Michael."
He watched as you walked back inside, conscious of the heat that pulsed against the skin where your lips had been just moments before.
***
"What do you think, Brutus?" You asked, your cat sidling between your legs as you looked at yourself in your floor length mirror. You had chosen form fitting, but simple clothes. A ribbed black sweater and your favorite pair of jeans. "Do you think he'll like it?"
Brutus trilled and stood up on his hind legs, stretching his front paws against your legs, a very clear request to be picked up. You looked down at him and smirked, "You're gonna get cat hair all over my sweater."
He mewled again, claws gently pricking at your jeans before quickly receding. You sighed, already defeated. You could never say no to him. You bent to scoop him up to your chest, pressing your nose into his face as he immediately began purring, "I know you don't like guests, but you have to be on your best behavior tonight, okay? No knocking glassware over if I'm not paying attention to you," You peppered kisses all over his head, "It's not polite."
The doorbell rang and you quickly lowered Brutus back down, running your hands over your sweater in an attempt to brush off the cat hair.
Sliding across the hardwood in your socked feet, you took one deep breath before pulling your front door open.
There in your doorway stood Michael Robinavitch in a button down and jeans, one hand holding a thermal bag you assumed was full of groceries, the other a bottle of wine.
He grinned when you opened the door, his eyes trailing lazily down your body, giving you a once over before meeting your eyes again.
"Hi," You said and stepped to the side, "Come in."
You watched him take in your home as he walked in, kicking off his shoes by the door without you having to ask.
Without a partner to appease or children you'd spent a lot of time creating a calming, beautiful space just for yourself. It resulted in a lot of warm lighting and soothing colors. Lots of windows and cozy nooks. The kitchen was big and open with huge bay windows looking into your backyard behind the sink. As you padded gently behind Robby, you watched him take stock of the sun setting through those windows.
"This is gorgeous." He said, eyes on the fresh tulips that sat in a vase on the island.
"Thank you," You said, and took the wine bottle from his hand, "It's my favorite place in the whole world."
He smirked as he placed the groceries on the counter, "Now I understand why it's so hard to get you to leave."
You took wine glasses down from your cabinet and opened the wine he'd brought, pouring you each a glass and bringing his over to him as he began unpacking the groceries he'd brought.
"What're you making?"
He pulled out a loaf of Challah bread and offered you a piece as he spread everything else out in front of him, "Um, some salad, roast chicken, and potato kugel."
You hummed, "Where'd you learn that?"
He began prepping the veggies and you watched his hands. You remembered from med school you had always been enamored by watching skilled hands at work, especially in the ED. Watching him now you had that same feeling as the wine began to warm you from the inside out.
"They're my grandma's recipes. She used to make this every Friday for Shabbos dinner."
Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise and immediately, you felt touched, "That's… really lovely, Michael. I'm honored that you'd share them with me."
He looked up at you for a moment, smiling, but shrugged his shoulders, "It's the only meal I really know how to cook well because she taught me. I don't do much cooking these days."
You tried not to let his dismissiveness disappoint you, "Do you still… I mean, are you observing Shabbos this weekend?"
He shook his head, "No, no, if I was I'd already have broken the rules," He jerked his head towards the bay windows, where the sky was beginning to bruise, "No cooking after sundown. I don't really practice anymore, but I sometimes go to synagogue on High Holidays."
You let a few moments pass in silence before speaking again, "Can I help?"
He shook his head, "No, you just sit there and look pretty."
The two of you made small talk about work, discussing funny patients or over eager med students, until he put his dishes in the oven.
"Do you want to sit on the porch?" You asked as he washed his hands.
"That sounds lovely," He said, drying his hands on your dish towel before following you outside with his glass of wine.
You tucked your legs underneath yourself as you sat on the love seat, the chill of the spring night had you reaching for the throw blanket. But Robby got there first, gently draping it over your legs and then his own lap. You pretended not to be flustered when he pulled your feet into his lap, tenderly kneading his fingers into the arch of your foot as he sipped his wine.
Over the years, you'd brought men to your place many times. You'd even had the occasional relationship that grew to the point of your partner moving into your place, because it was a nonstarter for any partner to suggest you sell your house, something you were always clear about at the start of the relationship. Maybe it would be the reason you never had a lifelong partner, but you had put an enormous amount of work into this house to create a sanctuary of sorts. It was where you were happiest. You had no desire to live anywhere else. You doubted you'd ever love anyone as much as you loved this house.
But Robby being here, it felt different than it had felt with all others. It felt natural to have him here, like this, cooking dinner in your kitchen, sitting on the porch with you while you told him about the study you'd just been awarded a grant to start. After residency, you'd sworn off dating doctors all together. But there was something refreshing about discussing renal cell carcinoma with Robby and him asking follow up questions that were more complex than "what's a renal cell?"
It felt like he fit here with you, like he could slot into your life effortlessly. But you supposed that could just be the forlorn romantic in you desperate for anyone to desire you again.
"Where'd you go for your residency?" Robby asked.
"Chicago," You said, "Northwestern Memorial. What about you?"
"New Orleans. Big Charity Hospital."
You opened and closed your mouth, thinking silently for a few moments. Trying to remember what years the two of you had gone off to residency and when you would have finished. And the realization of when had your stomach slowly sinking. "Wasn't… Wasn't Katrina during residency?"
He wasn't looking at you, staring off into the darkness of the trees behind your house. His face was partially lit by the candles you'd brought outside. When he nodded, you couldn't get a good read on his expression, but it suddenly felt very cold around you. As if the ghosts had lowered around his shoulders.
"That must have sucked," You said softly, "I'm sorry."
He cleared his throat and looked down at his wine glass, "It was a long time ago."
One thing that had changed about Robby was his openness. Years ago, in med school, you only needed to get him a single beer deep before he was pouring out his most intimate thoughts. Obviously, the time you'd slept together, that had been the most he'd ever revealed to you. About his parents and grandparents. But even before that, he'd opened up to you about his insecurities as a doctor and even when he was having trouble with significant others.
Now, he seemed to be dismissive of his troubles. Never wanting the focus on him for too long. He used to be what your mother would call a peacock, charming to an almost offensive degree. He was impossible to dislike and had everyone thinking they were his best friend. That had all changed. You could feel the barrier he'd put up between you. What had happened to him between then and now to have changed him so drastically?
Likely, you supposed, it started with Katrina.
Another reason you had decided against going into emergency medicine had been that you knew you were too soft for it. Just the rotations had been so detrimental to your well being. You had thought you loved it while you were in it, but the second you were out of it, you realized you had been in survival mode the entire time. Outside of it, you cried for weeks straight, grieving every person you'd watched die and especially the ones that had died on your watch. The heaviness of that responsibility was too much. A lifetime of it would've broken you.
It would break anyone, you imagined. And as you watched Robby curiously, you realized for the first time since reuniting with him just how haunted he had become. You had thought with his easy charm and smile that he was still the same kid, but he had changed. The years had slowly eroded him, smoothed some edges and sharpened others.
A timer went off a few moments later and Robby flashed you a quick smile, carefully removing your feet from his lap, "You hungry?"
"Starved," You said, allowing him to take your hand and gently pull you to standing.
The food was delicious. You caught Robby staring at you more than once over the candles when you licked your fingers or groaned in pleasure, mischief in his eyes.
You had to fight him to let you do the dishes, insisting it was only fair since he had cooked. He protested for a bit until you sternly repeated that you'd be doing the dishes and since he was a guest here, you demanded he relax on the couch while you cleaned up. Eventually, he gave up, sighing heavily and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, "Thank you," he murmured, sounding bone tired.
When the last dish was loaded in the dish washer, the cookware washed, the counters wiped down, you found Robby nearly fast asleep, stretched out on your couch. Brutus had come out for the first time since he'd arrived and was now hesitantly sniffing at his hand which hung over the edge of the couch.
"What d'you think, Brutus?" You whispered, "Is he good enough to eat?"
A chuckle rumbled deep in Robby's chest and Brutus scampered off, sufficiently frightened by the sudden movement. Robby cracked an eye open to look up at you, reaching with both arms towards you, "C'mere before I eat you."
You hesitated for just a moment before crawling over him, sighing contentedly as his arms wrapped tightly around you, your ear pressed to his chest.
You were reminded again of that one night with him decades ago, you atop him not unlike this, trying to warm yourself with his body in the frigid apartment.
"It's strange," you said softly, "I don't really know you anymore, but I feel like I understand you more now than I did then."
He hummed, "That's funny. You're still just as much a mystery to me as you were twenty years ago."
You lifted your head from his chest so you could see his face and felt his breath fan your cheeks, "I'm an open book, you just have to ask."
"Why pathology?"
You pursed your lips, brow furrowed in thought, "I liked the simplicity of it. That there were rules and structures and always a correct answer. There's always a clear path to and from diagnosis."
He shook his head, "I know you applied to the emergency medicine residency at Big Charity. I was the second choice, they wanted you."
You felt your cheeks heat, "I—It was so long ago, it doesn't matter—"
"No, you're right, it doesn't matter anymore," He ran a soothing hand down the back of your head to your neck, "It certainly mattered to me then. I was so pissed off at you those first few weeks of intern year when I found out. I tried calling every emergency medicine department in the country I could think of to find you."
You smirked, "You looked for me?"
He nodded, "Never crossed my mind that you would've gone into a different specialty. And pathology even? I never would have guessed. You were so good in the emergency room. A natural. I bet if I threw you in my ED now you'd do just as good as most of my residents."
You gave a short laugh, "Absolutely not, I don't even remember most of my rotations. Honestly, they were so hard for me I think part of my brain blacked it out."
He narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, they're hard for everyone, it's the emergency department."
You nodded, "I know. And I didn't want the rest of my life to look like that."
"Look like what?"
You opened your mouth for a moment and then sighed, "Like I was struggling to stay afloat in a sea of constant compounding grief."
He shook his head slowly, "I remember those rotations, you helped save a lot of people."
You nodded, "At the expense of my sanity, yeah."
"You don't think it would be worth it?"
You tilted your head slightly, "To martyr myself? Do you?"
He sighed and looked away from you, "I used to think so, yeah."
Robby used to come alive in the emergency department, as you recalled it. You knew he was empathetic and had his own struggles because he'd told you on occasion and because you'd seen it. Maybe he hadn't broken down visibly as often as you, but you recalled finding him at least a couple of times out in the ambulance bay, eyes red rimmed and wet.
But you had never doubted that he would thrive in the emergency room. You had been so busy feeling like an imposter yourself and he had made everything look so easy, it had never crossed your mind that maybe he had been struggling the same as you. He just hid it better, even from himself.
"You've lost a lot," You said softly, "the last twenty years, haven't you? Not just patients."
His eyes floated slowly back to yours and it didn't matter what he said, it was sitting there in his eyes as he looked at you. All the ghosts that haunted him, clawing to get out just behind his eyes. He looked tired. He looked shattered.
After a few moments he brought a hand up to your face, brushed the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, "I don't want to talk about that tonight." When he spoke, his voice hitched just slightly, but you politely acted as if you hadn't noticed.
It was a first date, after all. He didn't need to crack open his chest for you tonight, though part of you wished he would. You had never been one for small talk and you were always all in long before anyone else was. You were used to this, being the one kept at the perimeter, debating whether to ignore the Beware of Dog sign and hop the fence.
But he looked so tired and sad. You could be patient for now. Maybe befriend the dog while you waited, tossing treats through the hole in the fence, whistling gently on the wind.
"Okay," You pushed yourself up so your face was closer to his, "We don't have to talk."
A moment passed, two. Your eyes stared longingly at his mouth until his hand slipped to the back of your neck and pulled you to him, mouths crashing together.
You sighed at the feel of his lips on yours, simultaneously soft and rough from the scratch of his beard. It chafed against your chin, but still you pushed yourself closer, the new, but still somehow familiar taste of him intoxicating.
He still kissed the same, teeth digging desperately into your lower lip, tongue stroking against yours almost sweetly. But it was more refined, somehow. Like he'd perfected the art of kissing over the decades.
You'd had many lovers over the years, but few who would make out with you like this for very long without it quickly escalating. Robby's hands, hot and needy, worked their way beneath your shirt, thumbs stroking just below your breasts. Then, one of his hands slid down until it was on your ass, squeezing and groping over your jeans. It was at this point that he whimpered into your mouth and you felt yourself clench instinctually around nothing at the sound.
It had been a long time since you'd been touched like this and longer since you had enjoyed it this much. Usually, it was other partners that acted impatient, that were already tugging at your pants when you were nowhere near warmed up yet, but now it was you who had started grinding on his thigh, searching for friction. You who was frantically pulling at the buttons on his shirt, trying to get it off. You who was now fumbling for his belt when Robby finally stopped you.
"Mmm—Hold on—Wait." Easily, he secured your wrists in his hands and pinned them to his chest which was rising and falling rapidly as you both attempted to catch your breath.
"Are you—Are you sure? I don't want you to think—I'm happy to just end the night like this. I can go home right now—"
You pressed your mouth to his again, kissing him deeply before playfully nipping at his lip, "Do I seem unsure to you?" You asked, nudging your nose against his.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "No," He said and kissed you again, fervently.
"Do I… need to beg you to fuck me?" You asked, sucking lightly on his neck as you spoke, "Because I can do that."
Robby sighed and gripped your ass tighter, "Fuck."
You dragged your center across his thigh, "Not an answer."
His hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his gaze, "You would beg for me?"
You weren't exactly thinking straight as you looked at him, wild with want. You would have done anything he asked in that moment, you were sure of it. But still, looking at him now, you were dragged back twenty years to his icy apartment. To the way he'd opened up to you and then swiftly rejected you. He denied it now, chalked it up to alcohol, but somewhere in you was still that dejected girl, begging for any scrap of affection.
It'd been a while since you felt her, small and weak, at the edges of your consciousness. She'd been shortsighted and easy, pan handling for love on the side of the road. You still loathed her, felt she was pathetic. Robby could still pull her out of you. It felt easy to slip into her and her wants. You remembered insisting to yourself after that night with him that you'd never let him that close again.
And yet you found yourself tangled in him yet again. You were different, you assured yourself, lied to yourself. In reality, he already had you wrapped around his fingers. He could break you with a single word, a change of expression.
You pushed all that out of your mind, suffocating it with your mouth on his, his all consuming taste in your mouth, "Is that what you want?"
"I want," He said, hand still firm on your neck, kissing you between his words, "Whatever you want. Just want to make you feel good."
You sighed, "Then take me to bed."
Quickly, he sat up, keeping you in his lap. He kissed up the column of your throat to your earlobe, sending chills down your spine, "Lead the way, sweetheart."
On your bed, he undressed you carefully, taking his time in a way you weren't used to. After the way you'd been talking over texts and swapping photos back and forth, you thought he'd be ravenous. And he was, you could tell from his groans and whimpers, but still, he remained steady and patient.
Once you were topless, both of you kneeling across from each other on the bed, you reached to unbuckle his pants before he could get to yours. Robby had been competitive as you remembered it, but in bed it seemed he was fine with handing over the reins. He watched you with heat in his eyes as you spat in your hand and reached down his pants to fist his cock.
As your hand stroked his shaft down to his balls, his eyes rolled back and he swore. You were on fire watching him, his desire seemingly contagious.
"Please," He whimpered after a minute of so of this, "Please, can I… Can I suck on your tits?"
Your belly somersaulted at the thought and immediately you were nodding, scooting closer to him.
As his lips puckered and pulled at your nipple, he was whining more loudly than you were with each stroke of your hand. He muttered praises and pleas into your breasts, heat bubbling up at the sound from your belly to your chest to your neck.
Looking down at his cock in your hand, you noticed the small amount of precum beginning to leak. You leaned down to lick it off, but Robby stopped you before you could.
"No—Wait. Need to take care of you. Please." He was breathless and flushed pink. Needy and desperate to please. You weren't sure that anyone had ever been this desperate to please you.
You gave him a short nod and released him. Immediately, he kissed you, the momentum pushing you flat against the mattress.
As he crawled over you, you opened your eyes to look up at him. There had been times when you were students that he had been vulnerable with you, but that had only been under the heavy influence of alcohol. Mostly, he had been very guarded. And still, earlier this evening you'd sensed the same guard up, though it had been reinforced throughout the decades.
But now he was looking at you with a gentle, almost tender look on his face. Before you could fully digest what that meant, he had leaned back down to kiss along your jaw, rough fingers gently grasping your chin to kiss down your neck.
He kissed all the way down your body, looking up at you occasionally through heavy lids whenever you made a noise he particularly liked.
Down at your waist now, he carefully unbuttoned your jeans and wriggled them down, you lifting up your hips to assist.
In just your panties now, you watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he looked at you, ran his rough hands over your soft thighs, kissing and nipping gently at your hips, "So, so pretty for me." He murmured into your skin.
The man in front of you now so at odds with the boy you had imagined was revolted by you. Now he worshiped your body with lips and tongue and teeth. He kissed you now over the fabric of your panties, slowly and methodically, until you felt the fabric begin to soak, both from his saliva and your arousal.
You whined and tried to lift your hips, but he quickly braces an arm over your thighs, "Michael, please." You whimpered.
He groaned against your cunt, sending shockwaves through your body.
"Sorry, baby," He murmured and began tugging your panties down your hips as well, "You need my mouth on you properly, is that it? Need my tongue inside you?"
You nodded, a burning in your eyes from embarrassment or pure desperation, you weren't sure.
Panties out of the way, he ran a finger down your slick folds to separate them. As he sighed, your eyes rolled back, jaw going slack.
"Gorgeous," he murmured, fingers running slowly and gently around your entrance.
It didn't feel like teasing, but admiring. Your hips jumped when he pressed a chase kiss to your puffy clit. You had barely begun to whine again when he licked, long and slow, from the bottom of your entrance up to circle your clit.
The sensation was dizzying as he continued to repeat the motion, moving faster and applying slightly more pressure each time.
"Okay, sweetheart," He said breathlessly, your juices glistening all over his beard, slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside you, stroking the spot deep inside you that had your abdomen tightening in anticipation, "Think you can finish for me?"
Unable to form coherent words, you writhed against him, whining until he relented and lowered his mouth back down to your clit.
It was over quickly after that, though his tongue kept working you until you lightly tugged at his hair, pulling him off you. He wiped his mouth on the back of his forearm and crawled back up to you, pressing kisses all over your sweaty face.
Without preamble, you reached for his cock with the intention of lining it up with your entrance, but he pulled away, "Not yet." He said mildly, propped up on one elbow as he looked at you, his free hand stroking the backs of his knuckles gently against your cheek, "I'm not done with you yet."
You were still a bit dumb from the aftershocks of your orgasm and you blinked blankly at him, "What?"
"I figure I owe you at least three orgasms before I get to cum, that should wipe the previous horrendous encounter from your memory, no?"
A slow, sleepy smile spread across your face and he traced his thumb across your lips, "It's gonna take a while for me to cum again, never mind twice more."
He nodded, "That's why I'm giving you a break, sweet girl."
Flustered, you looked away from him. Who would have thought one man had the potential to be both your best and worst sex?
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Your eyelid was twitching as you sat at central, a phone receiver pressed to your ear as you listened to your mother drone on. As she spoke, your eyes drifted to a fresh blood stain on your white sneakers from the man who'd died maybe an hour or two ago from several gunshot wounds to the chest.
"I hear you, I just—" You tried and failed to scrub the bloodstain out with a wet wipe from behind the desk. The grueling twelve hour shift had ended something like forty five minutes ago with you crying into your hands in the ambulance bay. You were exhausted. "I just don't think now is the time for this conversation—"
"Well," Your mother huffed, "Maybe if you ever answered your phone at home we wouldn't need to have this discussion now."
You ground your teeth together, "I appreciate all the support you and dad have given me—"
"You know, I don't think you do. We clawed our way through law school with no help from our families, started our own firm, saved thousands just so you could be as educated as you wanted without having to struggle like we did—"
"—And I'm immensely grateful for that privilege—"
"Then why would you throw it back in our faces by choosing pathology, essentially a glorified lab technician—"
"That's not what it is at all—"
"You should be in neurosurgery."
You had had this argument what felt like a thousand times over the last few weeks when you had first admitted interest in applying to path residencies. Your mother's insistent argument that she knew best and neurosurgery would provide you with the best career and would utilize your strengths—an excruciating attention to detail and laser-like focus—in a way no other specialty could.
But you disagreed. And what you could never admit to your mother was that your emergency medicine rotations had proven to you that you would crumble under that sort of pressure.
"Hey, Bambi," Michael leaned over your desk, "Get off the phone and glove up, incoming MVA in two minutes."
You gave him an incredulous look, "Our shift ended almost an hour ago."
"Okay…" He said slowly, pulling on a clean pair of gloves, "So you're gonna let me just take this one myself? What if it requires intubation? You're gonna pass up that opportunity? You still haven't done one by yourself."
You were so burnt out and frustrated and once again on the verge of bursting into tears, you didn't have the energy for this, "So, what, you're keeping tabs on my procedure log now?"
He pretended to think about it, furrow between his brow, "Yeah, guess I am."
Neither of you had spoken about the night you'd slept together—if you could even call it that—and Michael had been acting like it never happened. Occasionally he'd reference the night it happened, but always before you went home with him. This was fine with you, it saved you from the embarrassment. Though, sometimes, it had you wondering if maybe you'd somehow hallucinated the entire thing.
"Who are you talking to?" Came your mom's tinny voice in your ear.
You hurriedly said that you had to go and hung up the phone, knowing it would lead to more phone calls later, but you had taken to leaving your phone off the hook when she began calling repeatedly like that. Which was often. It was the only way to ensure you got enough sleep.
Normally, you would jump at any opportunity to try to show up Michael in a trauma, but you were barely holding it together right now. The thought of watching another person die on the table today had you fighting back the instinct to dry heave.
You rested your elbows on the table in front of you and kneaded lightly at your temples, "You can have the MVA, I'm going home."
"That your mom on the phone?" Michael asked, leaning forward and apparently ignoring what you'd just said, "Is she waiting at home for you with a fresh meal and a warm bath?" He taunted, "Bambi needs to be pampered? The ER is too rough for the princess?"
Slowly, you tilted your face up to look at him, "You jealous that I still have a mother who takes care of me, Robinavitch?"
If you weren't as tired, you wouldn't have said it. As it was, your stomach churned when the smile melted off his face. Yes, he had taunted you and teased you and tortured you for most of both MS3 and 4, but you shouldn't have sank to his level. Really, you had sunk below his level, you thought. Even with how cruel he could be, he'd never mocked you when he found you crying out in the ambulance bay. On occasion he'd actually silently stood next to you or offered you a cigarette.
Your relationship was strange as he could be downright abusive in front of attendings or other colleagues, but when it was just the two of you it was like being on hallowed ground. He had only ever been nice to you when it was just the two of you with no one else around to hear. Something you struggled to reconcile. And now you had weaponized one of the only times he had opened up to you.
He shook his head, but otherwise didn't say anything, ducking away from you, "Michael—Wait—"
"It's fine, Bambi," He called over his shoulder, "Go home. As you've so astutely pointed out, not all of us have one of those."
Later, after you'd crawled into bed and couldn't sleep despite your exhaustion for the guilt that wracked you, you picked up the phone next to your bed and dialed Michael.
It rang for a while and you thought he might let it go to voicemail, but when he finally picked up his voice was rough with sleep.
"Hello?"
You hesitated, then breathed softly, "Hi."
A moment of silence passed, "Bambi?"
"Yeah."
"It's… late."
You sighed, "Yeah, um, sorry. Did I wake you?"
You heard him stifle a yawn, "You did, yeah." Silence again, but for the sound of both your breathing, "Um, did you need something?"
"I—Yeah, I, um… I couldn't sleep."
"Okay," He drew out the word, long and smooth, "Have you tried… Counting sheep?"
You huffed a laugh, "No, I—I can't sleep because I feel horrible about what I said to you earlier. About—about your mom. I'm so, so sorry, Michael. It was awful and—and it was unacceptable and unprofessional."
He was quiet for a moment, then, "It's alright, Bambi. I've said worse to you. You didn't know about—It was just a lucky shot."
Your mouth fell open slightly, confusion clouding your brain, "What?"
"You—What you said earlier hit a nerve, but you couldn't have known. I've—I've never spoken about my mother to anyone."
You stared at the popcorn ceiling of your apartment, mouth still agape. Did he not remember?
And you were nothing if not a coward, so you kept quiet. Didn't correct him. The fact was, what you said was so much worse knowing what you knew. And he didn't even know you knew.
"Right," You said, swallowing, "Well either way, it was a really shitty thing for me to say. So I'm sorry."
"I appreciate it and I'm sorry for pushing you earlier."
You exhaled slowly and closed your eyes, "Thank you."
"Think you can sleep now, princess?" Despite the nickname, his tone was playful, almost gentle in your ear. You had the insane thought that you'd like to hear him talk you to sleep.
"Yeah. Goodnight, Michael."
"Goodnight, Bambi."
***
Robby shot up in bed, his skin tacky with sweat and his chest heaving, lungs struggling to fill. Nightmares were common for him, but what was so disorienting this night was that at first, he wasn't sure where he was. The bed sheets were unfamiliar to him where they stuck to his skin. They felt more expensive than what he had at home, reminded him of hotel sheets. The mattress was softer as well.
And then there was the soft sigh the came from the pillow next to him. His eyes followed the noise and he saw you laying beside him, fast asleep. At the sight of you, his panic began to recede just slightly. He was in your bed. Had shared a lovely dinner with you and slept with you and spoke in hushed whispers across pillows until you'd fallen asleep.
When he had nightmares at home, he would often get out of bed, crack open a beer or smoke a cigarette, unable to properly fall back asleep. But looking down at you, he feared he'd wake you if he did that. The last however many hours he'd spent with you had been the most at peace he'd felt in recent memory. Even with the nightmare, he already felt his heart rate slowing, just watching the even rise and fall of your chest.
He sank back down into the mattress and laid his head down on the pillow, his forehead nearly touching yours.
Unable to help himself, he rested his hand against your neck and ran his thumb over your cheekbone. You mewled and then your eyes began to blink open.
"Sorry," He said immediately when your eyes opened into his, "Didn't mean to wake you."
You gave him a sleepy smile and nudged your nose against his, "S'okay… It's almost nice to wake up in the middle of the night when there's someone else here."
Lying close to you, he allowed himself to believe that he deserved love like this. That he deserved a life like this. That you could love him and stay despite the ugly parts of him he'd try like hell to keep from you.
He kissed you then, to avoid thinking about all the ways in which he was bound to disappoint you if this continued. And you kissed him back, pulled him closer, your hand at the nape of his neck and he catalogued it—the feeling of your gentle fingers stroking the back of his head.
"Mmm," You hummed and pulled away from him slightly, your brow furrowed, "Is it raining?"
Sure enough, as both of you stilled, there was the sound of rain tapping against the windows, "Sounds like it."
You grinned at him, "Would you like to drink tea and watch the rain from the porch?"
You seemed already giddy by the idea so he couldn't say no, not that he wanted to. It was so simple, really, the act of watching the rain. But you stood outside wrapped in a throw blanket, your hands warming a mug of tea, and looking out into your yard with awe as the sun started to stretch over the horizon, lighting up the storm clouds from behind.
He wanted to see the world like that. To be enamored by simple pleasures, the way you were.
"You seem so happy," He said into your ear.
You hummed, "I am."
"Is this what it's like being you? In this stunning house? Just a cup of tea while it rains can bring joy?"
You turned slightly in his arms to see his face and he recognized it when you scanned his face: You were trying to gauge if he was making fun of you. Old habits died hard, he supposed.
Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't mocking you, you turned back toward the rain, "It's a lot nicer when there's someone to share it all with."
You said it casually, but he heard the note of sadness in your tone, "You've been alone for a while?" You nodded, "What about family? Your parents?"
You stiffened in his embrace and he almost regretted it. He knew what happened when you got like this, if someone moved too quickly or suddenly—you bolted.
But after a moment, you softened, "We don't really talk much anymore."
"Oh," He said softly in surprise, "Sorry, I thought—You always seemed close when we were in school."
"You mistook financial support as love. And even if it was, they promptly cut that off the second I moved to Chicago."
He frowned, "You haven't spoken since residency? Why?" In the silence that followed, he sensed your hesitancy, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"I don't mind," You said softly, "I just haven't thought about it in a while. We have talked since, but sporadically. It's mostly just happy birthday texts now." You sighed heavily, "The short answer is that they wanted me to go into neurosurgery and treated me going into pathology as some personal affront to them. It felt like they only ever saw me as some sort of investment instead of their kid."
Robby had been guilty of assuming that you had it all. After thinking it over more, he'd come to the conclusion the way he treated you had had more to do with jealousy than anything else. You always seemed so put off by talking to your parents, your parents who took care of everything for you. What he would have done to have anyone like that in his corner when he was in his twenties. He felt you were ungrateful.
But now, having done a lot of growing up himself and watching residents with all sorts of parental issues come and go through his ER, he understood that just throwing money at a kid was no way to raise them.
"I'm sorry," He said again and leaned down slightly to kiss the back of your neck, "You deserved better than that."
You turned in his arms to face him, "Do you really believe that? That what I do is just as important as what you do? Or neurosurgery?"
"Yes," He said immediately, "If it was me I might be… bored out of my mind, but we need pathologists. The ED needs them, surgery needs them, oncology needs them, hematology needs them, you're absolutely vital to all of us. But that's not what I meant. I meant that you deserved better parents."
Though you had changed over the years, not so skittish and quiet, there were things about you that remained. Your anxious state, bordering on paranoia the way you worried that others would betray you. Your quiet but desperate need of approval—of love. Your empathy, the way you felt everything so deeply and openly, even when you tried to hide it.
Right now, you were scared. Of him, of his ability to hurt you. He was also scared of his ability to hurt you. Terrified, really.
But still, you swallowed and looked away from him, "Thank you," you said quietly and tugged his arms tighter around you.
Bambi—his fawn—now stable on your own two feet. It'd be you that would have to keep him steady now, keep him from running.
***
When Robby was at work now, when the shifts got bad, he excused himself for just a moment and closed his eyes. He'd conjure your home in his head, your cat Brutus, the sound of your laugh, watching rain from your covered porch while drinking coffee, waking up to the smell of your shampoo on the pillow, movie nights on your couch, long showers and your hands on his skin.
It had been weeks now since your first date and things had moved quickly. It hadn't been discussed explicitly, but Robby spent most nights at your house now. The simple domesticity of it, of having someone to come home to, had felt nearly life changing. You often asked if he wanted you to stay at his place for a change to which he always turned down.
He loved everything about your place, from the way it always smelt like something delicious, to the fact that Brutus was always there, to just how lived in it felt. Just last weekend the two of you had spent entire days digging up the garden beds so you could start planting vegetables and fruits and herbs. You talked about cucumber salads and fresh baked pies and it all felt so… domestic. Mundane. And it was the only place he felt peace.
Today's shift had been horrible. And so after calling time of death on a patient that he'd worked on for far longer than was clinically appropriate, he told Dana he'd be outside for a few minutes. In the ambulance bay, with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, he tried to slow his breathing. In through his nose, out through his mouth.
Closing his eyes, he willed the images of the woman away, of her child. Instead, he pictured you, the sleepy smile on your face when he woke up first in the morning, whispered in your ear that he was going to make pancakes. He pictured you fast asleep on your couch, a paperback abandoned in your hand and Brutus snuggled up on your chest. He pictured you spinning around your backyard in the rain, green rain boots up to your knees and your wild laughter.
As his breathing slowed, the sound of the ambulance bay doors sliding open had him turning his attention to the doors to see Abbot walking toward him.
Silently, Jack stood next to Robby and crossed his arms, "Your girlfriend's down here looking for you."
Robby sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, "She's not my girlfriend."
"Sorry, your pathologist."
Robby huffed a laugh, "I guess she is sort of my girlfriend."
"Well, you better watch out because I hear all the nurses warning her about your… 'seven week itch' I think they're calling it."
He shook his head, "She's not the type to listen to rumors."
Jack hummed, "She might start if you keep her waiting much longer."
"Alright, alright," He sighed and pushed himself off the wall, "I'll go find her."
"'Atta boy," Jack said and clapped him over the shoulder, the two of them walking back into the Pitt.
Robby's eyes found you almost immediately, talking to Dana, and you, as if sensing his gaze, looked up to meet his. There was concern all over your face and Robby didn't even have the time to properly wonder if Dana had filled you in about the terrible shift they'd had before you were marching over to him.
You were apparently so intently focused on him, you didn't notice the puddle of water on the floor and before Robby could warn you, you'd slipped.
Your feet went up over your head and your back hit the ground—hard.
Instantly, Robby was there, a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you tried to sit up— "Hey, don't move, don't move."
"Ow," you groaned and tried to push him out of your way, "I'm fine, Michael."
"Did you hit your head?" His penlight was already out, ready to assess.
You sighed, "I don't know, I don't think so."
"Dana," he called over his shoulder, "What's open?"
"Central 11."
"I just wanna go home," You said softly, "I'm fine, I swear."
But seeing you fall like that after the shift he'd had, he couldn't seem to slow the spiral he was beginning to fall down. What if you had a concussion? A brain bleed? Untreated one could lead to irreparable brain damage and the other, death.
"It'll be quick," He said, "Promise. Just… Please, it'll make me feel better."
You tilted your head slightly, doe eyes out in full force. Like you were concerned about him. But you nodded anyway, conceded to him, even when he insisted on a wheelchair to transport you.
When it was just the two of you and he had started your exam, you continued to watch him carefully.
"Did something happen today?" You asked softly, "During shift?"
He hummed in question, gently turning your head this way and that, "What d'you mean?"
"You're being… hypervigilant. I'm just wondering if something happened today to trigger that."
The two of you had discussed covid and Adamson. You had been back in Pittsburgh at that point, but at Westbridge. Robby had felt a pang of resentment at first, thinking that you likely hadn't had to be on the front lines like he had.
But then you told him about the autopsies. How there were so many bodies that you, who had built a career off studying cancers and blood, had had to assist with autopsies. You told him how you hadn't really done an autopsy since residency, but now with how many you'd had to do during the pandemic, you could do them with your eyes closed.
"It fucked with me," You'd told him, "I saw those bodies everywhere, even if I wasn't in the hospital. I could smell them no matter how many candles I lit at home. I dreamt about them for weeks after. I cried for months."
And when you'd divulged that, the flood gates had opened for him. He told you everything, from covid to PittFest. When he got choked up, he found himself instinctually reaching for your hand, needing you to anchor him. Without hesitation, you practically pulled him into your lap, cradled his head to your chest and whispered soothing words in his ear.
So then it shouldn't have surprised him that you would catch on so quickly. For being so young when you went through med school, he had assumed upon first meeting you that you'd have no idea about anything. But it had struck him immediately how emotionally intelligent you were, how you had from the very beginning been able to read even the most closed off of patients.
Still, he felt himself recoil at your assessment, "You fell," He said, "I'm just making sure you're alright."
"Well I'm also a doctor and I'm telling you, I'm fine. There's no tenderness at the back of my head, no nausea, no dizziness—"
"I'm ordering you a head CT."
Your mouth fell open, indignation in the tug of your lips. After a moment, you scoffed, "I don't want that so please get me the AMA forms to sign, if you don't mind."
He raised his eyebrows and finally met your eyes, "Really?"
"You're exposing me to unnecessary radiation when I have zero symptoms—"
"You don't remember if you hit your head—"
"Robby?" He whipped his head around to see Dana in the doorway, "The cops are here, they wanna talk to you about the boy and his mother who—"
"Yeah, okay, I'll be there in a minute."
Dana left and he hung his head, braced his hands against his legs, hoping they didn't shake, "I would really appreciate it… if you could please stay for a CT."
He felt your gaze even as he avoided it, "Why are the cops here?"
He sighed, "A kid's here with no parental guardian."
There was a pause, then, "What happened to his mother?"
"I really can't talk about this right now—"
"Then I'd like the AMA forms, please."
He made an exasperated groan and looked up at you, tried pleading with his eyes, but you stayed firm, expectant, until he sighed, "A woman was brought in today with her ten year old son who'd found her unresponsive in the bathtub when he came home from school today. She'd slashed her own wrists. We couldn't get a pulse back." He ran a hand along the back of his neck, "The kid doesn't have anyone else."
In a moment, you were on your knees in front of him, his hands clasped in yours, "You worked the resuscitation?"
He nodded, and to his surprise salty tears fell onto your clasped hands. Embarrassed, he tried for nonchalant as he spoke, "It's uh—It's been a long day, but that happened almost first thing this morning. I don't know why I can't shake it."
"Well… That's unsurprising." You said slowly, "Considering your childhood."
His entire body stiffened and he pulled away, "What'd you say?"
You opened and closed your mouth, still lowered to the ground in front of him. He watched as you seemed to calculate your misstep too late and then rush to correct, "I just, um, I remember you telling me once that… that your parents weren't really… present in your life."
Robby shook his head, "I never told you about that."
You bit your lip for a moment and then shrugged, "You told me… everything, Michael. The night we slept together in med school. You were very drunk."
He bristled and scoffed, "Right, we got drunk, I told you that my mother killed herself, and then we fucked?"
It seemed absurd. The truth that he was so ashamed of, that he'd held so close to his chest, that he hadn't allowed anyone to know, he had told you. His grandparents had been the only other people to know and when they died they took it with them. He had assumed he would do the same. But here you were, this contradiction to the one fundamental truth he'd had. That no one would ever need to know the ugly truth that the single person on this Earth who was supposed to love him unconditionally had abandoned him with such violent permanence.
You seemed a bit embarrassed at his hostility, lifting yourself back up to your feet again, "Look, you don't have to try to humiliate me just because you don't believe me. I'm sorry I brought it up, I was just trying to let you know that I understand why that case was difficult for you."
"Yeah, well, it's not your fucking place."
He thought he saw you flinch, but just as quickly, you became stoic, "I think it's time for me to go and I'd prefer it if you stayed at your own place tonight."
You left without waiting for him to respond and immediately, the anger left him in a rush, replaced with shame. When he walked back towards central, you were gone, Dana looking at him now with a question in her eyes, "Your girl left in a rush, I thought you were leaving with her?"
He sighed, ran both hands over his face, "Where's the kid?"
"BH1," She said and leaned closer to him, "It's her birthday today and you let her leave here without you?"
Fuck. "It's her birthday?"
Dana nodded, "You don't know your own girl's birthday?"
"She's not—How do you know it's her birthday?"
"She told me about ten minutes ago."
Unbelievable.
"Well," He said, fingers interlaced at the back of his neck, "I don't think she'll want to spend it with me now."
Dana watched him for a moment, "Tell you what, Baran's still here, I'm sure she wouldn't mind handling the police. You should go. Get her a cake and flowers and apologize. You had a hard day, she'll understand."
You had understood, but he thought you'd likely be heaps and bounds less understanding now.
But hadn't he promised himself, when he first agreed to date you, seriously, that he'd be different this time? That he wouldn't fall back into old habits? That he wouldn't push people away when they got too close?
You already knew the worst of him, apparently. Had known it for decades it seemed and still, you wanted him. And as always, he'd hurt you anyway.
So, he was really prepared to grovel when he finally got to your place, a bouquet of tulips and white bakery box in hand. He knocked gently on the door and waited until he heard the twist of the doorknob, and then saw you. You were in sweats and a tank top and you crossed your arms over your chest when you saw him.
"Hi," he said softly.
"I thought I asked you not to come here tonight."
"I know, and I'll go, I just, Dana mentioned that it was your birthday so I got you a cake and some flowers and I just wanted to say that I'm—I'm really sorry. I just, I've never told… anyone about her, or so I thought, and it just caught me off guard. But, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way, you were only trying to help."
You stared at him for a few moments, mouth twisted to the side and bounced on the balls of your feet, "You got me a birthday cake?"
His mouth twitched into a smirk, but he fought it, "Yeah, but I didn't know what sort of cake you like so I—I got you funfetti cake. It reminded me of you."
Now it was you fighting a smirk, "Funfetti cake reminds you of me?"
He nodded, "Yeah, you're bright, colorful, pretty, happy—You're everything. Funfetti."
You uncrossed your arms and interlocked them behind your back instead, "You can come inside."
Ten minutes later, you both sat on the couch with a slice of cake, "No one's ever gotten me a birthday cake before."
Robby balked, "What?"
You shrugged, "My parents were always too busy to celebrate my birthday. I think they forgot most years. And I didn't have many friends growing up. And then when I got to be an adult I just… stopped telling people when my birthday was. To avoid being disappointed."
He felt an ache in his chest for the child he saw in his head, the kid he used to know. How lonely you must've been. "Why'd you tell Dana?"
"One of my students is a bit of a kiss ass and found out it was my birthday from the internet. Got the whole class to sign a card for me. Dana just happened to see it."
He sighed, "I'm really sorry if I contributed to your day being shitty."
You shook your head, "I really don't even think about it much anymore, truly. And anyway, it sounded like you had a much harder day than I did."
"That's not an excuse."
You put your plate on the coffee table and turned your attention fully to Robby, taking his face gently in your hands, "You came here and you apologized," You said softly, "And I've forgiven you. So enough with the self flagellation, hm?" You stroked your thumbs gently over his cheekbones, "And why don't you tell me about the mother that came in today."
Again, he felt the involuntary raise of his hackles at the suggestion that he discuss today. But there was warmth and tenderness in your eyes. Your fingers ran through his hair and scratched at his scalp gently, and his eyes fluttered closed, hackles falling.
And so the words flowed out of him. He recounted the horror and fear that reverberated through him as the woman was rolled in, her son shaking and sobbing at her side. How difficult it was for him to focus on anything other than this boy, this baby, now alone in the world. It was frightening, really, to come face to face with the boy he used to be. How young he was when his mother had passed, something he'd been unable to appreciate at the time.
He'd done a lot of work to forgive her for leaving. Had studied up on suicidality and bipolar depression. In his career he met many people who reminded him of his mother and his empathy had stretched and grown and while he'd thought he'd forgiven her, there was still just a kernel of bitterness deep in his chest.
He had never been confronted with himself, with the child he used to be, until today. How his heart bled for that child. He could recall every memory of that day, every smell, every sound, every touch. The world had fractured and reassembled for that boy today, much like it had for him so many years ago. And he'd had to listen to his colleagues all day, talk about that boy as if he was the one who had died and it pissed him off. That they could so easily written off that kid's future because of a single day, because of the choices his mother had made.
But then came the small, nagging voice at the back of his head, But wasn't it true? Aren't you broken beyond repair? Isn't that the one truth you've been running from all this time?
"You're not broken," You said softly to him when he'd finished speaking, still holding him tightly to you, now with one hand beneath his shirt and running your nails soothingly up and down his back.
You repeated it to him like a mantra until he leaned up, captured your soft, warm mouth with his. And whenever he opened his eyes to look into yours, he knew you didn't believe your own words. Walls that you had begun to deconstruct over the last few weeks were now built back up. Now, barbed wire adorned the walls like vines.
He had the distinct feeling that you'd never allow him to see over the walls again.
***
"Well I heard from Edith who heard from Sam who sometimes has lunch with Dana that Robby's been staying late and picking up more shifts again, since he bought that motorcycle… You know what that means."
"The seven week itch has struck again. That motorcycle's a breakup motorcycle if I've ever seen one."
You sighed heavily as you adjusted your microscope, "You guys are not being as quiet as you think you are."
Your students giggled at your admonishment, "Sorry, the drama is just way more fascinating in the Pitt than it is up here."
You were silent after that and their whispers died down, but never completely. You had never paid much attention to rumors around the hospital until you and Robby started seeing each other. The women in the hospital loved gossiping about him. And more and more it ate away at you.
Things hadn't been quite right between you since your birthday. You had forgiven him for how he'd acted, but still there was a cold dread in your stomach that seemed to intensify every time you saw him. You felt yourself overcompensating, looking for reassurance. You had convincingly kept up the illusion of confidence, but now it waned.
You had the feeling he had sussed it out, how desperate you were. Before, for any companionship. Now, specifically, for his. You were frightened by the way your heart squeezed when you woke up to him beside you in the morning. The way he had slipped into your routine so effortlessly. Helping you out in the garden on the weekends. Putting the kettle on at exactly 9PM for tea before bed. Trying all your desserts even after insisting he needed to watch what he ate. Recently, he'd began reading your well-worn, tattered copy of The Princess Bride aloud to you, using character voices that got more and more ridiculous until you were crying with laughter. More and more regularly, he fell asleep on the couch, glasses askew and Brutus on his chest.
It was terrifying how easily he slotted into your life. This was what you'd wanted, what you'd always wanted, had wanted so badly at times you'd forced relationships you knew would never work.
And you kept waiting, day after day, for him to leave and not come back. The day he'd been short with you in the ER, you'd been flung back to an earlier relationship. Remembered in vivid details the ugly fights you'd had.
"You're not listening to me!"
"Maybe I just don't like the sound of your voice."
It didn't matter how he apologized after, the words had burrowed deep in your head. They stuck with you from relationship to relationship and you'd heard similar disdain from Robby that day.
So with all of this, you were already struggling before the rumors and before the motorcycle. You felt him pulling away from you inch by inch and you clung to him harder, certain if you just enticed him the correct way he'd want to stay.
And for a while, you thought it was working, until dinner one day on the porch. The vibrant strawberry sky was beginning to bruise with dusk as you each sat in silent after cleaning your plates.
Then Robby cleared his throat, "You know how I've been fixing up the motorcycle with Duke?"
You nodded. You knew the fact that you were jealous of a sixty year old biker spending time with your boyfriend was not healthy. You were glad he had picked up a hobby outside of the ER, it was good for him. And still, you couldn't help the way dread curdled in your gut every time he spoke about it. What it really felt like was an escape plan. No matter how you tried to convince yourself it wasn't, you couldn't stop the constant spirals. The souring of your mood whenever he stated he was going to Duke's or he couldn't make it tonight because he stayed too late at Duke's so he'd just sleep at his own place. You knew he noticed the shift in energy whenever the motorcycle was brought up, but he never commented on it.
"It's finished," He gave you a wry smile, "It's rideable now, in really good shape."
"Oh," You said, "That's… great."
Again, he ignored the uneasiness in your tone. Or maybe he truly was oblivious. Because next he said, "I was thinking about taking some time off from work and doing a cross country ride."
"Oh," You said again, feeling dumb at your sudden lack of vocabulary, "For how long?"
"I don't know," He avoided looking at you as he said, "Three months?"
The pain in your chest was spectacular. Again and again you were reminded of how unlovable you were. You tried so hard and it was never enough, not for your parents, not for friends, not for every other partner who left quickly and quietly. Your eyes burned as you pushed back from the table and picked up your plate, "You don't have to flee across the country to get rid of me, you could just break up with me like a mature, grown man." You said bitterly and walked back inside.
Assumedly shocked at your outburst, it took him a minute before following you back inside, "This is not about us," He said quietly over your shoulder as you dropped the dirty dishes unceremoniously into your sink.
"Frankly, it doesn't matter if it isn't," You said turning to face him, "If you leave for three months our relationship is effectively dead. And you know this."
He scoffed, "Three months is not that long—"
"Three months is not that long when you've been in a relationship for a decade, it's everything when you've barely even been together that long."
He watched you and slowly shook his head, "It doesn't have to be. You could come with me."
You laughed and pushed past him, "What, and bring Brutus as well? Let my garden wither away? You don't really want me to come, you're just offering out of guilt."
"That's not true, I—I want to be here with you, being with you is the only thing that feels right in my life right now. I don't want to lose that."
"Then why are you running away?" You asked, exasperated and humiliated when tears began to blur your vision.
You were sitting on the couch now and he crouched in front of you, looked at you with his big wet, brown cow eyes. Eyes you adored, crow's feet you wished to sink into, freckles you'd counted and memorized over many nights.
"I feel like…" He said slowly, "Like… if I don't get out of that hospital, of this city soon that I'm a ticking time bomb."
You nodded and sniffed, pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes, "And I feel like if you leave I'm never gonna see you again."
He tilted his head to the side, eyebrow furrowed and watery eyes studying you. You waited and waited for him to say it wasn't true, but he obviously couldn't. Instead he cupped your cheeks in his hands and gently brushed away your tears, "C'mon sweetheart, don't cry. It's okay. I've got you."
Leaning in, he gently kissed your forehead, the tops of your cheeks, your nose, then your mouth, his beard scratching the soft skin of your face. Stifling the cries that attempted to crawl up your throat, you kissed him back fiercely, wondering if it would be the last time you got to do so. He matched your fervor, groaning into your mouth as you deepened the kiss—and then his hands were everywhere.
He hoisted you up and around his waist and walked you to the bedroom, a path he knew well at this point, could do it with his eyes closed. He placed you down and then crawled over you, arms bracketing your head as he kissed your lips swollen and raw. The smell of him, the taste of him, had become so comforting to you it was agony to imagine a time when you couldn't have them whenever you wanted. That he would be so far away from you, your house lonely and empty once again. And it was this thought that had you burst promptly into tears.
"Wh—What's wrong? Sweetheart—Do you wanna stop? We can stop—"
"No, no," You said quickly through hiccuping sobs and opened your eyes into his, "Please—Please don't stop, Michael, please—"
"Okay," He kissed all over your face again as your sobs began to quiet, "Okay, baby. I'm right here—" In response to his words, you pulled him closer until his weight was almost fully on you, "I'm right here." He repeated.
When your tears dried, he slowly undressed you, his kisses painfully tender and eyes that melted you. It took everything in you not to rush him along. The need to have him inside you, to fill you up, felt almost primal. You needed to be close to him, as close as you could be. Soon he'd be gone and all you'd have was the ghost of a feeling.
He leaned his forehead against yours as he slowly pushed inside you, both of you sighing into one another, "So perfect," He murmured and kissed you, "Feel so perfect, baby."
"Please," You kept saying over and over as he pushed himself in and out of you. You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, for him to fuck you? For him to stay? For him to love you?
Pulling out of you, he turned you onto your stomach, positioned your hips until you felt him press into you again, his belly against the small of your back and the cold chain around his neck falling against your shoulders, sending a chill down your spine.
The feel of him inside you was exquisite, like nothing else you'd experienced before. He pushed his hand beneath your belly until his fingers found your swollen clit and this coupled with the way he filled you up was too much, the sensation overwhelming. You were coming before you even had the chance to warn him, unraveling as he moaned and kissed the back of your neck when he felt your walls pulse around him.
The pleasure was so overwhelming and the feel of him so stifling, it was almost involuntary when you blurted out, "I love you, Michael, I love you."
With your face partially obscured by the mattress, you hoped he hadn't heard it. But his hips stuttered for a second and panic seized in your chest until— "Oh, God, fuck—" he came inside you.
His skin stuck to yours as he caught his breath, still inside you as he softened. You laid like that for a while in silence, spooning in your bed. The sun had still cast shadows in your room when you first came in here, but now it was nearly pitch black.
"You're still leaving?" You asked, voice steadier than you felt, unwilling to hope.
He was quiet for long enough that you wondered if he'd fallen asleep. But then came the soft, "Yes," in your ear.
You said nothing else that night. Neither of you spoke about what you'd confessed during sex and when you woke in the morning, he had left. There was no trace of him left in the house. He'd taken his toothbrush, his beard trimmer, his duffel of clothes and other toiletries. All gone.
He left a single t-shirt—by accident or not, you couldn't say—draped over your hamper. When you picked it up and brought it to your face, it smelt like him.
You sank to the floor of your closet like a child and cried.
***
Robby saw you everywhere and in everything. He thought about you most mornings when he put on a pair of pants and noticed how they were a bit too snug—Having regular meals most days at your place had meant he'd put on a few pounds while dating you. He thought about you and Brutus whenever Trinity showed him pictures of her new kittens. Whenever he had a cookie or a slice of blueberry pie, he remembered the sweet buttery smell of your house whenever you were baking.
He missed you with a devotion that felt almost religious, but he never picked up the phone. After having made you cry and then hearing you admit that you were in love with him, he'd been absolutely certain he couldn't have you. He'd thought in the beginning, he'd been able to delude himself that he could have someone like you. That he deserved someone like you, so sweet and gentle and loving. But despite his precautions, you'd still crumbled to dust in his hands.
He was terrified that if he didn't leave he'd repeat his mother's mistakes and leave you even more devastated than you were now.
But when you looked at him and said you didn't think you'd ever see him again, he'd wondered if you'd understood. If you'd understood his fears and instead worried that if he did leave he'd become his mother.
He didn't want to think about that and so as he packed up his gear and clothes and whatever else he thought he might need onto his bike, he tried and failed to stop thinking about you.
As he left town, he rode by your house knowing you'd be at work. He rolled slowly, memorized every detail he could of the house, the only place he'd ever felt at home besides his grandparents' house. In a last minute decision, he pulled out his phone and took a quick photo.
This was when he saw Brutus in the window, watching him, tail swishing back and forth. He'd miss that little rascal, too, even if he had broken his favorite mug. He gave a quick salute to Brutus and then he left before he could change his mind.
For a while, being on the road felt as freeing as he hoped it would. Everyone before he left seemed so worried he was about to kill himself, but honestly, with new air in his lungs, he felt great. For around four hundred miles.
He was a few days into the trip, having only driven something like a hundred miles each day, and closing in on Chicago when the fatigue really began to set in. Every part of his body ached. He had been very careful not to let his mind wander to you since he'd left, but it wandered anyhow. Now he thought of the Epsom salt baths you insisted on whenever he had aches and pains. He wished more than anything that you'd be there in Chicago, waiting by the hot bath, pretending to resist when he coaxed you in with him. You'd sit between his legs, back to his chest as you told him about your day as he gently kneaded your shoulders with his thumbs. You'd talk about the study you were working on. Or, since it was a Saturday, maybe you'd spent time in the garden, pulling weeds as you listened to an audiobook for a new mystery novel.
Robby was so immersed in the fantasy, he didn't register the oncoming headlights until it was already too late. Still, as the car crossed the double yellow line into his lane, on instinct, he jerked the bike away from the oncoming collision.
He was able to avoid the car, but lost control of the bike, skidding off the road and into a guardrail. He felt it when the gravel tore through his pants, then his skin, the weight of his bike pinning him to the ground as he came to a complete stop.
Robby was so used to watching other people die, he thought he knew what it'd be like when his time came. Stupidly, he thought he'd made his peace with his own mortality, his inevitable demise. But in the split second it took for him to see the oncoming headlights and jerk his bike out of the way, he understood immediately and with complete clarity that he didn't want to die.
As he felt his skin being torn up and his leg being crushed, time slowed, and he saw your face. Heard your voice tell him you loved him. The sound of your laugh. The smell of your shampoo.
And just as quickly as it happened, it was over, and the pain exploded throughout his body.
Pain, glorious pain, and as he categorized it all he understood it meant he was alive and he laughed, wildly. The paramedics that showed up afterwards and told him how lucky he was likely thought him insane as he laughed and laughed.
He was alive. He was fucking alive. And the realization filled him with indescribable joy. Logically he knew most of this was due to the adrenaline rush, but he couldn't help but feel like this had to have been some divine intervention. And soon enough, as the adrenaline fled him and the pain meds kicked in, he couldn't stop crying.
The nurses and doctors looked at him with sympathy and one nurse, Angela, asked gently, "Is there anyone we can call?"
The only person he wanted to call right now was you. His bike was totaled and he found he didn't even care. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to play chess on your porch while it rained. He wanted to play hide and seek with Brutus while you giggled from the sofa, watching him. He wanted to let you pick a movie for movie night only to have you unceremoniously fall asleep in his arms less than ten minutes in. He wanted to beg your forgiveness. He wanted to tell you he loved you, was in love with you, like he should have before he left. He wanted to go home.
But he shook his head, wiped his eyes and asked if he could have his phone. He would be waiting a while for imaging on his leg. The thought for sure something was broken and based on what he felt when he went down, he concurred with that opinion. He thought it possible he might even need surgery, though they hadn't said as much yet.
Angela returned with his phone and a smile, repeated as he looked at his cracked screen that she'd be happy to call, but he thanked her and waved her off.
His phone seemed to be working fine and he immediately scrolled over to his photo album where he pulled up photos of you. Photos of the two of you together, you making a silly face at the camera and him with a toothy smile on his face as he looked down at you. Happy.
He felt suddenly very stupid for how he'd handled everything. Wished he'd listened to you when you asked him why he seemed to be sabotaging the one good thing in his life.
The answer was that he didn't think he deserved anything good, least of all, you. He was destined to a miserable life and a miserable death and he had no desire to bring you down with him.
But looking at this photo, it was becoming more and more clear to him that you had changed him. He thought he was destined for tragedy, but you'd rewritten his ending. Only he'd been much too stupid to see it.
Eventually, he worked up the courage to call you, not expecting you to answer. As the phone rang he could picture you in your pajama set, sleepytime tea on your nightstand and Brutus curled up in your lap as you stared at the caller ID with rage in your eyes.
But you surprised him. You picked up after just three rings.
"Hello?" You sounded a bit breathless and a lot confused.
"Hi."
"Michael?" He closed his eyes at the sound of his name, always so sweet from your mouth, "What's wrong? Where are you?"
"Why are you assuming something's wrong?"
"Because I haven't heard from you in weeks," You said bitterly, "And I can hear beeping monitors in the background and I know you're not at work because Abbot told me you left for your sabbatical days ago."
"So you've been asking about me?" He said, teasing lilt to his voice.
You sighed, "Michael, so help me, I will hang up this phone—"
"Alright, okay, sorry, sorry, you're right," He ran a hand over his face, "I'm sorry—I—I'm in an emergency room in Chicago and I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Why are you in an emergency room?" He could tell you were fighting to keep your voice level from how slowly you asked the question.
"I totaled the bike," He scratched at his beard, "I was driving too late and I was tired and a car drifted into my lane and I swerved and went into a guardrail."
"Oh my God—Fuck—Are you—Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I have some pretty bad road rash and think maybe my leg's broken—" He heard movement on the other end of the phone, "What're you doing?"
"Packing." You said matter of factly, "If I leave now I should get to Chicago by morning."
He felt his eyes burn immediately. That after everything you'd still go to him without hesitation. Again, he felt that pang in his chest, that overwhelming ache that said he didn't deserve you.
"You shouldn't drive this late," Was all he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
"Please," You said dismissively, "Do you need anything from your house? I can stop on my way."
"Sweetheart, I'm—I'm so sorry for leaving. You were right, you're the only thing that matters and I thought I didn't deserve it—Deserve you and so I ran away. I'm a coward. And I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'll beg for it anyway. I love you so much and I just want to be with you, if you'll still have me."
There was silence on the other line and then a soft sigh, "You're on so many drugs right now, aren't you?"
"What? No—Well, yes, but that's not why—"
"We can talk about it in a few days when you're not high out of your mind. Do you need anything from your house?" You repeated it like you were talking to a petulant toddler and he felt stupid again. He hadn't considered what this would look like to you. And yes, his accident had forced him to confront what he was actually doing and feeling, but that didn't make it less true. He'd known he loved you long before he left, long before you even said it. He thought he'd likely been a little bit in love with you since med school.
Your caution was understandable, though, so he wouldn't push.
"No," He said finally, "No, thanks. But would you mind sharing your location with me since you insist on driving through the night? Would make me feel better if I can follow along."
"Sure," you said, and he heard the way your voice softened at his concern, "Goodnight, Michael."
For a moment, time seemed to crunch like an accordian and he was back in med school, your voice in his ear in the middle of the night, asking for his forgiveness. He felt a bit fuzzy at the edges.
"Goodnight, Bambi." He murmured and his phone slipped from his hand.
***
Michael was asleep when you got to the hospital and had been admitted to Ortho upstairs for surgery.
Your emotions were all over the place, but seeing him in a hospital bed, a bit bloodied up and hooked up to monitors, you felt your defenses falling. You wanted to be angry with him, but how could you be? When you had been so close to losing him for good?
As you got closer, you noted that he'd let his beard and hair grow out a bit longer since the last you saw him. It made him appear softer. You had been pleased before he left when his cheeks began to fill out a bit having made him eat properly since you began dating. That weight was still there, if not as obvious as before.
The rush of affection that filled you upon seeing him was nearly suffocating.
As you pulled up a chair to his bedside, he began to wake and you smiled at him with watery eyes, "Hi."
He smiled back and reached a hand out for you which you immediately took and brought to your lips.
"I'm sorry," He said immediately, but you dismissed him with a shake of your head.
"What did the doctor say? Why do you need surgery?"
"It's… shattered. The bike fell on it, crushed my leg. Have to screw it all back together."
You frowned as he grimaced, "Are you in pain? Let me go get a nurse—"
You stood to go, but he wrapped a hand around your wrist, "No, no, don't. I asked them to… take me off the meds."
You stared at him, mouth agape, "Why would you do something like that?"
"So that I could tell you how in love with you I am with a clear head."
You nearly laughed, "Michael Robinavitch, have you lost your goddamn mind?"
"You said we should wait," He shook his head, "I don't want you to go another second thinking that I don't love you."
Your eyes watered, but you shook your head, "It's gonna take a lot longer than you saying it once for me to trust you again."
"I know that," He grimaced again, "I just wanted to say it now."
You brought a hand to his cheek and scratched lightly along his jaw, "Can I go grab a nurse now if you're done with the dramatics?"
He smirked and nodded and you hid a grin as you stood and walked from the room.
It was a day or two after surgery that Robby was finally cleared to go home with you. On the way home, high on pain meds, Robby read The Princess Bride to you in his silly voices to keep you entertained.
At home, you set him up in bed with strict instructions to Brutus to keep him company while you made him food.
And slowly, the two of you settled back into the usual rhthym. He told you he loved you many times a day. Even when he didn't say it, he'd run his fingers over the tattoo on your wrist, or say something just to make you laugh. He watched you with an expression on his face that you'd never seen before and when you asked if something was wrong, he shook his head, said "Everything's perfect."
As he got back on his feet, you took slow walks to and from the park, fed the birds. Robby even downloaded an app on his phone that could identify the birds by thsid song. His face would light up with joy whenever the app told him a bird he didn't recognize was around.
Life was quiet and peaceful and love found a way to fill every crack and crevice in each of your hearts.
A year later, when Robby's leg had healed entirely, when the only pain was used to predict the rain, was when he asked you.
"Sweetheart?" Your head was in his lap on the sofa, you watching TV while he did a crossword. You hummed in response so he knew you were listening, "I've been thinking and I think it's time I put my house up for sale."
You sat up slowly and looked at him. Your eyes instantly scanning for deception.
Robby was a great roommate. He was pretty handy and so could usually fix most minor wear and tear problems without having to call in an expert. He took care of Brutus and the plants. He loved gardening with you. He never let the chores go too long without being done. Always washed the toilet because he knew it was your least favorite chore.
You had no qualms about living with him. But you always assumed, even though most of you had grown to trust him again, that he'd keep his house as a backup plan. It was realistic, you told yourself. Relationships all had expiration dates.
"Really?"
He nodded, "The last year I've only ever gone home to to make sure nobody's broken in. I've moved everything I use here already. My clothes, my toiletries, my tools, my books, my records—everything's here. It's a waste, don't you think?"
You opened and closed your mouth, ran your fingers absently over the tattoo on your wrist, "What if… What if we fight and you want space?"
He shrugged, "I don't think that would happen, but I could always get a hotel for a night. I still have the cabin in the mountains."
You swallowed and looked down at your hands, "If we break up you'll hate me because you sold your house."
You felt the couch shift as he sat up and took your hands, "If we broke up, I could never hate you. Besides, this is my decision. You didn't pressure me into it. I also figured this way it was only fair that I start helping out with the bills here. Now, if me permanently moving in feels like too big of a step to you—"
"No," You said quickly, "No, I want you to. I love having you here, it's been…" You shook your head, "It's been the best year of my life."
He smiled and brought your hands up to his lips, "Mine too."
And as the two of you talked over a bottle of wine about the logistics of moving the remainder of his things into your house and calling realtors and what you should do with the extra money (Should you travel? Put it into retirement?) it was like the final piece of your previously shattered heart was glued back into place.
Before Michael, you often wondered if you were too picky. If your standards were too high as your mother loved to tell you and that's why you'd end up a spinster. Alone and bitter, always denied the one thing you wanted and craved most in the world: love and companionship.
But as you and Michael talked late into the night and fell asleep in each other's arms, you knew you'd been right to wait.
You couldn't rush soulmates and you would've waited forever and a day if it meant you got to know love like this. Luckily for you, you'd only had to wait twenty something years for Robby to realize he was in love with you. In the face of forever, it was a blink of an eye. And for that, you'd thank the sun and the moon and all the stars every day for the rest of your life.
abbot’s just completed handoff with robby when he finds one of the cocky interns speaking to you. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out how uncomfortable you look, and you’re trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible. as soon as abbot notices the intern’s arm start to box you against the nurses’ station, he tunes out what robby’s saying and heads towards the two of you.
“hey, sweetheart,” abbot sidles up beside you, a possessive hand landing on your hip. “i’ve been looking for you everywhere. i left money on the counter for dinner, figured you’d wanna order in.”
the shock written all over your features quickly disappears when abbot gives you an encouraging smile. you find yourself nodding, leaning into him.
“thank you, you’re so thoughtful.” you seal the deal by leaning forward and pressing your lips to his cheek.
“i don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” abbot turns towards the intern, hand outstretched for him to shake. “dr. jack abbot, attending physician.”
you have to hide your smile behind your hand when you see the look of realisation cross this guy’s face.
“i’m anthony kane. first year resident, but everyone calls me tony.”
“well, tony,” jack crosses his arms and you can’t deny how hot he looks. “i see you’ve met my girl. anything we can do for you?”
“n-no,” tony shakes his head. “i was just introducing myself.”
jack nods, “well, now that you’re acquainted you can go and see if dr. robby needs anything before you clock out.”
“yes, sir.” tony scurries away and when you turn to look at abbot, you find him looking at you in concern.
“sorry, i hope that was okay. didn’t like what i saw.” he says.
“that was perfect. thank you for that,” you say gratefully. “he was being kinda persistent.”
“should hopefully keep him off your back for a while,” abbot looks over his shoulder, making sure the kid is talking to dr. robby. when he seems satisfied, he turns back to you. “might have to keep up the charade for a while.”
“oh yeah, wouldn’t want him to think he can try again.”
Summary: Robby quickly grows fond of his new next door neighbour, through shared mornings and casual companionship.
Pairing: michael “robby” robinavitch x fem!reader
Contains: sexual content (smut, pwp), explicit language, fluff, age gap, meet cute, semi-domesticity, bar fight mention (injuries, but not heavily described), pet names, drinking, smoking, jealousy, reader works nights, referred to as "girl", referred to with she/her pronouns, no use of y/n
Word Count: 11.4k
Note: i’ve been working on this for awhile and i just needed to get it out of my drafts. it gets a little bit sappy in the worst way possible (/j). this is my first time properly writing smut so… take it lightly. lol can you guess my favourite pet name?
The first time he spotted you was on a Sunday afternoon.
Sunlight streamed down the canopies on his street as you stomped up your new front steps with a box in your arms. A cool breeze blew your dress to one side, hair following suit. Arms glowed in the warm light, damp with sweat from the heat and from the exercise. You dropped the box by the door, then hurried back outside.
He was coming back from a late lunch with Jake, catching up and all. You don’t see him yet, but he’s frozen on the sidewalk, looking at the moving truck parked in the street. It’s you and his next door neighbour standing by the truck, assessing the situation.
Your friend spotted him first, raising an arm up to wave. “Robby.”
You turned, eyes squinting. The first thing you saw was his beard, then the crinkle between his eyebrows when he was looking at you, trying to figure you out. Your friend hopped down from the truck to meet him in the middle. You followed.
“Hey, Serena.” He greeted her, voice all gruff. He crossed one arm over the other, the glint of his watch facing you. After trailing the cotton of your dress up, his eyes met yours. Golden hour was doing wonders for you.
“This is my friend,” Serena introduced you, “she’s taking over my lease while I’m gone.”
Robby nodded, “Nice to meet you.”
“You must be the doctor.” You smiled, mouth wider than intended. Serena had mentioned him to you once or twice. Emergency doctor, barely home, but shut-in when he was. Grumpy old man, she had joked, but she never mentioned he was… attractive.
Robby gave a bashful nod, and Serena must’ve caught you staring because she nudged you on the shoulder. You recoiled, rubbing your arm dramatically.
“Hey, play nice.” She warned you teasingly. Her eyes darted to him, leaning towards Robby like she was telling a secret, “This one bites.”
“Serena…” You scolded as she headed back to the truck with a laugh and a skip. Face burnt in embarrassment, you cursed her out in your head. You exhaled, looking at Robby’s amusement, an eyebrow quirked by intrigue and a subtle rise of his lip. Meekly, you attempted to smile, “Sorry… Nice meeting you.” You trekked back to Serena quickly.
Robby let out a breathy laugh to himself, before shaking his head and walking to the door. From over his shoulder, he heard you and Serena laughing to each other.
“You didn’t tell me that Grumpy Old Man was hot.” He heard you say to Serena. She cackled with an eww attached to it.
The second time you saw him, you were coming home from work.
It was early in the morning, six o’clock or so. You were approaching the steps to your front door, and he was just emerging from his. Rubbing your eyelids, you couldn’t help but look over. He had on a brown hooded jacket over his scrubs and dark brown boots. His hair was dishevelled, like he didn’t even look in the mirror before leaving.
When he reached for his keys in his pocket, you realized you had been staring. His head turned and, all of a sudden, you weren’t.
“Morning,” Robby said your name as he gave a sleepy grin.
With a yawn, you nodded, “Headed to work, Dr. Robby?”
He laughed softly, “Uh, huh.” He noticed that you had a bag full of your things and were dressed in sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt, leaning against the rail. “Just got back from somewhere, or…”
“Work,” You nodded, “You know how it is.” He gave a slow nod. You grabbed your keys from your purse and reached for the door. Before opening, you turned over your shoulder, “Have a good work day, Dr. Robby.”
The third time, Robby came home from a night shift.
His sleep schedule hadn’t gotten the memo, but the caffeine in his system told him otherwise. Finishing his shift, he was absolutely exhausted yet alert. The night was college students getting their stomach pumped, babies with too-high fevers, a diner chef with third-degree burns, and sleep deprived parents pacing in the waiting room. Nothing extreme, nothing unusual, but, then again, it was an emergency department.
The sun had been peeking above the buildings that sprawled past his street, and the brisk morning temperature held steady on his way home. Medium blues and lilacs coated the sky and clouds moved so slowly.
From your stoop, he spotted a puff of smoke flying into the air. Drowning in a dark hoodie, you were perched on your steps, cigarette in one hand and phone in the other. Your knees were pulled to your chest and you were peeking over the railing to see him. He might’ve decided he was too tired to say hello if you hadn’t waved.
“Robby.” You called, not bothering to stand from your seated position.
“Hi.” He passed his own door, approaching you.
Your eyes glazed over his tired face and rolled up sleeves as he stopped in front of you. Putting your phone down, you patted the brick beside you, sit, like he was a dog. And he obeyed, the smell of coffee, faint pine, and hand sanitizer lingering from one place to the next.
You offered him the cigarette wordlessly, then immediately caught yourself, “Oh, sorry.” You gestured at him, “Doctor. I know.”
With slow hesitation, he shook his head slightly, “Uh, uh.” His fingers traced yours, reaching for the cigarette. He was all wound up anyway, he probably needed it. You gave it to him graciously.
In between his lips, he felt the grain of your glitter lip gloss and tasted the flavour of bubble gum on the filter. You leaned back on your hands, watching him puff. It would be a disservice to not recognize how attractive it was: the suck of his cheeks, lines on his face flattening and reshaping, the pull, then the release. He held the cigarette in between his index and middle, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Work was rough?” You asked quietly, more interested in the way the smoke played by his face than his answer.
“Just tired. I don’t usually work nights.”
You gave a hum of affirmation, taking the cigarette back from him and puffing yourself.
“How was work for you?” He nudged his knee against your bare legs, which were now stretched into the sidewalk landing.
“Same old, same old.” You exhaled, facing away from him and crossing one of your legs over the other. Passing the cigarette back, you caught his eye. He had been looking over his shoulder at you, expressionless and observant. Not realizing he was so close, you almost bumped him doing so.
“What do you do? For work, I mean.” He asked quietly, then took a puff.
You weren’t really listening, scanning his figure instead. The crows feet by his eye, the tired wrinkles on the side of his neck, and the bend of his arm as he rested it against his thigh. You couldn’t even feel guilty because the sight had been that good. Eyes landed on his badge that dangled from his hip. You smiled, tapping it.
“Michael Robinavitch, MD.” You read, looking back up to him. His head turned back to you, the tired look still overshadowing whatever emotion he wanted to convey. “Cute photo.” You teased, grabbing the cigarette back from him.
“Thanks,” he chuckled softly, shaking his head to himself. He watched you take another hit, then stamp it out on the ground. “How do you like the neighbourhood?”
“It’s nice. Very…” you hummed, “Geriatric.”
“Hey…” He scolded playfully.
You gestured to an old couple across the street, who had been emerging from their front door with a huge greyhound. Waving, you caught their attention and they returned the wave.
“The Robinsons are sweet.” You told him, nudging his shoulder, “I’ve talked to them a few times on their morning walk. Susie’s getting cataract surgery next month.”
“Right.” He nodded mockingly at you.
“But my next door neighbour…” You started, a coquettish grin growing on your face. “He’s another story.”
“Really?” He tilted his head at you and raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, he’s up at ungodly hours of the day, throwing parties and doing God-knows-what.” You exaggerated, watching the Robinsons make their way down the street. “I can barely sleep with all that noise.”
“He sounds terrible.” Robby played along with a smile.
Raising an eyebrow at him, you warned, “He’s lucky we don’t have an HOA.”
“Okay,” he rolled his eyes. You smiled, watching as his eyes landed back on yours.
Truthfully, you nodded, “The neighbourhood’s nice, much nicer than my last one. Not noisy at all, even when I’m asleep.”
“And your next door neighbour?” He raised an eyebrow at you.
“Haven’t decided yet.” You pursed your lips. His eyes held yours, and your breath caught. He tilted his head at you, goading more of a definitive answer from you. Then, you nudged his arm again, “You do shut the door like a maniac, though.”
Half-laugh, half-yawn, he smiled anyway, “Uh, huh.”
You looked at the sun, which was breaking between the buildings at the end of the street. The cool morning air had dissipated into something slightly warmer, and you took that as your cue.
“Should probably get some rest.” You said, meant more for him than you.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He nodded, starting to stand from his sitting position. He slowly made his way back to his door. You stood, watching as he walked down the sidewalk.
“Goodnight,” He called your name from his stoop, looking at you until you said it back.
“Goodnight, Dr. Robinavitch.” You smiled sweetly before escorting yourself into your apartment.
Then, it became a common thing.
Usually, it was a quick hello in the morning— an acknowledgement of his scrubs and ruffled hair and a cheeky goodnight as the sun came up. Sometimes, you’d ask for some miscellaneous ingredient you probably had at the back of your pantry (but wanted to see him). Then, it evolved into something more, like coming over for coffee in the morning.
You’d bring pastries from the bakery a few blocks down. Robby would make some comment about you “spoiling him.” You’d pat his belly playfully after he ate, like you knew him for ages. He’d smile warmly, leaning into your touch. There’d be a moment where maybe you got too close and your eye caught his with a hitch of the breath. Then, you two would go on your neighbourhood walk as if nothing had happened.
Or Robby found himself tagging along on your grocery trips. You’d be halfway out the door with your reusable bags in tow and he’d catch you from his window. He’d insist on driving, nudging his head to where his car was parked down the street. You’d take aux, playing some modern music he didn’t really know.
“Learn a thing or two, old man.” You’d smile, nudging him before singing along again.
At the grocery store, an old lady would make comments about what a sweet couple you were— how you two reminded her of her late husband. Robby would stay quiet, watching your reaction, if any. Then you’d smile and thank them without a hassle.
Or it was simply a text. Not that he expected to see you everyday, but it was nice to have some kind of reassurance that you wouldn’t evaporate into thin air one day. Some days, you had been out on the town and texting Robby about some nice-looking restaurants or cafes. He’d reply with a “Let’s do it”, secretively smiling at his phone like a teenage girl.
If an ambulance drove by, you’d snap a picture and send it to him, knowing he was waiting for it. Thinking of you. Wink emoji.
This became routine, and you had memorized his schedule around yours. It was domestic without the strings. It was lighthearted companionship. You liked the arrangement, and he seemed to too. Especially since work felt lonely, it was nice to come home and have a constant.
On very rare occasions, you invited Robby over for dinner, when he had come home from work and you had a day off, or when you both had a day off.
“You probably don’t eat much in that hospital, huh?” You teased, passing him a beer from the fridge. You had been stirring the pot of pasta on your stove, while he was leaning against your counter, watching you intently.
“I manage.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. He was in his “normal person” clothes, a simple t-shirt with a forest green collared jacket on top and some blue jeans. You two had decided to try that new bar down the street after dinner.
You watched the way he fit into the kitchen. So casually, he stood beside you like that’s where he belonged. He had taken the San Diego magnet bottle opener from the side of the fridge, exactly where he knew it was. He even took his shoes off at the door, just as you requested. His hand around the cold glass of the beer bottle was so unconcerned, just as his face was. You’d never seen him so relaxed.
On mornings where you caught him on the way to work, it was like his shoulders were infinitely tense, automatically flinching at an alarm that wasn’t there. The times you did see him return from work, there was a weariness on his face and a slight droop of the eyes. He looked like he needed a big nap, or a cigarette. You wanted to be the one he fell into at the end of the day, and you were.
You hadn’t considered it too much, since his presence became a habit, but you realized you liked Robby more than you let on. Not only did you want him there, in your house, around all the time, but you wanted him.
“What?” Robby’s voice and chuckle cut through that thought. His eyes scattered like he’d done something wrong.
Voice weak, mouth gone dry, your eyes darted back up to his face and you asked, “Can you pass the Parmesan next to you?”
He nodded as he obeyed, “You were staring.”
“Yeah, I just had a mini stroke, I think.” You said unseriously, sprinkling cheese over the pasta like you hadn’t said that.
“What?” He repeated, now more alert. He had shifted forward, arms flexed and hands ready, like you needed them.
“No, I’m kidding.” You laughed, stirring the pot again.
He settled back into his former position, “Geez, kid. You can’t just say that, ‘specially not to a doctor.”
You sucked in a breath, reaching to turn off the stove, “Dinner’s ready.”
After dinner, you two had ended up at the bar, just as intended. It was far more hip than you thought, falling into a neighbourhood of elderly people. It had a stupid name, The Orca, after the boat in Jaws. The name had nothing to do with the interior.
It was just as dark as it was on the street. The only few lights coming from very dim green glass lamps hanging from the ceiling and the purple, turquoise, green, and warm yellow spotlights that coated a dance floor. Tipsy adults had been dancing— genuinely dancing— to whatever music the DJ was playing. It was packed, expected for a Friday night.
“I don’t think I’ve danced at a bar since I was in med school.” Robby noted with a chuckle. You were leading him towards the bar, which was busy all around.
Sliding between full stools, you got the attention of one of the bartenders. You turned to Robby, who was just inches behind you.
“What’re you drinking?” You asked, nudging your head towards the bar.
“Gin and tonic?” He shrugged, surveying the area for some seats.
You ordered his drink, along with a Rum and Coke for yourself, and requested an open tab. The bartender nodded and trailed off to do so.
As a group had come and gone from your section of the bar, some guy slid by next to you, “Busy, huh?”
You had been watching your bartender, then realized he was talking to you. Turning over, you squinted your eyes, “Huh?”
Absolutely focused on you, he was probably around your age, nursing a pint. He was fairly attractive, maybe on any other night you’d care. You weren’t a stranger to getting hit on at a bar, but you had just been so disinterested, mind on something else— someone.
“The bar,” He nodded, gesturing around, “It’s busy.”
“Oh,” you shrugged indifferently, “Yeah, well, it’s Friday.”
“Yeah,” He nodded with a smile, leaning towards you, “What brings you here tonight?”
The bartender had finished up with your drinks, placing two glasses in front of you. After a quick thanks, you looked back to the guy and repeated, slightly irritated, “It’s Friday.”
Reaching out for the glasses, you felt Robby tap on your shoulder, “Seats over there.” He nudged his head to the other side of the room, then to the drinks, “I’ll grab ‘em.” You nodded, moving aside for him.
Slipping past you, he glared over, spotting the guy who had been speaking to you. The guy’s mouth had fallen slightly ajar as Robby pointedly asked, “Did you need somethin’?”
The guy narrowed his eyes at Robby, who towered over him, and mumbled some “Jesus” under his breath with the roll of his eyes. He walked away and Robby had followed you.
“Seems like you got some fans.” Robby said, sliding into the U-shaped booth beside you and placing the drinks on the table. The red vinyl was sticky under your palms as you scooted closer to him.
You smiled bashfully and shook your head, “Nah, he was just bored.” Robby gestured to him and his friends by the bar, who had been mumbling to each other and looking in your direction.
“A lot of attention for someone so bored.” He mocked, seemingly ticked off.
“Are you jealous, doctor?” You sang, nudging his arm with your elbow. A smile grew on your face as you took a sip of your drink.
The blush on his face and his avoidant eye contact made you settle in closer to him. You watched his hands grasp around his glass, bringing it up to his lips and completely disregarding that there had been a straw in it.
“Well, how about you?” You insisted with a nod, folding one hand over the other on the table. “I’m sure girls are all over you at the bars.”
“Honey,” he chuckled, causing you to cock an eyebrow, “I haven’t properly been to a bar in months.”
“Why not?”
“Well, work… for one.” He shrugged. “And—“
“Okay, how about work?” You interjected, leaning in. “Is it Grey’s Anatomy up in there or what?”
Robby leaned back, a smile playing at his lips and a laugh stuck in his throat, “Excuse me?”
“Oh, c’mon, are you the hospital hussy?” You sipped on your drink, teasing him with a playful grin.
He tilted his head to the side and squinted his eyes at you as he pursed his lips. You stared right back, as if there had been some competition. That was the thing about you and Robby— you acted like he was your age, not some deadbeat old man whose job ruled his life. He felt like he was still young with you, or at least virile. You acted like it wasn’t ridiculous you two were at the bar together, squeezed into a booth all romantic-like.
“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” He furrowed his eyebrows, but his lips upturned.
You liked the element of surprise you put in Robby. Picking up on his tired eyes, the could’ve-been life that sat wistfully inside of him, you saw the dead end that he thought he met. You felt it too, so mixing it up, saying whatever was on your mind, made it less sad and less lonely. The light at the end of the tunnel, or whatever.
Finishing up your own drink, you noticed that he was running dry as well. His eyes wandered around the swarm of bodies that moved in sync. It was that wistfulness again, a sparkle of nostalgia in his eyes. A smile grew on your face as you recognized the song change.
You nodded your head at him, “You wanna dance?”
Taken aback, Robby gave a surprised smile, “Dancing? Am I in my twenties again?”
“That wasn’t a no.” You sang, smiling as you coaxed his arm to the dance floor.
“I don’t know how to dance.” He protested, reluctantly following you out of the booth.
“Does anyone?”
You yanked him close by his forearms, having him crowd you, making sure it was obvious who was whose. He smiled like it was ridiculous, saying so under his breath as well.
You started swaying to the music, finding a rhythm with him. He did the same, slowly trying to break the barrier between awkwardness and euphoria. You smiled, watching him do so. There was something so charming about his meeting you in the middle.
You leaned your head towards his ear and said, “I was staring, by the way.” Pulling back, you saw the grin on his face grow wider.
“Were you?” He tilted his head teasingly.
“You knew I was.”
“I wasn’t sure if you had a mini stroke or not.” He shrugged and you rolled your eyes.
You placed your forearms to rest on his shoulders, beckoning him to slide in closer to you. He did so, hands finding your hips. Becoming one unit, your moves glued to each other’s, just as your eyes did. Your face neared his and you smelled the gin on his lips and felt the heat of him overtake you.
“Hey,” you called, practically into his beard. He nodded wordlessly, completely entranced by his view. You leaned forward but waited for a sign of reciprocity. He smiled again before following suit.
Slowly, you exhaled, surveying his face one more time before pulling yourself up to him. Lips grazed his beard before anything and the tip of his nose touched your cheek. You felt his hands press into your lower back, grasping like he was about to slip. You could’ve sworn he made a sound when you kissed him.
Music reverbed off the walls and the lights went out on you. The contact of his lips felt like a crashing shock. It was one press— the surface area finding yours as if he needed to memorize it. When his body pressed against yours, your shoulders heighted and your body pushed against him. More. It felt greedy.
He started pulling back but immediately caught you again. Your lips desperately trailed him, kisses turning sloppier, faster, needier. Every press felt like you found an oasis, sipping water like you had been dehydrated for months, yet you hadn’t even tasted his tongue.
Your hands found his hair, fingers grazing the soft texture at the base of his skull. The sensation of the skin on his lips, the graze of his beard, the hair between your fingers, the texture of his jacket on your arms all felt like too much but also too little.
“Robby,” you mumbled, cut off by his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.
He hummed in return, “Yeah, baby?” He left a kiss on the corner of your lips, like he was starting a trail to return to. His head moved to the right side of your neck, soft kisses along the bone behind your ear, then your jaw, then lower and lower…
“Robby,” You repeated, more as an exhale than a proper word, like it was the only thing blinding your thoughts. His lips lifted from your neck, but his hands stayed stable on your waist. You gulped and opened your eyes slowly, afraid you had imagined it all.
When your eyes did open fully, you saw Robby, who was staring at you with a certain hunger in his eyes. The purple lights from the club surfaced over his face and you remembered where you were. He was so patient, eyes scanning around your face, ready whenever you finished that thought. Your mouth stayed ajar, dumbfounded.
Your breath desperately caught up with your heart. The sound of the music was white noise, indistinguishable from a breeze in the wind. Your eyes widened and you blinked like you couldn’t believe it. Your senses both shut down and tensed, all at once, as you zeroed in on Robby, who had grown a smile on his face. It was a movie kiss, you identified, a perfect release that could have only been rehearsed trillions of times but happened to fall into you like a shooting star.
“Honey,” he whispered, “You’re staring again.”
You snapped out of it, looking away from Robby sheepishly. It definitely wasn’t the first time you’ve been kissed, but it definitely was the first time you’ve been kissed like that. There was something so sure about Robby; maybe it was the slowburn but you assumed it was the way he guided you, like you didn’t have to worry about anything but being with him.
He squeezed his hands around your waist to get your attention and said, “Use your words.”
“Home, Robby. Please.” You inhaled sharply, “Take me home.”
The walk back was quiet. The orange of the street lights guided you home and strangers slinking around the streets reminded you just how eager you were to leave the club. Robby had slipped his jacket around your shoulders and his hand in yours. He pressed kisses into your temple while you walked, mumbling sweet little reassurance as you leaned into him.
Your knees felt weak when you approached his door and you wanted nothing more than to feel him again and again. On his stoop, your hands and your back found stability on the cold, steel railing. You felt drunk, not from the drink, but from the buzz and possibility of Robby wanting you too.
Your bottom lip slipped between your own teeth as he looked at you. You were wide-eyed and awestruck, so desperate to know what happens next. His eyes glazed over you in his jacket and he slipped an arm between the jacket and your back, pulling you closer.
You let out a satisfied hum, watching him unlock his door. Robby smiled down at you as he pushed it open, taking you with him. Your head reached up to his while he shut the door behind you.
Swiftly, his face met yours and his lips enveloped you again. You sighed into it, drawing closer to him. Your hands eagerly found his chest, running your fingers and palms up and down on the cotton of his shirt. You drew your head back against the door in ecstasy, so relieved and self-indulgent.
This time, his tongue found your bottom lip and eventually the inside of your mouth in three-fourths time. It all happened so slowly, and you drank up every painful millisecond. He relaxed against you, attempting to ease your heart’s tempo. God, he knew you wanted more, but he exhibited such good self control. You whined into it, feeling lightheaded from the taste of him.
Lips felt wet and messy all of a sudden, but he was taking his time with every kiss, both giving and taking. His mouth worked on you, like tuning a piano to perfection, with controlled movements and an ear for perfect tune. While his hands ran up and down your sides, you felt yourself shudder against him. His bottom half pressed against you as your back pressed up against the door.
With a groan, you bit down on his bottom lip, begging for more. Your leg hiked up around his hip, craving to feel him closer against you. His right hand found the back of your thigh, running up to grab onto your ass. Perching you on him for just a moment, his lips left yours then his head dipped to your neck.
“You really want me to fuck you against the door?” He mumbled into your skin sarcastically, heat against it causing you to gravitate closer to him. You felt his nose against your pulse and his beard grazing the skin on your collarbone, overwhelming you in the best way.
“Uh, uh.” You gulped, shaking your head as he planted soft, wet kisses up the column of your throat. His hands latched onto you more firmly and he pulled you in. Face moving up from your neck, his eyes found yours and his arm slipped around your back again.
“Good.”
With a yelp, you followed as he began to drag you down the hall with him. You giggled, quick and giddy, causing him to let out a chuckle as well. Your face pressed into his shoulder, warm with excitement and anticipation— so much so, you didn’t realize both of your shoes had been checked at the door. It was silly, the way he made you blush, like you were living some life you only knew before your alarm went off.
Reaching his room, it was barely lit by the warm street lights through the window. The glow surfaced on his face and you could tell he was smiling too. You pushed his jacket off of your shoulders, dropping it to the floor recklessly. He pulled you in close again, and your mouth reached for his lips. He tilted his head up before you could meet them.
“Robby,” you scolded playfully. His beard tickled your fingers as you ran them through.
He smiled down at you, “I just wanna look at you.”
“I’ll be here all night.” You teased, voice breathy as your hands found the scruff of his jaw. When you kissed him again, his arms went around you and lifted you up, carrying you towards the bed. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your head tucked into his shoulder.
Your back hit the mattress and it felt like the perfect fit. The plush of his comforter molded around your arms and the smell of eucalyptus, wood, and man overtook you. He had a huge, cozy bed, expected of a doctor in his department— you could wonder why he was always so exhausted. You’d trade your cheap queen mattress for the memories you’d have on this foam any day.
Robby settled between your legs, bodies pressed together. You felt him above your jeans, slowly rutting into you just like you wanted. Your legs dangled around his hips automatically, allowing him to get as close to your core as possible. Eagerly, you giggled again as he placed his hands on your hips.
“What’s so funny?” He teased, reaching his head down to nip at your neck again.
You sighed, throwing your head back to give him room, “Need you to touch me.”
Your hands found his sides, grasping at the tense muscles on his back then finding the hem near his hips to slide your hands in. Your fingertips pressed on the soft flesh of him, feeling as he moved against you.
“Where, sweetheart?” His breath made you press up closer to him.
Your breath caught in your throat as his head slowly made its way down. First, the space between your shirt’s neckline and the base of your neck, then the valley between your chest. His right hand ruched up your shirt, the warmth from his hand meeting the chill in your skin. Each beat of your heart sped up as his lips pressed against you.
While doing so, he kneeled against you, keeping his body a distance away from yours. His eyes made their way up you dangerously slow. The space between you felt agonizing as the fabric of his shirt teased your bare stomach.
Attempting to find release for the ache in your core, you pushed yourself down to feel him against you. When his knee dipped into the mattress, your hips bucked upwards on his thigh, like a reflex. A soft sound coming from your mouth, you felt Robby grin against your skin.
He hummed, “I’ll take that as an answer.”
As he drew his head up, you urged him to come closer, pulling him by his back. Your eyes found him in the dim light, pulling his shirt over his head. He seemed to shiver at your touch, fingers finding the surface of his chest before tossing his shirt onto the floor.
Robby followed suit, hands going under your top and pulling it over your head. Humming, you smiled as he sat back, running his hands up and down your torso. He squeezed at your chest and smiled.
You groaned, “Robby,” more annoyed than intended.
“Yeah, baby?” He leaned his head down, body hovering over you once again.
“Taking your sweet ass time, huh?” You mumbled, hands finding the sides of his neck. He shook his head and you could practically feel him roll his eyes.
His hand lightly pushed down on your bare stomach as his fingers searched for the button on your pants. Legs still surrounding his thigh, you squeezed against him as he skimmed your bare waist under the denim.
“Sweetheart, you’re gonna have to move your legs if you want me to touch you.” He chuckled roughly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
You obliged, staring up at him while he focused on getting your pants off. When he slipped them off, his fingers skimmed over your lace-clad hipbone, causing you to shudder against him. His head was tilted down, zeroed in on your core.
The wet between your legs gathered when he looked at your face, burning to be acknowledged. There was also a tingling sensation that had been playing on your lips. Desperate to find his, you reached your chin up. Through your underwear, you felt two of his fingers press against you and you pressed up with a quiet moan, taking his mouth to yours. His tongue met yours with a hum and an exhale.
Robby was still on his knees, and his fingers found their way into your panties. Pushing the gusset aside, he slid the wet up and down your folds, causing you to buck your hips up to him. He hadn’t even put any fingers in you yet, but you were so sensitive that anything was enough.
His lips turned sloppy against yours, saliva mixed with whines. Your breath was jagged too, chasing the high he was giving. Your hands splayed around his head, so eager you had no clue if you wanted to push his head closer to yours or hold the nape of this neck, intertwining fingers with his short pieces of hair.
Body attempted to push towards him, only failing when his other hand forced your hips down. Whining, you buried your face into him like you needed everything— lips, tongue, beard, nose, wrinkles and all. Yeah, he was hungry, but you were starving.
His fingers hooked on your panties without disconnecting his face from yours. He pushed them off with the help of your elevated hips, and you kicked them off your legs.
Moaning into his mouth, your hips met his fingers against your entrance. You whined as he stalled just outside. Face pulling away, he smiled at you.
“Eager, are we?” He teased, fingers meeting your puffy clit. He rubbed up and down, gliding around and on it. It was enough pressure for you to grasp at his shoulders.
“Need it so bad, Dr. Robby.” You whined, pushing your hips into the mattress as he went to tease your entrance.
“Fuck,” he groaned quietly, fingers ghosting over you, “Wow.”
Your head fell back and mouth into an O-shape as his fingers slid into you. The gush had you moving your hips into his still fingers. He watched your face as you did so, bringing himself closer to you.
His mouth moved with yours as he rocked his fingers into you. You could gauge his eagerness by how his fingers curled in you, like he wanted to feel all of you. You really squealed when he moved to rub on your clit again, eliciting a chuckle from him.
“Are you gonna finish on my fingers, sweetheart?” Robby teased before you kissed him again with a whine. When his fingers slipped back inside of you, your body met him in the middle with each movement, desperate to get off.
Fingers pumping into you, his thumb found your clit and drove you close to the edge. You threw your head back again as he lifted his. Breaths turned shorter and you clung to his shoulders, one hand making its way to the side of his head.
“Oh, fuck.” You mumbled, hips raising off the bed to meet him. You looked back at him and he had been staring at your face the whole time. The determination in his eyes made you lightheaded. He nodded as he felt you pulse around him, only to speed up.
Your breath hurried as you felt heat bubbling in your core. Your hips locked and sweat grew on your skin, all over your body. Biting down on your lip, you hummed as your hands pressed down on Robby. You grew tight around his fingers and felt yourself gush.
Rutting your hips up to his fingers again, you moaned and exhaled. Hips stalling against him with his eyes on yours. You vibrated under him without proper release, riding the high of his pressure on you. He kept his fingers in you, causing you to pulse with an ah-ah-ah noise leaving your mouth.
Dropping your hips, you felt the wave of release crash over you, sighing with a whine as his fingers slipped out of you. You panted as you watched a smile grow on his face.
Gulping, you pushed your fingers through his short hair and he placed his hand on the outside of your thigh. He squeezed as he dipped his head towards you.
You kissed him slowly this time, fire inside you still burning, skin heated with sweat. Lips moved in sync and it was his turn to groan when your hand reached surfaced over the bulge growing in his pants.
You tugged at his belt buckle, yanking it off and going for the button on his jeans. At the glimpse of his dark blue boxers, you bit your lip. He helped you, pulling his pants and boxers away altogether.
Robby was… Fuck, he was exactly what you expected. Thick, strong, filling… The length of him had already been dripping. He had fallen against your lower abdomen, painting you giddy. You didn’t mean to, but you smiled far too wide as you stared.
“Mmm, I’m excited.” You joked, looking up at him as he squeezed at the plush of your thighs.
“You’re somethin’ else.” He mumbled, shaking his head as he leaned in to kiss you again.
Reaching your hands around his neck, you pressed your hips up to him as he fell between you. Grinding against the wet gathered at your entrance, he groaned into your mouth as he met you in the middle. You felt the friction against your clit as you squeezed your legs around him.
After humming into a kiss, you tilted your head away, “You’re clean, right?” He stalled against you, about to speak, but you cut him off. “Oh, doctor, right. I know…”
“You?” He nodded once, raising himself on his elbows.
“Mhmm,” you ran a hand over his beard and rested it on his shoulder, grinding over the length of him with a heavy breath, “Birth control too. You wanna fuck me raw, Dr. Robby?” You purred, chin tilting up with a smirk.
“Jesus,” he shook his head at you with a smile.
His hand ran up and down the surface of your thigh, coaxing you closer to him. An arm caged around the side of your neck, fingers pushing hair behind your ear. Your knees locking around his waist, he slowly worked his way inside. You reached up for his lips again, smooth surface pressing softly.
His lips felt like silk against yours, smooth sheets against your skin. The roughness of his beard only tickled you, balancing out delicately. The pads of his fingers barely squeezed on you, rather rubbing circles to ease you in.
As he slowly started to fill you in, your breath synced with his. Mouth suddenly still against yours, he panted, peeling himself off your face hesitantly. The wince in his eyes told you everything, crows feet growing beautifully in ecstasy. Fuck was the word, right, but he had started so gentle that maybe there should’ve been a word more lush, tender even.
As he bottomed out, you inhaled sharply, eyes grazing over his face. He stared at you and ran his hand up to your side. Clenching around him, you stayed as still as he did, anticipating, waiting.
He was deliberately slow with it, inching out of you like he was holding himself back. Rocking into you, each drag made you more eager, made you insatiable. His eyes burned into yours, watching your breath catch each slow two-seconds his pelvic bone met yours.
“Robby,” you whispered, his bottom lip hanging off of yours.
Squeezing at your ribs, he sighed, “Yes, sweetheart?”
“C’mon, honey, I’m not gonna break.” You cooed as his forehead rested against yours.
“Yeah?” He mumbled, giving a small kiss to your lips.
You lifted your hips off the bed, begging to meet him in the middle. Hands grasping at his back, you rocked your hips onto him. His breath turned heavy against you as his hand found your waist. Pushes turned to shoves while you prodded him to go harder on you.
“Don’t even need to move, you’ll fuck yourself on me, won’t you?” He rasped into your lips before giving you a bruising kiss.
His hand went heavy on you, pushing your hips down on the bed. You squealed against the kiss as you felt him drive further, faster. Slipping in and out, he huffed as he met your cervix, legs pushing open more for him.
Quickening the pace, he locked you under him. He was more heavy pants and hums than he was grunts or moans. Hips snapping against each other, sweat brewing over your skin, the sound was absurd. Still, his face hung over yours, staring at you in awe.
Blissed out, you panted a mess of noises as he thrusted into you, the bed rocking slightly beneath you. You arched your back, bringing your stomach to meet his and trying to get somewhat closer to his body. Throwing your head back, you shut your eyes as the pressure wound up in you.
Legs reaching up, you locked your ankles behind his back, pulling him further in and earning a heavy shit, sweetheart from him. Chasing your high, you swore you saw stars, pressing your closed eyes tighter.
“C’mon, baby, look at me.” He croaked, muscles tightening. His hand that was on the side of your head moved to grasp your hand, which was intertwined with the sheet.
“Feel so good,” you murmured. Your eyes fluttered open, fingers grasping as they met his hand. Your other hand found the side of his face. “Kiss me. Please.” You nodded your head up, eager to meet his lips in yours.
With the shift of his hips, his mouth caught against yours, a groan falling in between. His pace changed, harder and sloppier, skin meeting with a slap. Tongue intertwined in yours, muffed moans filled the room. Breaths were forgone for the sweetness of his saliva.
Robby noticed the way you squirmed against him, like you were just there. He reached down between you and pressed his fingers to your sweet spot. You started to writhe into him, whining and bucking your hips.
“Oh, my God.” Your hands grasped his as you let out a muffled noise.
“God, if you keep squeezing like that, sweetheart—“ His hips stuttered, feeling you gush around him.
The overwhelming and enduring fire in you reached its crescendo. All of a sudden, the press of his body against you, his hands on you, the light feathering of his body hair over your stomach, and, of course, the absolute jackhammer of him blended like static on your senses. Ringing grew in your ears and with another snap:
“Oh, fuck!” You choked out, throwing your head back on the pillow.
The aftershocks of your climax still rode out as he found his. Your whines and moans filled the room as you let him use you up. Your walls clenching and contracting around him was enough to send him reeling. Hips shuddering, he plunged all the way back in. Everything in him buckled as he twitched and spasmed.
With a few deep jerks, Robby growled into you, “Oh, shit, so fuck–ing perfect. So beautiful, baby. You’re so good for me. Fuck, yes!” Filling you warmly, he went limp with a big exhale.
Panting against him, you kept your fingers intertwined and let him fall onto you. His forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, sweat against sweat. The deadweight of his body felt perfect, trailing the overstimulation of it all. With him still inside of you, you pressed your hand to his back.
Lightheaded, you attempted to catch your own breath, inhaling deeply but lazily. You ran your fingers up and down the slick skin on his back. Mind going numb, you allowed yourself to doze a little, eyes half-lidded.
Huffing, he tilted his head to you, softly pressing a kiss to your temple, “Sorry, sweetheart. Must be crushing you.” He began raising himself on his elbows, ready to roll over to the side of you.
Whining disapprovingly, you pulled him back in, making him rest back on top of you. He followed hesitantly, allowing himself to relax. Your legs stayed wrapped around him, tightly holding him in as he softened.
“M’so sweaty, honey.” He said, face buried into the pillows. “Should clean up.”
“Tired,” you whined again. Sighing, he lifted his head to pepper kisses on your face, cheek, forehead, nose.
“C’mon, don’t want to see you in the emergency room with a UTI.” He mumbled into your skin.
“So dramatic, Dr. Robby.” You rolled your eyes, slipping your hand out of his to wrap around his back. Embracing him, you tucked your head into the opposite crook of his neck. “Let me hold you for a little, please?” You pleaded softly. “Then, we can go clean up.”
Exhaling, Robby collapsed back onto you. He couldn’t even try to fight it if he wanted. He continued pressing tiny pecks into your skin, nipping at your neck and up your jaw.
Eventually, you would get up, but for now, Robby was yours.
The morning slipped in like it had been attached to the night. The sun was hushed behind his curtains and you had woken up slowly and effortlessly. Over the rays that slipped in, you were in one of Robby’s worn shirts— he made some comment that it was definitely older than you. He remained shirtless, chest hair free under the morning light.
You had been facing Robby and his fingers were hanging off your ribs. Head tucked into his chest, you had an arm around the plush of his stomach by default. The snores he let out made you softly chuckle, unaware of how you possibly slept through it.
Turning away from Robby, you rolled onto your stomach, checking your phone for any morning notifications. You heard him shift next to you, the bed dipping slightly behind you.
He rolled over with a rasped “Morning, sweetheart.”
His hand surfaced over your back, under the shirt, like he was searching for something. With a tired sigh, his lips found your spine, kissing from the base of your neck slowly to the dip in your waist. The touch made you shiver against the sheets and gravitated you towards him.
“You’re addicted to that thing.” He mumbled, his breath and the movement of his lips causing you to flinch a little. He tapped your hip with his hand, as if trying to catch your attention. The ghost of his mouth faded on your back as he fell back into his former position.
Dropping your phone back on the nightstand, you rolled over to meet him in the middle of the bed. With a smile, you pressed your hands against his bare chest and found his lips to meet yours. It felt nicer in the daylight somehow, the sunrays peeking through the window to coat the lines on his face. The plush on his lips were somehow rougher, waiting to be broken in for the day.
“Happy?” You said, running your hand over the side of his beard. Your face was only a distance away from his and your body had leaned off his side. He hummed as you pressed another delicate kiss on his lips.
You pulled yourself onto his hips, so you could feel your body flush against his. He let out a slight hum at the feeling of your skin pressed together. His hands went to your lower back, grasping to feel you closer.
“Do you wanna go to that diner for breakfast?” You pressed another kiss on his lips as you rested your arms around his head. You shifted yourself on his hips, feeling the morning greet you.
“Mhmm,” Robby nodded, but it seemed like he hadn’t really heard you. He ran his hand over your hair, letting you lazily grind over him.
You hummed, “Found out I have to go to work tonight.”
“Leavin’ me on my day off?” He mumbled, hands resting on the underside of your thighs as he pressed a kiss onto your cheek.
“It’s just later tonight. You’ll survive.” You teased, fingers playing with his hair.
“Better make the rest of the day, then.” He said before reaching his head up to sweep you into a deeper kiss. You giggled as his hands went under your (his) shirt to pull it off.
The next morning, Jack had called Robby into the ED, although he wasn’t meant to work at all that day. With Shen on vacation, he assumed he could handle it. Apparently, patients started piling up, and there was a crisis downtown— something about a bar fight, Robby wasn’t exactly sure.
As Robby made his way in around four, Jack patted him on the back, “God, am I glad to see you, brother.”
They walked towards central, Robby looking around at the chaos flooding into the walkways. “Jesus, what’s going on?”
“Huge bar fight from the Strip District. Mostly bruises, cuts, and fractured bones, but we have one in trauma with a stab wound, about to be transferred to the OR.” Jack explained. “Everyone got in around three-thirty, so all of the beds are full now.”
“When are they not?” They approached central and Robby nodded at Lena.
Jack nudged his head over to Trauma One, and Robby followed. Peeking inside, he saw a larger man on the table with an ice pick sticking out of his side and a gash across his arm. Walsh and Donnie were over him, observing and checking his vitals.
“What happened there?” Robby asked, folding his arms.
“Someone at the bar got creative. We don’t have a full story yet.” Jack continued walking down, towards the other rooms and beds. “The police are on their way, but I don’t think anyone will get arrested.”
“Why?”
“Ever seen Coyote Ugly?” Jack raised an eyebrow.
“Yes…” Robby nodded slowly as Jack gestured down the walkway.
Robby looked to the curtains that were crowded with girls in sequins, glitter, leather party clothes, some with blood staining them.
“You chipped my fuckin’ tooth!” One of the girls in a wheelchair, who had a towel over her mouth, yelled across the way.
“It was an accident, bitch!” The other girl was on a bed, her foot elevated and a bruise on her cheek.
The area was overflowing. Girls chattering and girls half-asleep, there was even a couple arguing in one of the rooms. Robby had experienced bar fights coming in before, but it was always a bunch of beer-bellied guys or boyfriends defending their masculinity. He toed his way over, eyes roaming the area for a quick survey.
“Fuck, boss, do you think we’ll get fired?” One of the girls, who had some cuts on her legs and a black eye, called from one of the beds. She was being treated by Mateo.
“No way,” That was your voice, one that Robby had to second guess because why the hell would you be here?, “If Gustav wants to fire you guys, he’s gonna have to go through me first. Besides, though, you guys gotta stop bringing boyfriends into the bar.”
Swiftly, Robby turned on his heel, spotting you slumped over in a chair. By one of the beds, you had a bruise on your cheekbone, one on your knee, and a gauze wrapped around your right hand. You were in knee-high boots and possibly the most revealing outfit he’d ever seen you in. You leaned on your non-gauzed hand with a furrow in your brow. He called your name, rushing over.
Alarmed, you sat up with your eyes wide, “Robby.”
“Sweetheart,” his voice turned soft, concerned. He came to your side, kneeling next to the chair, and, immediately, you felt your face burn up.
“Fuck.” You pressed your left hand to your forehead, shutting your eyes. “This is so embarrassing.”
The girls who had been arguing across from you chirped up:
“Damn,” Kelly, a broken ankle propped on the bed, cursed your name, “Is this your man?”
“Who else would she be cooking all that food for?” Chris responded, lowering the towel from her bleeding mouth.
“In such a good mood. No wonder she started tipping out.” Jenna, in the bed beside you, joked with a shake of her head. “Been getting it good, huh, boss?” She pinched your elbow teasingly, which made you wince.
“Ignore them.” You rolled your eyes, flitting your hand at them. You looked at him, “I thought you weren’t working today.”
“I got called in. What the hell happened?” Robby took your gauzed hand in his, examining where your palm had been cut. What he couldn’t see was Jack, who had been peering over from across the hallway. A soft eyebrow raised in interest, and a sharp inhale, this is why Robby had been so nice and calm and easygoing.
“Uh,” you looked around, and all eyes were on you, “Can we talk… privately?” He nodded slowly, standing and helping you up. You winced at his action and mumbled, “I’m fine.”
Making your way a distance from the curtains, the girls resumed their chatter, now diminished to hushed whispers. Robby walked beside you, hand still holding yours. Landing somewhere by Pedes, Robby folded his arms in front of you.
He furrowed his eyebrows concernedly, “I heard the police got involved? What’s going on, sweetheart?”
“A bunch of tourists came in tonight and got fucking sloshed.” You sighed, “I had it under control until one of them thought it was a good idea to try to grab Kelly off the bar—”
“Why was she on the bar?” He jutted his head out, now even more worried.
“Nevermind that.” You shook your head. “His group thought it was funny to harass the other girls as well.” You gestured to the curtains. “Bella was getting felt up by some asshole, and, for some reason, her stupid fucking boyfriend showed up.
“He got crazy possessive about her and broke out into some animalistic aggression? I don’t know,” you spoke frantically and defensively, like you were in trouble with your parents, “he started howling and swinging at the tourists. Long story short, it gave everyone else an excuse to fight.”
“Okay…” He nodded slowly, then tapped at the gauze on your hand. “Doesn’t explain this.” You shook your head as your eyes caught the man who was being wheeled out of Trauma. His eyes softened, “Oh.”
“His stupid friends fled before the cops came.” You turned back to Robby, “I just wanted to protect my girls.”
“Uh, huh.” He saw the panic in your eyes settle when he nodded.
“I had it under control. We didn’t need to come here.” You reasoned with an exhale.
“But I’m glad you did.” He placed a hand on your bicep, attempting to be supportive. You dropped your shoulders when he did, unaware you had been anxious.
“There’s, uh… Something else.” You mumbled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear out of stress.
“Tell me.” Robby spoke softly, hand rubbing up and down your arm.
“Half these girls don’t have health insurance, the other half are still on their parents’.” You exhaled, like you had been holding a weight in your chest. “I really didn’t wanna take them to the ER, but someone called the cops.” You explained to Robby with a hand pressed to your forehead.
“Okay,” he sighed, “You can talk to our case manager, Noelle Hastings, and she’ll discuss some options with you.”
“She’s not gonna tell me anything I don’t already know. Can we wipe this from the record, call it a… write-off or something?” You neared Robby, able to lean towards him.
He mumbled your name, “I… Since there’s probably been a police report, it’s already on the record. Please, just talk to Noelle. She can help.” You shut your eyes with an exhale and let out a soft okay. “I’ll have them send her down.” He patted your arm, taking you closer to him.
“Thanks,” you whispered, although you weren’t really sure what for. He pressed a kiss onto your forehead before leading you back to the curtains.
After having talked to the cops, the woman identified as Noelle made her way over to you. She was long legs, shiny black heels, a proper navy pantsuit, and luscious black hair in a half up-half down. An older lady, her wrinkles were a testament to her grooming, beautiful around her eyes and complimenting her smile.
“Hi, I’m Noelle Hastings, the case manager here at PTMC.” She greeted as you stood up, one hand clutching a tablet. Her eyes glazed over your outfit as she chuckled, “Looks like someone had quite the night.”
Following her off to Central, you realized you felt silly around her. She had been so professional, and half the surface of your skin met the cold air conditioning of the emergency department, hair slightly messy from the fight. You never shivered, though, standing up straight in front of Noelle.
You laughed awkwardly, attempting to pull down the little fabric you had around your hips, “Um, I assume you’re caught up on the circumstances.”
“Yes,” She nodded once, her eyes crinkling as she exhaled. “Some of these are quite a hefty bill for those uninsured. They are all technically work-related injuries, so I suggest talking to your boss about worker’s comp when you can.”
“Okay,” you shrugged, then looked away, “Shit, I don’t know if my boss will go for that.”
“Well, another option is financial assistance from the hospital. If some of them fall under certain income limits, they could qualify for Charity Care and PTMC will cover it.” She explained delicately, like she knew you were on edge.
“How can we…” You looked back at her, who had a concerned look for you. “How can we check?”
“I can talk to the girls about their income, if that’s okay with them,” she offered supportively, "Then, we can move forward with some forms and things.”
“Everything okay here?” You heard Robby’s voice trickle in, coming to stand beside you. He looked to Noelle for an answer, who had made dreamy-eyes at him when he stepped forward. If she hadn’t calmed your nerves, you wouldn’t have noticed.
You recognized the glint in her eye, a narrow like there was a secret you weren’t in on and a smirk on her face. The friendly smile on her face only grew into something more… suggestive?
“Yes, I briefed her on our options.” Noelle nodded. With you still there, girlish youth grew on her face, suddenly lit up and hopeful with a little bit of desperation. She took a step forward, “Dr. Robby, if I could just—“
“Great,” Robby nodded like he hadn’t heard her. You looked between them, inquisitive and a little entertained. Ready to walk away, his hand skimmed over yours as he looked at you, “Did you need anything from me?”
Receptive, your hand wrapped around his and gave a squeeze, “No. Thanks, honey.”
He nodded again, a bashful smile playing at his lips before he trailed off. You watched him walk away, biting at the inside of your cheek to stop a proud smile from coming about.
Turning back, you nodded at Noelle, “Thank you again.”
You began to walk away, then her voice stopped you.
“Do you, uh,” she started, the veil of professionalism faltering for just a moment through her curious eyes, “Do you know Dr. Robinavitch?”
“We’re…” You stopped yourself, then cleared your throat, “Why?”
She looked away and exhaled a little, “Oh, nothing… Just—”
“We’re neighbours.” You grinned with the tilt of your head, unintentionally fishing for more information. It wasn’t technically a lie, but it definitely wasn’t what she was asking.
“He just, uh,” She shook her head, then looked back up, “Kinda dropped out a few months ago.”
“You mean he… ghosted you?” You slowly nodded understandingly.
Could’ve been. That’s what Noelle was. In all her polished and experienced beauty, Robby had led her on. Why he let such a woman get away was beyond you. And maybe it was self-centred to think so, but the timeline had lined up to when you landed on Robby’s front steps.
She was older than you, more mature, no doubt. You were practically in shiny underwear in front of her with big lashes and glittery lip gloss, looking like some little aspiring cosmetologist’s fucked up Barbie doll.
“God, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” She muttered, more to herself than to you. Her hand moved to cover her face slightly, embarrassment blooming on her cheeks. In this state, she was another girl just like you, confidence faltering over this old man.
“No,” you shook your head supportively, then offered playfully, “didn’t really know a 50 year old man could have a situationship.”
“Stupid, right?” Noelle shrugged, rolling her eyes. Removing her hand from her face while flicking her hair away, she scoffed, “Guess I just thought we had something real. Jokes on me for trying something with a man so lonely.”
You chuckled at her honesty, “Happens to the best of us.”
With a pressed smile, she nodded, “I’ll go speak to the girls now.”
“Of course,” You affirmed as she trailed off.
A few hours after the whole bar fight party had been discharged and everyone was slowly getting caught up, Jack stopped by at Central, where Robby had been finishing up some charts.
Knocking on the counter, Jack nodded, “How’s it going?”
“About ready to head home.” Robby sighed, tilting his glasses down to look at Jack.
“What, uh…” Jack leaned over the surface, an amused smile growing on his face, “What’s going on with the fighter from earlier?”
Robby laughed to himself, leaning over the desk like he and Jack were two girls at a sleepover, “The fighter?” He mocked, raising an eyebrow innocently.
“You know, the leader in that tiny skirt…” Jack teased, watching Robby’s expression soften, “What’s going on there?”
“Uh, she moved in next door a few months ago,” Robby shook his head bashfully, “We became friends pretty quickly, and, uh… you know.”
“I know? What are you, a teenager?” Jack scoffed playfully.
“I don’t know what you want from me, man.” Robby smiled, tilting his head, “It’s new.”
“That’s where all your free time has been going, then?”
“Sorry I don’t want to play pickleball on my Sundays.” Robby joked, logging out and rolling his eyes. He stood from his chair, reaching for his jacket, which rested on the back of it.
“Young thing.” Jack commented, standing up straight. “Is this the one packing your lunches?”
Sighing, Robby slipped on his jacket, “Leftovers from dinner.”
“I’m happy for you, man.” With the pat of his back, he tilted his head up and joked, “Careful with that one, though. She’s feisty.”
“Yeah, I should get home, check on her.” Robby laughed with the shake of his head. “Shouldn’t even be working right now.”
Jack rolled his eyes, “Alright, Chief.”
Upon coming home, Robby saw you where he usually did, on your stoop with a cigarette and your cell phone. You had swapped your sequined halter for your big hoodie, and your legs stayed bare on the stairs, pulled to your chest and feet in slippers. Your nails tapped on your screen frantically, but your face stayed straight, eyes drooping tiredly.
“Hey, killer.” He said, making his way over to you.
You tried to laugh but it came out as a small huff, “Hey, Hospital Heartbreaker.”
He chuckled as he sat beside you, shaking his head, “That’s a new one.”
“That, uh,” you gestured the cigarette to him, which he declined, “case manager…” You raised an eyebrow playfully as he nodded. “I was right about you.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled, sitting back. He was close enough that his scrub bottoms were flush against the skin of your thigh. “Wasn’t serious. It was before… you.”
“Does she know that?” You chuckled with a draw of the cigarette.
Robby tilted his chin at you, “How are you doing?”
“Seen worse days.” You tilted your head at him with a lopsided smile. “Should’ve seen the other guy.”
He nodded his head slowly, “I did.”
“Is he gonna be okay?” You asked, more out of curiosity than concern, eyes trailing to the street..
“I… don’t know.” He exhaled.
“Hope not, that bastard deserves jail time.” You hissed half-jokingly, taking another drag of your cigarette and blowing it in the opposite direction.
Robby cleared his throat, shifting in his seat, “I didn’t know your job was so… dangerous.”
“Yeah.” You shrugged, like it was the most simple thing in the world.
“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” His eyebrows knit together, genuine concern brewing in him. He looked at you in confusion, eyes uneasy as he waited patiently for a response.
“I don’t know…” You offered hesitantly, “I thought you’d…”
“Care?”
“I don’t know what I thought. I’m just a private person, I guess.” You shrugged dismissively, turned away from him at this point. “Working at a club isn’t uncommon.”
You didn’t mean to be so defensive, but you never thought your worlds would collide the way it did. You never intended to take Robby seriously until you realized how much you actually liked him.
With a final puff of the cigarette, you said, “My last boyfriend was a detective. He kinda… had a thing for being invasive about my job, then our relationship turned into a sting operation. It was a whole thing.” You swatted your hand in the air tiredly.
“Didn’t take you for one with crazy exes.” He joked, but you couldn’t even smile.
“Sammy’s not crazy… he’s just,” you shook your head, unsure why you even bothered to bring it up, “Whatever. Doesn’t matter anymore.”
Robby watched as you tapped the ashes off the cigarette and reached to put it out on the ground. His eyes softened when you looked at him.
“Well, I’d like you to stay safe.” He said, like it was a suggestion, medicine for whatever illness the night gave you. “And I want to know what’s going on with you. I don’t want to hover, just want you to come home in one piece.” His hand found the side of your face, urging you to lean into him.
“Home.” You repeated with a nod, like it was an epiphany.
“Yeah.” He smiled.
“What, are you my boyfriend now?” You teased, nudging his knee with yours.
“Boyfriend,” he repeated, like he was trying it on for size, running a thumb over your cheekbone, “Yeah…”
What do you think about everyone’s fav position with their partners? How many times do you think they will go with their partners in one night?
Yes, a very good question!! Charlie Reid, Pope Cody, Jack Abbot, and Michael Robinavitch all have different staminas and fav positions!!
Charlie needs to fuck you in doggy. Ass up, on your elbows at first but slowly sinking down as your body goes numb from the speed and power that his hips are slamming into you. Occasional sharp swats to your ass, rubbing away the sting gently, but ensuring a red hand print is left as evidence. But you’ll beg him to spank you harder, and that alone almost drives him to release. He’ll slap your plush cheeks harder, drawing a scream and some tears from you. “Oh, baby girl, you make the prettiest sounds.” His cock hits your G-spot every damn time, and he’ll reach around your waist to circle your clit to help you the rest of the way. When you come, you’re sobbing into the mattress, a darkened patch of drool on his comforter, and he shushes you soothingly, doing his best to finish quick so he can take care of you.
As for number of rounds? Charlie is going more than once, if you’re not too puckered out after taking his cock so well for him. Sex with him is brutal but so loving. He doesn’t push you past your boundaries, but if you’re smiling into the comforter of his bed and starting to grind against his hips again after he’s already stuffed you full of his cum, well, he can’t say no to that. “Need Daddy to fuck you one more time? I can do that for you, baby girl, just use your words.” And that second round is somehow even better than the first. His stamina doesn’t fade a single bit. All that police work in the field has really started to paid off.
Pope likes you in butterfly, sprawled across the mattress, ass at the edge of the bed, wrapped around his hips as he stands over you. He’s adjusted the height of the bed to make sure your pussy lines perfectly with his cock. It gives him a perfect view of your beautiful body, he can see every facial expression to make sure he isn’t hurting you. “S’that feel good? Yeah?” Sometimes he’ll pull one of your legs straight against his upper body, resting your foot on his big shoulder. He’ll press a kiss to your ankle and use your leg as a grip for himself when you’ve already come twice and his hips begin to stutter. In this position, he can also keep his eyes on the way his cock disappears fully into your pussy and reappears covered in your juices. When he’s getting close, the raw sight makes him paint your walls white with his spend.
And our man Pope is a sex machine. He can go round after round after round, even if he’s banged up, as many times as you want. He lives to make you feel good, but sometimes he just needs more. Most nights, one orgasm isn’t enough for him, he needs to fuck you until his neurons are shot from the sound of your heavenly screams and the way you call him Andy instead of Pope. You help him remember that you love him, that you see the good in him. “I’m good?” His whimpers make your heart swell, and you’ll be his sex doll for as long as he needs to ground himself and put his mind at peace. Then maybe he’ll get some sleep.
Jack lets you ride him in cowgirl. It’s the easiest for him after a long shift, not having to worry about his aching joints, leg cramps, or balance. He can take his prosthesis off and truly enjoy you. But don’t worry, you certainly aren’t doing all the work. He’s thrusting up into you like his life depends on it. If you ever had to ride a mechanical bull, the way he fucks you would leave you more than prepared. “My pretty cowgirl.” He’ll grab onto your tits like they’re reins, massaging thoroughly to draw out your orgasm. Your hands will splay across his toned abdomen to keep yourself balanced, but when you come, your body folds over, your chest flush with his. He’ll wrap his strong, freckled arms around you, fucking you through the rest of your orgasm and into his. He comes hard, moaning beautifully into your ear, and you’ll roll your hips lazily until every last drop is inside you.
His stamina isn’t exceptional, but Jack can do a double header for sure. It just depends on what time of the day it is. If it’s late afternoon on his day off and he’s had enough time to rest, he’ll keep you in bed with him for hours if you let him. But if he’s just come home in the early morning, his leg is hurting, his eyes are twitching from too much caffeine, and he just wants to make slow love to you until it lulls him to sleep. “This is the only thing that keeps me off the roof, ya know?” You’ll kiss his entire body, massage his shoulders as you ride him, and make imaginary constellations out of his freckles. When he finishes, it’s deep, and he’ll pull you on top of him, not pulling out, and use you as a weighted blanket to fall asleep.
Robby fucks you in missionary with your knees pressed to your chest and your ankles around his neck. It gives him the deepest access to you, and you look so gorgeous writhing beneath him. His broad chest is dusted with chest hair and freckles, glistening with sweat, and it’s one of your favorite sights to see. “You’re a fucking dream, kid.” His hitting that spongy spot inside you, and he’s big, so he’s flirting with your cervix, too. It never takes too long for him to make you come, he’s an expert in everything he does. He’ll circle his thumb on your bundle of nerves to entice your release, and you’ll see nothing but stars as your orgasm crashes over you. One thing about him? He comes a lot. So when it’s his turn, it fills you to the brim, spilling out around his cock as he makes sure some of it gets fucked deep.
This old man can fuck you into the morning light. If Robby doesn’t have a shift the next day, he’ll start railing you after dinner, finding new positions to try out, maximizing your pleasure, not his. He’ll eat you out until his beard is soaked with your juices down to his neck, then pound you into next week. Your orgasm record with him is six after hours of his devotion to worship every inch of your body. “You’re doing so good for me, so fucking good.” He can come twice without getting too overstimulated, but something about you just drives that man crazy. He’s getting hard again before you’ve even made a snarky comment about his back hurting.
Oh you have GOT to be kidding me? Robby putting on his pants in a frantic rush?? Because you both overslept and now you’re gonna be late to the Pitt?? And Jack is gonna question why Robby’s hair is a mess and your scrubs are untucked and you both came in late??
Warnings: language, objectifying an old man, the slightest mention of smut, this was very self indulgent so I do apologize if y’all don’t care for it
Description: Robby loses in fantasy football and pays up. Somehow, his loss is making your life a lot more difficult.
Michael Robinavitch Masterlist
—
There weren’t many times that the night and day shift united aside from real emergencies. Well, depending on who you asked, this was a real emergency.
“Where is he?” Shen murmured, holding onto his backpack, wearily leaning against the high counter of the desk hub.
Jack checked his watch. “He’s got about three minutes before I show up at his house after work and finish the job myself. And I won’t do a good job.” He threatened.
There was a thrill in the room, similar to the countdown to Near Years. Except that was a few weeks ago. Dana crossed her arms. “Do you think we can sedate him and do it? Technically, he already gave prior consent when the season started.” She noted.
Mel walked up to the mass of nurses and doctors starting at the entrance to the Pitt, slowing her pace at the oddity. “What’s going on?” She asked.
Langdon waved her over, and she happily met him next to a computer station. “Our fantasy football season ended a few weeks ago. It’s time for the Loser to pay up.” He explained.
Mel tilted her head. “Pay up? Is everyone here waiting for money?” She asked.
Santos shook her head. “No. This is better than money.” She replied.
“Priceless.” Collins chipped in.
You weren’t aware of the barricade of healthcare providers protecting the desk hub as you walked through the entrance of the Pitt. When the doors swung open to reveal you, bundled in your pink winter coat, everyone let out a disappointed groan.
You froze in your tracks, offended by the greeting. “Good morning to everyone, too.” You said, rolling your eyes.
Dana shook her head and threw an arm around your shoulders. “No, sweetie, it’s not you. We’re waiting for the Loser.” She explained.
You smiled slightly, not sure what she was talking about. “Who’s the Loser?” You asked.
Ellis grinned and pointed to the door as it swung open. “Him.”
Robby walked through the entrance, wrapped in his black winter coat, backpack slung over his shoulders, and his camping gaiter covering the upper half of his face. Only his dark chocolate eyes and swooping faux hawk were visible.
Jack shook his head. “Oh, fuck no. Take that shit off your face.” He demanded.
Everyone made similar remarks, commanding Robby to pull off the face cover.
Robby rolled his eyes and reached a hand to the edge of the fabric near his cheek. “Before I do this, just know that I hate every single one of you.” He grumbled.
But he still hesitated. Chants of “take it off” began, starting with Langdon and progressing through the rest of the staff. You watched intently, curious what the big deal was.
With a final sigh of defeat, Robby yanked the gaiter down. The Pitt erupted with screams, laughter, and cheers. But you were frozen. There he was. Your senior attending whom you had an unbearable crush on. Who you took months to get used to without embarrassing yourself or showing your intense attraction. Who you thought about when you were alone at night.
Clean-shaven. Not a trace of the forest of facial hair that was there yesterday. Moments ago, with his face covered, you knew exactly who he was. But now? He looked like a stranger.
“I can’t tell if you look older or younger.” Shen managed to say in between waves of laughter.
Robby’s mouth pulled into a straight line, a movement once concealed behind facial hair now overexpressed. “I don’t want anyone ever saying I’m no good on my bets.” He demanded.
Jack cackled as he made his way towards Robby to pat him on the shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve seen your jaw line in 20 years, brother.” He noted.
And, oh my God, you swear Robby had a pout on his face as his friends harassed him. That straight line turned downward into a real frown. There were only a few people who actually had a downward frown, and apparently, he was one of them.
Dana had tears in her eyes from laughter. She wiped a stray one from the corner of her eye. “I haven’t seen this man since Hurricane Katrina.” She recalled.
Langdon’s eyes were just blown wide in horror. “It feels inappropriate to look at him. It’s like he’s naked.” His voice was monotone.
Your eyes were riveted on Robby. His eyes were distant, taking the punches as they came. It was better to get it all out of the way before the shift started. His face was turning red with… embarrassment? Anger? You couldn’t tell, but the color change was way more obvious without his peppered beard to hide most of his face.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He grumbled, taking a step to the lockers.
But when everyone whipped out their phones and followed his advice, blocking his escape to the doctors lounge, he threw his head back in exasperation.
“If any of these pictures end up on social media, so help me God.” He hissed.
—
Your shift got off to a great start, but your positive streak could not last in the eyes of the emergency department gods. After a couple of pleasant, simple patient cases, you were assigned to Myrna. There was no issue at first. You took her patient history and evaluated her vitals. She had been brought in after a seizure and, of course, consuming an unknown cocktail of drugs. Same as usual.
“Alright, Myrna. Let me get an IV in you.” You mumbled, sorting the IV supplies on a metal tray.
Myrna groaned in a dramatic fashion, slumping in her wheelchair. “Great, let the fucking intern do it.” She mourned to nobody in particular.
You rolled your eyes as you tightened the blue elastic tourniquet on her arm, hoping that you would be able to find a vein in her used arms.
“I’ve started an IV on you before.” You mumbled.
She rolled her eyes. “And it took you five fucking sticks.” She hissed.
You shrugged. “If you stopped shooting up drugs, I wouldn’t have such a hard time finding a vein.” You replied with as much kindness as you could muster.
She laughed, throwing her head back against the wheelchair. “You’re a spicy one.” She complimented. “Consider me a teaching opportunity. That’s what Fruitcake calls me, anyway.”
You raised an eyebrow as you cleaned a poor excuse of a vein on her forearm with an alcohol wipe. “Fruitcake?” You questioned.
“You know who I mean. The tall one with the beard and-YOU FUCKING BITCH!”
Myrna recoiled when you slid the tapered IV needle into her skin, grabbing the metal tray and hurling it at you.
“Jesus, Myrna!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms up to protect yourself from the airborne IV supplies.
The metal tray fell to the floor with a loud clang. In a flash, Dana and Robby were by your side to help you.
“You’re supposed to tell me when you’re gonna stick!” Myrna defended herself.
Robby pushed you behind him defensively as he got closer to Myrna. “What did I tell you about harassing my interns?” He questioned, a sternness in his voice that made even you shiver.
Myrna didn’t say anything at first, just stared at Robby. “Holy shit. Is that you, Fruitcake?” She asked.
Dana began to pick up the supplies that landed on the floor. “Myrna, don’t throw shit. Or we’ll throw you out.” She warned.
Myrna waved her off and returned her attention to Robby. “Looks like you didn’t finish baking.” She teased.
“Thanks.” Robby deadpanned as he turned around to look at you.
Despite Myrna being handcuffed, you were still a little shaken by the incident. His lips pulled into a wide line on his face, his upper lip flattening. Usually, he would just ask if you were okay, to which you would say yes, and that would be that. But instead, he placed a guiding hand on your back and took you to an empty room. When the door shut behind him, he faced you, arms crossed over his chest, and narrowed his eyes.
“When you have a hostile patient like that, you need to ask for help, okay?” He lectured.
The way his lips moved when he spoke was enchanting. His bottom lip thicker than the top, shaping every word with precision that you hadn’t noticed before. Like maybe you had assumed that he had been cutting corners when he spoke with his beard. The freckles that dusted his nose seemed to reach farther down his cheeks than you realized. And the way his zygomatic arches at his cheeks looked like they were sculpted by Michelangelo himself…
Fuck, you had to look away. He was so gorgeous. There was no reason that a man nearly twice your age should have that effect on you. You scolded yourself internally for being so mesmerized by him, but then you wondered how that smooth face would feel between your…
“Are you listening to me?”
Your eyes widened, and your cheeks surely flushed. “Yes, sir.”
“Then look at me.” He demanded, voice tinged with authority.
Fuck. You hesitated, deciding if hiding your crush was worth the reprimand you would receive. Your eyes were focused on your hands, anxiously picking at the cuticles.
“I will not tell you again.” Robby’s voice was sharper now, threatening almost.
You clenched your eyes shut and buried your face in your hands. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I can’t look at you.” You confessed.
A silent beat. “Why?”
A disgruntled breath left your lungs. “Because you shaved.”
An awkward silence followed. That wasn’t exactly the response he expected, but Robby matched your irritated exhale. “Look, I know it looks bad. That’s why I don’t shave. But that’s no reason-“
You snapped your head up, eyes blown wide. “No, no! It looks good! It looks too good.” You cut him off.
Robby froze, and the annoyed face that you were initially met with began to soften. His slackened jaw relaxed, and his lips twitched at the edges. “Too good?” He repeated.
You felt your stomach jump to your throat as you realized the trap you had set for yourself. Tell your boss that he’s hot or that you were lying to get out of a lecture? Either path seemed like a dead end. Where you might actually end up dead regardless of the decision. “It’s just that…you look like a different person.” You confessed.
His lips were pulled into that long, straight line that you had seen this morning. Beginning to turn down in a real frown. “…so I looked bad before?” He concluded.
You groaned in frustration, tossing your head back, clenching your eyes shut. “Oh, gosh, Robby. You’re a very handsome man, and it was already hard for me to look at you without becoming a mess. I used to think, ‘it’s a good thing he has a beard because there’s no way he would look good clean-shaven.’ Then you come in, all baby-faced, and it’s like I relapsed on fucking heroin.” Your word vomit was too much to clean up now.
When you didn’t hear any words, a disappointed sigh, or even the characteristic sound of his short nails scratching his neck, you thought he had left the room to avoid an awkward conversation that involved telling his resident that he did not find her attractive. So you opened your eyes, expecting no trace of your attending, but there he was.
Smiling.
Smiling at you.
And you felt an unexpected weakness in your knees. It was the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Not a grin, but certainly the last line of defense. His lips pulled impossibly wide on his face, his cheeks folding into smile lines to make room. Those lines framed his mouth like priceless artwork.
You felt self-conscious now. He must have been amused at your naivety. You definitely weren’t the first resident to obsess over that man. “Why are you smiling?” You questioned defensively.
Robby let out a chuckle that evaporated the stress in your mind. “I have a pretty young girl telling me that I look handsome. How can I not smile?”
Oh.
You closed the distance between the two of you. Your hands found purchase on his chest, which puffed out at the touch. “Pretty young?” You questioned, a playfulness in your eyes. “Or pretty and young?”
Robby reached for one of your hands on his chest, wrapping it in his own. “Pretty and young.” He confirmed. And this time, he showed off those pretty teeth, imperfect in all the right ways, the smile lines stretching almost all the way back to his ears.
Your free hand lifted, and your fingers hovered in front of his face as if they were not a part of your own body, like his smooth jawline was a magnet. Despite your bravery to touch his chest, you found yourself shying away now. “I’m- I’m sorry.” You stuttered, retracting your hand.
But Robby snatched your wrist with a firm gentleness. Slowly, he brought it closer to his face again, inviting you to touch. Your index finger grazed the contour of his cheekbone, met with not a hint of friction. His breath staggered, and you caught him fluttering his eyes at your electric touch. Like you were inching into a freezing pool of water, you cautiously added more of your hand to grace his skin.
“You’re so pretty.” You whispered.
Robby sputtered out a sheepish laugh, his lips stretching into that boyish grin that deepened every line on his aging face. “Pretty?” He repeated.
You nodded, now palming his jaw. Years ago, you were sure, it was probably cut sharp, but now the elasticity of his skin made it more mature and soft. “I’ve seen that picture of you. From the 90s. The one in the hallway. You looked like a TV show heartthrob.” You noted. “I could never convince myself that it was you, but now I can.”
His face continued to redden, the heat seeping all the way to the tips of his ears. There was no way to hide his blushing now. His head turned slightly in your grasp, his lips brushing against your palm, parting slightly as they dragged. Your thumb traced his lips and dragged his thick bottom lip, rolling it down slightly to expose his teeth. He let out the softest moan, almost a whimper. Your eyes locked with his, and the desperation was palpable.
“I feel like I’m cheating on my crush.” You finally admitted, letting your thumb linger on his mouth.
Robby’s lips pulled to one side in a half smile, but it looked almost like a full blown smile compared to what you were used to seeing behind his beard. “I’m your crush?” He questioned, like he was waiting to see if you had also lost a bet.
You laughed at the ridiculous question and looked up at the fluorescent lights. “I’m struggling to hold your eye contact right now because you’re so fucking gorgeous.” You replied.
Those ceiling lights blinded you from what came next. You could only see Robby’s hairline, but then you felt the warmth on your mouth. From his mouth. Maybe you didn’t register it at first because in all of your fantasies, you expected his kiss to be rough with scratches from his dense beard. Your tongue would graze the facial hair around his lips, burning your chin as he moved.
But this kiss felt so clean. So raw. So…exposed. Like insulation from a wire had been pulled away, leaving nothing but the full power of his mouth. You raised your free hand to his face now, seeking proof that the other side was just as smooth and soft. One of his arms snaked around your waist, and his free hand latched onto the back of your scalp.
Feeling emboldened by the returned affections, you moved your lips away from his and kissed the hollow of his cheeks, trailing down to his jaw. Robby shuddered at the sensation, a pathetic whimper leaving his mouth.
You giggled as you continued to worship his face with hot, open-mouth kisses. “You okay?” You teased.
He chuckled, but it was a higher pitch than you were used to hearing. “I haven’t…” He stuttered as you added more kisses to the underside of his chin, crossing to the other side of his face. “Nobody’s…” He struggled to find the right words as your soft, wet lips dragged across his skin. “You’re the first person in 20 years to kiss the skin on my lower face.” He finally managed to say.
You sucked gently at the angle of his mandible, savoring the taste of his elastic skin on your tongue, releasing soon after to protect him from a damning mark. “I’m honored.” You replied with a gentle tease.
Robby grabbed your face to hold you still, and you let out a bratty whimper of frustration that he had stopped your expedition. His tongue swiped across his bottom lip in thought. “We have to get back to work.” He reminded you, but the authority in his voice was dwindling.
Your eyebrows drew together in disappointment, but you could see in the way his lips were just slightly curved up that he didn’t want to leave you. You could read him before, but now he was as transparent as water.
“Okay.” You sighed dramatically and began to pull away from his grasp. “Guess I’ll just finish out my shift and head home. Alone.”
You turned away from Robby, but before you did, you saw him bite his bottom lip, anxious that he had just fucked everything up. His hands had grasped for your body, a little too late, and you were out of his reach. Hook, line, and sinker. Then you turned your head over your shoulder, just enough to meet his overly wide brown eyes, and smirked.
“Unless you wanna come along?” You added in a sing-songy lilt.
Robby’s face changed in an instant, breaking into that wide smile that you were becoming quickly addicted to. The kind of smile that could stop people dead on a sidewalk when he passed by. The kind of smile that people wrote songs about. The kind of smile that could light up a room in a hurricane.
And it was all for you.
“I’ll see you after work.” You confirmed for him.
Robby chuckled, a look of disbelief at your audacity washing over his face. “I didn’t say yes.” He retorted.
You smirked. “You didn’t have to. Your smile gave it away.” You opened the door to the rest of the emergency department, taking a step out. “You better watch that face. Can’t hide behind your beard anymore.”
And you disappeared back into the chaos. Robby remained in the room, smiling still to himself. He dragged his teeth across his bottom lip again. For the first time ever, he was glad that he lost in fantasy football.
—
A/N: Thank y’all for dealing with my slight obsession with clean-shaven Robby. I couldn’t help myself, Noah is just such a cutie.
Description: Robby comes in on his day off with a minor injury, and the Reader ends up much closer to him than she had anticipated.
Michael Robinavitch Masterlist
—
The Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.
But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:
“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.
“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.
You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.
“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.
“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”
Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.
Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.
Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.
Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.
“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.
Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.
Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.
“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.
Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.
Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.
“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.
Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.
Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.
Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.
“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.
“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.
When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.
You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.
You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.
Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.
You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.
Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.
You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.
“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.
You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.
“Why?”
At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.
Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.
You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.
“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.
You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”
Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.
“What stitch?” He asked.
You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.
“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.
Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.
You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.
“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.
Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.
Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”
“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.
Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.
“My freckles?” He repeated.
You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.
Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.
“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.
Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.
You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.
Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.
“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.
He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.
You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”
“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.
You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.
“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.
You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.
“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.
You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.
Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.
You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.
Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.
You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”
Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.
You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”
And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.
Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.
Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”
--
A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕
Warnings: patient violence, needles, injury, HIV mention, Santos
Description: After a patient injures the Reader, Robby patches her up and reassures her.
Michael Robinavitch Masterlist
—
“I need a doctor!” A voice emerged from one of the exam rooms. “Please, I need a doctor!”
You looked up from your computer and over to Dana, who rolled her eyes. “Is it my turn?” You asked with hesitation.
The Pitt had been flooded as usual, and one of the psychiatric admissions was still being boarded in an exam room until a bed was available upstairs. Fred, the middle-aged opioid addict, was currently going through withdrawals, and he made sure everyone on the floor was aware. You felt bad for him because you know addiction is not entirely the fault of a patient, but Fred was verbally abusing every person who walked through the curtain to check on him.
Dana chuckled and walked over to your chair. “You’re up to bat, champ.” She patted you on the shoulder. “Think you’ll need backup? I can go in with you.”
You sighed and rubbed the aching dark circles under your eyes. “Not if he’s restrained. I’ll be fine.” You mumbled, kicking back on the floor so your chair rolled away from the desk.
You swung your stethoscope around your neck and walked through the curtain. There was Fred. He came in with tremors and sweats, but the withdrawal medication seemed to be helping for now. “Hey, Fred. I’m Dr. (L/N). What’s going on?” You asked, taking a seat on the stool next to the bed.
Fred shook his head. “No, I don’t want a fucking nurse. I want my doctor!” He screamed.
You squinted at his loud voice. “Sir, I am a doctor. Now, how can I help you?” You asked again, with the same patience as before.
“Give me my fucking medicine right now, bitch. I’m not playing any games.” He growled.
You moved to the computer to look up his chart. “I think Dr. Langdon already gave you medicine about thirty minutes ago. What symptoms are you having?” You replied calmly, not taking his anger to heart.
“I want my fucking pills.” He hissed, struggling against the fabric restraints tied to the gurney.
You turned to look at him and sighed. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that for you.” You turned back to the computer to search for the time on his next medicine. “I know you are feeling really bad right now, but the pills will not help you in the-”
You were cut off by your head being yanked back by your hair with strong force. You let out a startled scream and twisted around to look at Fred. He had gotten out of one of his arm restraints, and before you could cry out for assistance, you felt pressure on your cheek. Naturally, your eyes squinted shut when you saw a hand coming at you, so you didn’t see that he was wielding a scalpel. Before you could open your eyes, a closed fist knocked you to the ground.
“I told you to give me my fucking pills, you cunt.” He snarled and spat on you.
The curtain swung open to reveal Langdon and Robby, who both looked ready to tackle Fred if he was free. You crawled away from the bed and shakily stood up.
“Dana, call for security!” Robby yelled out as he and Langdon grabbed Fred’s free arm and tried to tie it back down to the rails of the bed. The metal clang of the scalpel dropping to the tile fell deaf on your ears.
You ran out of the room as a security guard bumped into you, causing you to stumble. Luckily, Dana was there to catch you. “Hey, I’ve got you.” She assured you. But then she stood you up straight, seeing red streaks on your face and dripping to your neck. “Oh, holy shit.”
You felt numb. Numb to everything. Even the pain in your face couldn’t bring you back to reality. “I just…” You mumbled, looking around. All of the nurses and doctors had their eyes on you. It was overwhelming, and the fluorescent lights started to burn your eyes.
And then your cheek began to hurt. The pain seeped across your face, and hot tears pricked your eyes.
You didn’t even realize that Dana had snatched gauze from a patient’s room. She pressed it to your cheek firmly. “Collins, get over here!” She called out.
You sat down in the chair you had abandoned only two minutes before. Collins ran over to you and tilted your head up with a gentle hand.
“Oh, sweetie, what happened?” She asked sincerely, lifting the gauze delicately.
You winced as fresh air hit the cut. “I don’t know. I think he hit me. And he pulled my hair.” You responded, still in shock.
Collins winced at the wound and replaced the gauze. “I don’t know, that looks like a pretty deep cut.”
Before long, the med students and interns surrounded your chair. You reached a hand to your cheek and carefully pulled the gauze away, finally seeing how much blood had flooded the cloth.
“Oh, shit. That definitely needs stitches.” Santos commented.
If you could roll your eyes, you would have. But you were focused on not puking your guts out in front of the team.
“I shouldn’t have turned my back to him.” You mumbled.
Mohan shook her head. “No way. That is not your fault. Sure, never let a patient get between you and the door. But you shouldn’t have to keep eyes on the patient at all times to ensure your safety.” She redirected.
You closed your eyes, but you could hear others agreeing with her. The pain and attention was too much to handle. You just wanted to be alone. So, you stood slowly. Dana held a hand to your back as you did.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She asked. “You might need a CT.”
You looked to her sluggishly. “I just need some air. I’m just going to the empty room.” You said before quickly escaping from the crowd.
You swished the curtain open and shut. The light above the bed was out, perfect for some peace and quiet. You sat on the bed and crossed your legs. The pain from your cheek was becoming more unbearable by the second as the adrenaline wore off. You closed your eyes and pressed the gauze harder against your skin.
You were incredibly embarrassed. Maybe you were too naive. Fred had a history of violence toward healthcare workers, and you still turned away from him. Trusting him as innocently as a child would. It wasn’t the first time that you underestimated a patient. Langdon always chastised you for being too trusting.
The curtain opened, and you could see the light from the Pitt through your closed eyes. “Dana, please let me have a minute.” You begged.
“I think she’s already given you two minutes.” Robby’s voice responded.
You opened your eyes, and you saw Robby standing in the doorway with a suture pack in his hands. “Oh. I’m sorry, Dr. Robby.” You responded, slightly embarrassed.
Robby smiled and shut the curtain behind him. “No need.” He said and stood over the bed. “Why don’t you let me see what we’re working with?” And tapped your hand holding the gauze.
You moved your hand away from your face and winced. “It’s fine. Just stings a little.” You lied through clenched teeth.
Robby chuckled and shook his head. “No, ma’am. That’s gonna need at least five stitches.” He said.
You watched him move to the side of the room and grab a syringe of lidocaine and some more gauze. He turned the overhead exam light on, and you furrowed your brow at the brightness.
“Are you okay?” He asked as he sat down on the bed next to you. He titled your chin up and began patting down your neck with the extra gauze, cleaning the blood that had dripped from your cheek.
Honestly, you weren’t okay. You felt like you had been taken advantage of, but you didn’t lose anything besides your pride. And a few precious minutes of charting. You felt silly for thinking that a hostile patient wouldn’t lash out at you, even though he had screamed at someone as sweet as Mel King. You felt the tears prick your eyes again, and your bottom lip quivered.
Robby stopped cleaning your face as soon as he met your eyes. “Oh, no. Sweetie, please don’t cry.” He begged and tilted your head back. “The tears are gonna make the cut hurt even more. Just wait for me to inject the lidocaine.” He said.
You swallowed thickly, taking in shaky but deep breaths. You felt his hand grab one of yours and squeezing tightly. “I’m sorry.” You managed to whisper.
Robby made quick work of the cleanup and grabbed the lidocaine syringe. He pulled his black-rimmed glasses out of the pocket of his scrub top and placed them on the bridge of his nose. “Don’t apologize, dear.” He let go of your hand to place his on under your chin to stabilize your head. “Okay. I’m about to inject the lidocaine, and it’s going to burn like hell for a few seconds.” He warned, peering over his glasses to meet your gaze.
You saw the syringe in his hand. The needle wasn’t that big. You knew that. You gave the same injection to patients every shift. But as the needle slowly moved closer to your face, your breathing hitched, and you pulled away from his grasp.
“No, no, I can’t.” You struggled to say through labored breaths.
Robby held his hands up, as if to show you that he wasn’t going to make a sneak attack with the syringe. “(Y/L/N). Look at me. Look at my eyes.” He said, lifting his glasses to rest on the crown of his head.
And so you did. His dark chocolate eyes were framed with permanent laugh lines. Even when he was in a pissy mood, he would smile with sarcasm or exasperation. You didn’t even realize that your breathing had slowed as the silence grew between you. Robby placed the lidocaine syringe on the tray next to the bed, but never broke eye contact.
“Tell me what’s going through your mind.” He said.
You didn’t answer immediately. It almost seemed like a trap. Admitting your insecurities and shortcomings to your boss that he could use as leverage or blackmail whenever he saw fit. But something about his face seemed sincere and almost…worried.
“I’m just…embarrassed. Overwhelmed.” You whispered, finally admitting it out loud.
Robby nodded. “Okay. Those are reasonable feelings to have after an event like that.” He affirmed. “Do you want to talk about it?”
You shook your head. “No. I’m sorry for being a bitch about the lidocaine. I’m ready now.” You said quickly.
Robby reached for the syringe again and placed a hand under your chin. “Okay. I’m going to make a few injections around the cut. It’ll be over before you know it.” He said and tilted his glasses back down.
You closed your eyes and waited. The needle inserting wasn’t painful, but the lidocaine burned like a motherfucker. You furrowed your brow, trying not to scrunch your face in pain.
“That’s a good girl.” Robby praised as he inserted the needle into your skin again.
Oh. That wasn’t something you expected to hear from him. You opened your eyes to see Robby meticulously moving the needle around your cheek, his mouth open just slightly in concentration. You hoped that your face had already been flushed from the anxiety and pain because you could definitely feel the heat rising up your neck. Suddenly you realized just how close Robby was to you. Even while you both sat at the edge of the bed, he was all but cradling you as he worked.
“And done. How does it feel?” He said, snapping you out of your thoughts.
You raised a hand to your cheek and pressed gently. “Oh. I don’t feel anything.” You said, huffing a small laugh.
“Great. That means I can start sewing you up.” He said.
Robby opened the suture kit and began to sort out its contents. You watched him grab the utensils he needed and the suture thread. “Thank you for doing this.” You said.
He turned back to you, ready to start suturing away. “It's the least I can do. I’m upset that one of my residents got attacked under my watch.” He responded, inserting the suture needle. But you didn’t feel it. “After this, I’m gonna write you a prescription for a PEP antiretroviral and do some blood tests.”
Your eyes widened. “For HIV?”
Robby met your eyes for a moment before looking back to your cheek. “Yes, Dr. (Y/L/N). Fred is HIV positive. And while we don’t think the scalpel he cut you with had his own bodily fluids on it, your health comes first. We have to treat because of the risk, even though it’s slim to none.” He explained.
Your heart fell to your stomach, and the tears that you managed to hold back before began to spill over your eyes. “I’m so fucking stupid.” You breathed.
Robby pulled tightly on a suture before beginning the next one. “Hey. Don’t talk like that.” He said. “This is not your fault.”
Your lip quivered, and you looked to the ceiling to try and stop more tears. “Langdon is right. I’m fucking naive. I shouldn’t have ever turned my back to Fred. I knew what he was capable of.”
Robby sighed heavily and tied off the last suture. He placed the instruments back on the metal tray. But then he grabbed one of your hands and lifted his glasses with the other. “You are a good doctor, (Y/N). You are not naive. You are one of the last good people around here.” He said honestly.
Your cheeks flushed again, but you shook your head. “I need to start thinking more like Langdon, like Santos, like…like you.” You said.
Robby frowned, almost in disappointment. “I don’t want you to ever be like me. You are a ray of fucking sunshine, and you make everyone around you smile. Even me.” He said. “As soon as you walk in the room, it gets brighter.”
You smiled slightly. “I can make you smile?” You asked shyly.
Robby chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, you do.” He replied. “Sometimes you’re the only good thing about my day. The days where you’re off and I’m here…those are a lot darker.”
You watched your attending fidget with his hands in his lap nervously. You placed one of yours over them. Robby looked up to you, and you felt a real connection this time, deeper than holding each other’s gaze. He held your small hand in both of his.
“Well…you’re making a really shitty day turn into a good one.” You said.
Robby smiled, and the laugh lines around his eyes crinkled. You didn’t realize how close the two of you had naturally inched towards each other until you could feel his breath on your nose and smell his scent. A mixture of coffee and what had to be Old Spice deodorant.
You weren’t sure who leaned in first. But Robby’s lips pressed against yours in a sweet, gentle kiss. His nose brushed against yours, nuzzling your uninjured cheek. You grinned at the feeling of his mouth peppering small kisses across your face.
“Does this make it better?” He asked in between little kisses.
You placed a hand on his neck, fingers reaching up to stroke his hair. You finally pressed your forehead against his to catch his eyes. “All better, Dr. Robby.” You said before giving him another kiss.
