dre6ming

[dre6ming]

Beautiful Things (Young! Haymitch x Reader)

Burdock Everdeen's sister, no Lenore Dove, young Haymitch Abernathy, Slow-burn, childhood friends to lovers, eventual smut, no use of y/n.

Summary: You haven't visited Haymitch in the years since his victory until you get into some trouble that forces you back into his life.

(def smut just with lots of plot, my first time writing a full story, not proof read)

Word count: 5.5K

Haymitch had pushed everyone away after winning his games. 

Except winning wasn’t the right word. 

After escaping the games, Haymitch left behind every piece of the seam boy you’d grown up with, in the arena. You could do nothing but watch as he shouldered every casualty as if they were his fault, not the capitol’s. 

You and Burdock tried to reason, coming to his new “home” with breakfast and attempting to coax him away from Hattie’s brew. Astrid came sometimes with flowers and bread gifted from the bakers. 

You saw the pain in his eyes after he threw that stone at her. Lobbing it straight into her temple with a smack. After that, Burdock decided that he was done, and consequently, so were you. Being his little sister, and all. 

But you knew. 

You knew that he didn’t do it to hurt her, at least, not for any obvious reason. Because no matter how glazed over his eyes were with guilt, alcohol, and fatigue; and no matter how hard he tried to look tough, and scary, and mean, you could see the scared kid who’d lost his family for what he’d done. Even if you weren’t sure what exactly he had done. 

But you understood from the mumbling in his sleep, the pleading with ghosts, and the silent sobs, that he’d upset someone. And the damage was irreparable. 

And Burdock knew. He knew how badly you wanted to go see Haymitch, and how badly you wanted to go try to stay close to him, despite the lengths Haymitch was willing to go to in order to keep you away. But the Everdeen’s stuck together, and you listened to your brother when he said never to go back. 

7 years later 

You felt him. Everywhere. 

He so violently pushed you away yet he never seemed to leave. You could smell the liquor mixed with expensive capital soaps, that only he could afford, almost daily. You rarely saw him, and if you did it was just a shoulder or a boot. But you knew he was there. 

Since you’d begun to keep your distance, you noticed his presence. He watched you walk with Burdock’s first daughter to the schoolyard for the first time. He watched as you shopped in the hob. You couldn’t prove it, Hell, maybe you were crazy, but you just knew.  

He observed as you picked up a bundle of fresh flowers from your best friend, Lydia’s, shop. He watched each of your fingers graze over the petals and reach to lift them to your nose. He couldn’t go near you. He would never allow himself to do that, but he could watch. 

He pretended that he was still part of your lives, Burdock and Astrid had a wedding and a child, you had aged out of the reaping unscathed, and he wasn’t in any of it. It had to be that way, to keep you all safe. At least at tomorrow’s reaping he knew there was no one for him to lose. Just another year of being completely helpless to save the new tributes and drinking himself into oblivion. 

But when they called one of the young children you would bring Katniss to play with on Sundays, and when they dragged the little girl on her knees as she screamed for her mother, you just had to get into trouble. You screamed for the peacekeepers to be gentle, stepping out from the flimsy barrier between the adults and children to push the female peacekeeper away from the child. 

You earned yourself ten lashes to the back with a whip. 

When he heard your screams all the way from Victor’s Village, every ounce of self control evaporated as he barreled toward the square. 

He took one of your lashes to his cheek and shoulder. 

After some harsh words passed between him and the peacekeeper, and the quick exchange of money between hands, you were unbound from the totem.

He charged toward your limp and bleeding form, scooping you up in his arms and clutching to your body as if his own life depended on it. He carried you to Astrid. 

Once he placed you tenderly on the table, he wordlessly retreated back to his house. Hoping that his intervention would go unnoticed by the capitol. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You woke up to a stinging across your back and the flood of blurry memories. 

“Honey? How are you feeling?” Astrid asked, pressing a wet towel against your wounds. “They were relatively shallow,” she hesitated for a moment, “Haymitch took the fifth... You’ll be alright sweetpea.” she soothed as she placed the last bit of freshly medicated cloth across your back. 

“Haymitch?” you rasped, feeling as if you’d dreamt the last two days. You took in the information for a moment, reveling in the simple fact that you were right, as always. You felt your stomach burst with a warm fluttery feeling. Maybe it was the morphling. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Haymitch jolted from his half-conscious state, knife in hand, to the sound of someone rapping at his front door. His heart sank, Snow came to finally kill him off? Burdock to curse him out for going near his sister? 

He stumbled from his overly plush chair and peered cautiously through the small opening in his front door.

Speak of the Devil. 

There you stood, bandages loosely hanging onto your form, staring intently at something in your hands, waiting for Haymitch to open his door. You hadn’t visited him, at least to his knowledge, in years. Every square inch of his body erupted in fear as he swung open the door and hastily (but still mindful of your wounds) pulled you through the door before they could see you. 

“You can’t be here.” was the first thing out of his mouth. 

Everything about his body language screamed that he was in fear, but of what? 

You placed the basket full of fruits and neatly concealed game from Burdock's hunting trips onto the dusty marble table in his entryway. You took him in. Years of feeling his presence and seeing him on stage at every reaping, yet this was the first time you had been able to really see him. He was still strong, though no longer the thin seam boy you once knew. He was larger than you thought. You were not a small girl by any means, but his weary frame towered over you, boring holes into your forehead. 

“Hey Hay.” you acknowledged him with your old greeting. He watched as you reached a hand to the welt across his cheek. His eyes flickered for a moment before dragging you to the kitchen and slumping down in a chair, bottles surrounding his spot at the table. He groaned your name, dragging his hands across his face and through his hair. All his effort to stay away and he fucked it up in a single day. 

You were strong. You could’ve handled the lashes, especially with Astrid around. What you couldn’t handle was the wrath of the capitol and what they would do to you in order to get to Haymitch. He should’ve left. you. alone.  

“Fuck, sweetheart.” your old nickname rang in your ears, buzzing through your whole body. You stood to attention, hanging onto every word. 

“You can’t be here,” he repeated. 

“Why..?” you pressed, asking the question for not just this moment, but for the years that had gone by with you exiled from his life. The underlying question was evident. 

“Not safe,” he said flatly. Recovering from his previous distress and marshalling toward you, softly but firmly grabbing your wrist with one hand and leading you to the door. But you stopped him, pressing your hands to his chest and gazing up at him. 

“I can decide what’s safe, Haymitch.” 

He flinched at his name on your tongue, dropping your wrist and standing with his hands in his pockets. Every bit of resolve he had crumbled in your hands. 

“Haymitch.. I just came to thank you. Astrid told me what you did. Burdock’s pissed at me but I think he hates you a little less now. I don’t know if that means anything to you. I don’t know if you’ve missed us the same way we missed you. It’s weird because I usually know everything… and.. I don’t..” tears pricked your eyes, you were rambling. 

You were rendered wordless for the first time in seven years, for the first time since you had your last moment with him before the games. When your younger self tried your hardest to tell him how you felt, but decided to wait until after the reaping. History told the rest. 

You stared at the neglected hardwood floor, fiddling with the bloodied lace shirt you’d been wearing for reaping day. You felt a hand come up to your cheek and caress the bone of your jaw. Looking up, you both wordlessly studied each other’s eyes and face. The silence fell over you like a blanket, comforting, warm. Different than the silence of his absence that had been haunting you. “Sweetheart..” he whispered, not sweetly, but with fearful warning. 

“I have to leave for the games.” he said, dropping his hand from your cheek and backing away from your face, which you had just now realized was mere inches away from his. 

He handed you the basket, and turned you around, about to open the door. You heard a shocked noise escape his mouth, a mix between anger and pain. You felt his hot hands trace over your shoulder and down your arm, sending shivers down your spine. Then you realized what it was. The numbed wounds across your back from mere hours earlier. They weren’t bad, but the way he mindlessly grabbed at your waist from behind as he studied them let you know that he was livid.

“God fucking damn it. Had to get into fucking trouble didn’t you.” he seethed. Less angry at you and more so at the world. For hurting you, for damaging such a delicate bird. 

“You have to go. I have to go. Please.” he demanded and pleaded at the same time. You still hadn’t turned around, and you weren’t sure you wanted to see his expression, or his eyes. You’d seen enough pain today. He released his grip on your form and you silently walked out the door.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

He’d been gone for three weeks. The Capitol tours and The Hunger Games itself. You watched him as he lost both of his tributes yet again. This year, two young children, a 14-year-old boy and the barely-twelve girl you had fought to protect. He held his usual stony expression, but you knew that look in his eyes. You longed for when he’d return and you could force your way back into his life and protect him from that pain. However selfish that was.

You showed up on his doorstep again. This time without the fresh wounds, but with the same basket, freshly stocked with practical gifts of food and herbs. 

You didn’t stop showing up. And he couldn’t bring himself to repeat what he had done to Astrid and Burdock. After weeks of fruitless scolding and failing to ignore you, he silently decided that you had successfully put yourself on the capitol’s radar, and there was nothing he could do to convince them that you weren’t something to him. 

You sat at his feet in front of the plush sofa while he gazed into the static-y program on the television, picturing Capitol News and Caesar Flickerman’s overly peppy voice, his hair dyed a garishly electric blue. You peered up through your lashes at him, gazing at the shape of his jaw and nose, lingering at his collarbone. He looked at peace. He started drinking less. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he’d begun to enjoy your company. Even if every day he mumbled under his breath to you, “sweetheart you know better,” as you tiptoed through his door. 

He caught your gaze, faltering, before returning to the television. It was a comfortable silence you’d looked forward to after a long day, and you’d like to think he did too. You felt a hand make its way to your head, and drag its fingers across your scalp through your hair. He was much rougher than he had been when you were kids, yet he was so delicate with you. As if he’d break you into a million pieces at the slightest touch. 

You leaned back into his touch as he played with your hair and rubbed circles on your scalp. You innocently let out a pleased noise, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. 

You felt him tense.  

He continued his careful strokes, but you could sense a change in energy. You turned around on your knees to look at him, perched at the edge of the sofa like a curious bird. He didn’t pry his eyes away from the television, his whole body rigid. 

“That color is god-awful,” you commented, referring to Caesar's newest hair color. He paused for a moment, “I thought blue was your favorite.” 

You nodded, “Blue is my favorite. Just not that blue. More like the color of a raven in sunlight. You know? That pretty color that reflects off their wings?” 

He chuckled, a smile threatening to bubble over. It sent sparks through your stomach. 

You turned back around, and he continued to play with your hair, evidently calmer after your brief conversation. You sighed again, leaning back into his lap. He tightened. You whipped your head back around and resumed your position on your knees, confused. “Haymitch what’s wrong?” you questioned. He shook his head, but you didn’t let him off the hook. You never did, simply wasn’t in your nature, and he knew that. 

You stabilized yourself by placing a hand on his knee, and felt a jolt go through his body, and consequently through yours.

 The energy in the room shifted.

 “Hay?” you whispered. He averted his eyes. Attempting to catch his gaze, you clambered onto the sofa with him, both hands planted on his thighs, one knee between his. And then you realized. For a know-it-all you were clearly clueless. He sighed your name. 

You were frozen, feeling the heat from his body on your hands and leg. He flushed a shade of fuschia. You let out a short exhale, gazing into his grey eyes. 

Haymitch was the first to break the silence, shakily whispering your name. You met his gaze and softened, leaning in ever so slightly, testing the waters. He didn’t protest. 

You moved inch by inch, eventually settling onto his lap, his body eclipsed yours. Your knees were placed delicately on either side of his hips, and the heat between you two was palpable. It felt like you were burning at every point of contact. You could smell the mixture of pine needles and liquor, and that soap that you seemed to smell wherever you went. “I knew it.” you mused, your arms reaching to drape around his shoulders. His face twisted to confusion. “Knew what..?” he barely choked out, clearly overwhelmed by your proximity. “That you’ve been watching us. I know that scent, that Capitol soap. You’re the only person it could’ve come from. I smell it everywhere.” you explained. He let out a deep exhale, swiping his fingers up your thigh and landing on your hip, rubbing a tentative circle into you. You shivered. 

“No.” he said. And you slightly deflated. “No? But-” he interrupted, “just you. I’ve just been watching  you.”

He chuckled as your face brightened. “Seems like miss know-it-all still likes being right.” 

You smiled to yourself as memories of you, him, Astrid, and your brother flooded back. How he used to tease you. The schoolgirl crush you had on him. It was cliche, sure, but who wouldn’t be charmed by such a rascal? When you looked back up to meet his eyes, you felt your stomach flip. 

His gaze bore into you with a mix between admiration and darkness. For a moment you saw the trademark mischievous glint in his eye from when you were young. Your breath caught in your throat, remembering the position you were in. Vulnerable, facing him on his lap. You moved to retreat, feeling exposed, but he gently placed the weight of his hands on your waist. Not forcing you to stay, but silently communicating that he wanted you to. You relaxed, settling into his lap and staring right back at him. 

“Hey, Hay.” you teased, the electricity of his touch sending a buzz through your body. He felt like a magnet, like he was pulling you in without trying. His hands make their way to your ribcage and back down to your thighs, taking in every soft detail and plush curve. 

With the fear of god, you pressed a soft kiss to his temple, brushing his hair out of his face. Then, reaching up to cup his cheek, placed another on the bridge of his nose. He felt every nerve in his body burst into flames. 

And then you kissed him. 

It was delicate, careful. As if you were scared of how he’d react. It was sweet, soft. It felt like you were satisfying every shared urge from when you were younger. He felt your body melt, as if this were the exact place you were meant to be your entire life, with him. 

But as the kisses went from small pecks to open-mouthed kisses, and as his hands began to roam your body, tracing every feature from your collar to hip bone, you couldn’t stop. His breathing became heavier, he pressed his body to yours, pulling you into his form. It felt as if you were trying to fuse yourselves together, but the closest you could come were the heated kisses and caresses. 

He took one of his hands from your body and moved it to the back of your skull, gently holding onto your hair and just barely tugging to maneuver you how he wanted. You let out a noise, similar to your sighs from before, but this time it came out breathy and desperate. The sound made Haymitch pull away from your lips and repeat the motion. Watching your throat as you let out the involuntary noise. You gasped as he attached his lips to your neck, kissing and searching for where he could make you whine the loudest. Every whimper egged him on. He made his way down your collarbone, nipping and sucking at your soft skin, looking up at you as he reached the neckline of your delicate top. His rough fingers traced their way to the hemline of your shirt. He slipped one hand beneath your top, looking to you for silent permission before continuing. He lifted the fabric above your chest, sharply inhaling at the sight of your barely covered breasts. Your breathing became rapid, and you reached to the fabric and daringly pulled it fully off on your own. 

Haymitch let out a groan at the sight of your figure. Your face reddened with embarrassment. But he didn’t seem to notice. He was hungry. He scolded himself for letting you get this close, but god how you pulled him in. 

He reached behind you, clumsily unclasping your bra, and discarding it to the side. You reached to cover yourself but he stopped you. “Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart. God… you’re...” he breathed, trailing off. He slid his calloused fingers up your ribcage and toyed with the supple flesh of your chest. You whined at the new sensation, watching him as he played with the sensitive bud, leaning down to take it in his mouth. His kisses migrated from your neck to your breasts, sucking and biting at them until they were tender to the touch. You creened with pleasure at the new sensation. He left marks in the valley between your chest and ribcage, kissing them softly as he went back up to press a kiss to your forehead and look into your eyes. 

You huffed, reaching for his own shirt, tugging at it for him to take off. He smiled, a real smile, and obliged. “You might kill me sweet girl.” he whispered huskily into your ear as he removed his shirt, pressing a chaste kiss to your jaw. You felt like you were being spoiled rotten. 

You both took each other in. You gazed at his surprisingly lean figure, considering all the liquor. You lingered over the strength in his arms and chest, the soft definition of his abdomen. You slid a hand across his lower stomach, tracing the messy scar from his games. You thought that maybe this was how he felt when he saw the bandages across your back from being whipped.

He reached down and brought your hand to his face, pressing kisses into the palm of your hand and your fingers. He whispered your name, pulling you back into consciousness. “Are you sure you want this?” he said softly, as if one wrong move would scare you away. 

You smiled. 

“Haymitch. I wouldn’t let you take my top off if I didn’t. I think that's a silly question.” you teased with a giggle. At that, he captured your lips in another kiss and hoisted you off the couch, carrying you next door to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. With your legs wrapped around his waist he pressed you into the wall, leaving bruising kisses on your lips. He slipped his tongue past your lips and enraptured you in passion.

Your bare tops were pressed against each other in a heated embrace as he freed you from against the wall and flopped you onto the seemingly untouched bed. Despite the heat of the moment, you started giggling. Haymitch paused, biting back a smirk. “What's goin’ on sweetheart? Something funny?” he mused. “No, no..” you snorted, laughing at your own laughter. You brought your hands to cover your chest “I’m just so excited? And this bed is really soft, and.. I’ve dreamed of this for forever.” you sighed. He broke into a full grin. “Forever?” he pried. Your face burned, realizing what you’d just admitted to. “I’d ask you to tell me more..” he smirked, leaning down for another kiss, but stopping a centimeter from your lips, “but I’ll just have to ask after we’re done.” he nearly growled, pressing his lips to yours, parting your mouth with his tongue. 

You wove your hands into his hair, breathless as he ripped himself away from you and toyed with the waist of your shorts. You gazed lazily at him, hair a mess all around you and flushed from his kisses. He seemed to pause for a moment, taking you in before saying what you’d wanted to hear your whole life. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous.” he said, with a softness in his eyes you hadn’t seen in years. Your heart burst into flames, but you smiled, shimmying your hips as if to signal him to continue, too embarrassed by his compliment to look him in the eyes. 

He brought a hand to your chin, guiding you to look at him, whispering “lovely if i’m going to do this with you right now, I want to see your beautiful eyes.” And everything in you melted. 

He began to unclasp your shorts, tugging at them and leaving you only in a delicate pair of panties, exposed to the man you’d dreamed about your whole life. He looked bewitched, and guided you to lean onto some pillows against the backboard of the bed, crawling up to place another comforting kiss on your lips. 

“Hey beauty.” he said, kneeling in front of your mostly undressed form. “God.. fucking gorgeous” he whispered, less to you and more to himself. You felt precious, admired. It was bliss. 

He leaned in, pressing his lips to your jaw, then collar, looking into your eyes as he momentarily took a breast into his mouth before continuing. He pressed chaste kisses to your ribcage and stomach, planting his hands firmly on either side of your waist. 

He groaned, leaving marks everywhere he could, from your tummy to your thighs he made sure you’d remember every moment. 

Your name left his lips, breaking you from your daze. 

“Is this okay?” he said, giving you the sweetest puppy dog eyes you thought you’d ever seen. His fingers breached your panties, tugging slightly. You lifted your hips and nodded your head in approval. 

He did everything but swallow you whole. He repeated his kisses on the rest of your body on your thighs, inching ever closer to your now exposed core. (HELP HOW DO I SAY THIS IN A ROMANTIC WAY) 

He leaned down, eyes fluttering to meet yours as he licked a daring stripe through your cunt. He smirked when you shivered and shut your eyes, letting out a quiet mewl. Little did you know. 

He began to work at your sensitive cunt with his tongue, as if it pleased him more than it pleased you. He sucked at the sensitive bundle of nerves, doing everything in his power not to eat you alive. You bucked your hips into his mouth, squirming in pleasure. He brought his hands to your hip bones, holding you firmly in place for him to feast. 

When you’d felt a thick finger press itself to your entrance, you let out a shaky gasp. He continued his ministrations at your clit, but let his finger slip inside you, hooking and probing at your soft insides. You bucked, almost letting out a sob at the amount of stimulation. He was a man starved and you were his meal. 

You clawed at his soft blond hair, whole body convulsing from his touch. You peered down through wet eyelashes, meeting his gaze. It sent a fucking flame through your core. You whimpered and babbled, gasping his name as you were pushed over the edge for the first time that night. 

Your body collapsed back into the plush pillows, sweating and trembling from what you’d just experienced. You heard a soft chuckle from between your thighs and cracked a smile. 

“Jesus, Haymitch.” you giggled. When you met his eyes he brought his fingers to your mouth, parting your lips for him to slip them inside. His eyes darkened as you sucked his fingers clean. He adjusted his pants, very obviously worked up. 

You shakily sat up, taking his face in your hands and kissing him before reaching delicately down to his belt, unclasping it. He groaned, watching as you undid his pants before he ripped them off himself, left only in his boxers when you swiftly switched positions with him. 

Your eyes locked onto the apparent tent, reaching to tap the peak. At your touch, Haymitch groaned. You looked at him to discard the remaining fabric, which he quickly did. 

It was perfect. You’d never thought something like that could be described that way, but it was just so pretty. You brought a hand to his throbbing dick, softly stroking it, looking for a reaction. He bit his lip, holding in any noises you might cause. You had a new mission. 

You brought your mouth to his dick just as he’d done to you, and latched your lips onto the tip, sucking slightly. Haymitch let out a strained grunt. You continued, licking and sucking at different spots, eventually attempting to take him into your mouth entirely. Though you were mostly unsuccessful, he let out an almost pained moan when, at the same time, you pumped your hand on what you couldn’t take in your mouth. He let you continue for a few moments before lightly tugging your head back by your hair and bringing you back up to him. 

“Can’t let me finish before we’ve started, sweet girl,” he said breathily. Capturing your lips in another kiss and flipping you over so that his hips were between your plush thighs and you were on your back. You shivered, watching him guide his dick to your cunt. You shut your eyes, bracing. 

A long moment passed, before you opened your eyes. His eyes were full of something unrecognizable. Fear? Regret? God, had you disgusted him? You cursed yourself. “Haymitch?” 

“We don’t have to do this,” he said darkly, pulling away. You realized. “Hay… I want this. I want you.” you said, leaning up and kissing his cheek. He seemed to soften at your touch. “Promise?” he said, voice threatening to break. “I promise.” you said, laying back, hand still attached to his face. 

He guided his dick to your entrance once more, this time, you didn’t break eye contact.

 “Fuck” you gasped as he pressed himself into you. He slowly pushed all the way inside, staying there as he studied your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. You moaned when he pulled out slightly and slid back inside. 

Then he set his rhythm. On top of you, he pumped his dick into you, slowly fucking you into bliss. It was gentle, almost painfully so as you gasped and whimpered, fully open to him. He rasped out praises, about how good you were doing, how gorgeous you were and how well you were taking him, all while you let out embarrassing noises from the sensation of his dick deep in your cunt. 

He pressed a hand to your lower tummy, feeling himself inside you. Your walls tightened around him from the pressure and you both let out breathy moans. The sound of his moans almost, almost, pleased you more than the feeling of him fucking you. He leaned down, gently placing his weight on top of you and quickening his pace. He went deeper than you thought possible. You brought your arms up to wrap around his body, pulling him close. You could hear his labored breathing in your ear… “let me hear you,” you begged, to which he complied. He let out whiny moans and breathy whispers into your ear, letting you hear exactly how good you were making him feel. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing pathetic kisses into your skin. He came up for air only to capture your lips with his. It was barely a kiss, your lips brushing against one another as you moaned into each other's mouths. 

Haymitch sat up, taking your body with him and flipping the two of you so that his back rested against the top of the bed. You clung to his neck, his dick still buried inside you. You pulled yourself away from him, his hands resting on your waist and trailing their way up and down your torso. His pupils were blown out in pleasure, his hair a mess across his forehead. You brushed a few strands away and relaxed into his lap, gasping sharply at the feeling of him hitting a spot deep inside you. Haymitch groaned, taking your jaw in his hands softly, “Lovely, I wanna see you move those pretty hips for me, can you do that, dove?” 

You nodded, feeling too good to do anything but listen to the beautiful man in front of you. You lifted your hips and sunk back down, repeating the motion, moving his dick in and out of your dripping cunt. You fucked yourself on him, babbling about how good it felt while pressing messy kisses to Haymitch’s lips. When your thighs began to tremble and you started to slow down, Haymitch took hold of your hips and fucked up into you at a bruising pace. He watched your face intently for signs of discomfort, but all he saw was your euphoric expression, pupils blown wide, nearly tearing up from the pleasure. 

You let him hungrily push you down onto your back, holding your legs together by your ankles and pounding into you. He parted your legs for a moment to kiss you before moving his hand to rub circles into your clit. “We’re gonna finish together, yeah? You want that?” he groaned, watching you desperately try to answer him, only being able to force out a pathetic “Mmh hmph..!” You could feel yourself tightening around him, babbling for him not to stop. “Fuck, good fucking girl sweetheart. So fucking good for me, huh?” he rasped, kissing your jaw as you came. Your head flew back, moaning his name over and over. His hips faltered and he pulled out of your dripping cunt, pumping his dick with his hand before cumming across your tummy. 

You watched his chest rise and fall rapidly as he stared at your disheveled form. You were so beautiful, only his to see like this. He got up to bring you a damp cloth, wiping down your body and clumsily apologizing for making a mess, chuckling at your expression. When he finished cleaning the both of you up, he laid gently next to you, pulling you into his arms. You pulled the overly soft blanket over your bodies, wrapping your arms and legs across his. You were asleep in minutes. Haymitch wondered momentarily what this could mean for the both of you, before melting into your touch. 

[dre6ming]

Left my limo driver my phone number, think he'll call back?

[dre6ming]

Residuals Ch. 6

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: Thank you guys for always being incredibly patient with me while I weave out this plot, sometimes taking longer than expected. Your support and love for this series truly mean everything 🖤 This chapter begins the Fullerton crash-out moment. Just like Robby, reader is having a no-good, terrible day. There are hints at PTSD induced trauma that’s brought on by grief and similar situations. That being said, this chapter focuses on some heavier themes, and this is partly due to me being moody, being stuck in the hospital lol. As always, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you all enjoy. Much love, Jenn

P.s. thank you to @viridian-dagger for trusting me with using her character she’s building for an Abbot fic in this scene 🖤

Warnings: Mentions of death, language, infant death, mentions of abuse, ptsd, mild sexual content (under eighteen do not enter)

Words: 10.9+

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10:00 AM - 11:00 AM

It was the gasp that broke him. 

The soft rush of breath he’d been wanting steal all fucking day since he saw you. It surged him forward, eager and wanton to ground himself to the present of you being fucking here. Not a memory or an unwanted thought that had him chasing your ghost the rest of the day. 

You were here and grabbing him, directing him to focus on you.

 “Eyes on me.”

How could you not realize he was always searching for you? You were the anchor that kept him from drowning. The safe harbor he never realized he needed. The idea of losing you again, watching you leave without knowing that he was yours, would always be yours, would surely kill him. Robby’s desire to consume you, to show you, to prove to you with his body where his words failed intoxicated him. He couldn’t think past your lips and your eyes and Christ the way you looked at him. Robby would never get over the way you looked at him like he was your purpose for being. 

The look alone teleported him back to the first time the two of you’d ended up inside the medical supply closet. He walked in to find you scavenging for a replacement g-tube for your patient’s stoma, muttering to yourself about the lack of system. Robby leaned against the door and watched, listened, and couldn’t help but laugh as you huffed your way into finding the right size. 

You’d chastise him - “if you’re going to enjoy the view, at least enjoy the view and help me while you’re at it.” 

Robby pushed away from the door to stand inches from you. His eyes clocking the playful smirk and the challenge in your eyes for him to do something. He’d hinted at it all week and you’d told him, “Either make the first move or stop playing with my emotions, Robinavitch.” 

And so he made his move standing there inside the medical supply closet. His hand weaving his fingers to the back of your neck to pull you close so his lips could softly graze over yours; a test. Was it too much? This was the worst place for a first kiss — at work, in a fucking supply closet, and yet, Robby remembered the way your body melted against him, sighing into the kiss like you’d been waiting your whole life to feel him. He made sure to do it again hours later on the roof under a lilac sky. 

It was the sudden flash Robby saw that darkened your eyes and quickened your breath before his thumb stroked across your lips that told him he wasn’t the only one falling. He was sure you tried to fight turning your chin up for him, like a good girl, to make this easier. Your hands that you’d fought to keep at your sides were now embedded in his hoodie, fingers dangerously close to fumbling with the zipper. 

His own hands had worked their way under your scrub top to touch bare skin. The pads of his fingers playing with the drawstring of your pants. If he slid his hand further down between your thighs would he find you swollen and soaked for him? 

The thought alone had him pressing you hard against the tile. His hips rutting into you like a fucking teenager desperate to fuck up into your cunt and feel you clench around him. He wanted to mark you with lips and teeth; decorate your skin from the grip of his fingers on your hips. Robby wanted you to fucking feel him later in every movement you made; on every available piece of skin. He was desperate to hear you moan his name and decorate his back with stripes from your nails. 

He broke the kiss just enough to look at you, really look at you. Your eyes fluttered open but remained hooded. Your breath erratic and pulse frantic under the press of his thumb on your throat giving just the right amount of pressure you liked. Robby loved it when you wore this look; drunk on him and nothing else. 

He didn’t give you a second to breathe before his mouth was back on yours. His hand now fully moved to grip your throat, allowing him to move you where he wanted. The shift in roughness sent a moan from your throat to vibrate against his lips. Robby wondered if he'd pulled away just enough to hear it, to give it life, if it’d sound like his favorite kind he tore free from your lips while his head was buried between your thighs, his tongue coaxing you to fist his hair and pull his tongue deeper inside you.

He didn’t mind quickies with you whenever you could steal them, wherever you could but they were never his favorite. Robby loved to take his time. Worship every part of your body with his hands and mouth. To enjoy the fucked out expression and hooded lids and his name crashing in a scream against his chest as he fucked you through your next orgasm. 

He wanted to be home with you and not trapped in this fucking bathroom with your body sandwiched between him and the tile. Robby wanted to be anywhere else with you than here but, most of all, he never wanted this to stop. 

He wanted to keep feeling your fingers in his hair; digging in the back of his neck to pull him closer. The frantic press of hungry lips that deepened the kiss until it was nothing but tongue and a clashing of teeth. Robby knew it wasn’t long before the frenzy of the moment wore off. Old memories of the beauty of what could be pulling you both forward in a fervor of familiarity and lust. 

Once it wore off, you would both be left standing right back where you started, except worse. Robby didn’t want to pull away, to end this, but he didn’t want regret to be the new emotion that haunted you both. 

If he could just open up; tell you everything that's been building up. If he could just get you to do the same maybe regret wouldn’t be a possibility. Maybe instead, hope could take its place. 

Reluctantly, Robby disentangled his hands from the soft grip he held around your neck and pulled his hand from the warmth of your skin beneath your top. He broke the kiss last with an audible pop of lips breaking apart. For the third time since you’d entered the bathroom after him, blazing like the sun and ready to give him hell, Robby took in angles, freckles, and all the silly imperfections you pointed out and catalogued them. You would always be the most beautiful woman to him. 

Say something, his mind hissed. He needed to say something and fast because Robby could see the haze he’d created beginning to fade and quickly be replaced with what he didn’t want to see. He was still close, so close he practically could’ve breathed you back to him. You still hadn’t said a word, didn’t look away, and maybe, just maybe you hoped that he would. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have done that.”

No! No you fucking idiot! 

Robby watched in painfully real time as what was left of the fog in your mind evaporated. He watched it be replaced with embarrassment at breakneck speed - regret. The one fucking thing he didn’t want to see. 

His body felt suspended in a web. He couldn’t move fast enough to keep you from moving out from between the wall and his body. Your eyes locked on him one last time before your gaze cast downwards to the safety of a speckled linoleum floor. 

He tried to force himself to move forward - grab a hold of you - to keep you from bolting but his feet were cemented in place. You still weren’t meeting his eyes - locked in the safety of hiding. You cleared the raw emotion from your throat and when you looked up, Robby did take a step forward. 

Glassy eyes held him paralyzed in place while a smile heartbreakingly sad that it lifted the scab up from old wounds. 

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have come in here in the first place. It’s my fault.”

Robby spoke your name praying it was enough. Enough to get you to let go of the handle of the bathroom door. Enough to notice that he had so much fucking more that he needed to tell you because you couldn’t just walk away again. Not after this…

He was too late. The sad smile rose in a weak attempt to be brave but all it caused was to break the seal of a lie you’d been desperately trying to hold together. 

“Really, Robby, it’s fine.” Your voice ached, a tear breaking free to slide down your cheek. “You’re right. This shouldn’t have happened and it was - it was inappropriate for me to come in here.”

You were opening the door as you spoke and he finally moved forward, his hand reaching out, pleading for you to take it. Your name was still sitting on his tongue as he begged you to wait, but you were already gone.

The bottom of his fist collided with the metal of the door. His forehead pressed against the cool steel of before he turned to look at himself in the mirror and laughed. Laughter was the only option he had to keep himself from breaking. A force of mirthless joy to combat the burning sting behind his eyes that threatened to send him crumbling back into the corner.

He could blame it on the panic attack, on Gloria, the OD kid, and the elderly Mr. Spencer with his children for causing his words to fail him. The unspeakable Adamson that loomed in the wings of his mind and the reason he’d come crashing inside the bathroom to begin with. 

All he had to do, all he had to fucking do was say a few more words. “I don’t regret this - regret us - but we need to talk. Come home. Come home. Come home. Come home…

It’s all Robby ever wanted was to see you walking through the front door. He’d take you back anyway he could have you. But he’d fucked it up. His leaden tongue refused to follow up his earlier words with the ones that needed to be said the most. Now - now you felt as lost to him as before, except worse. 

Robby didn’t need any more help from the universe when it came to you. He did a pretty good job of losing you all by himself. 

Air. 

You needed air and sun and anything that proved you weren’t trapped inside the walls of this fucking hospital. Before the way Robby looked at you in the bathroom was burned into your retinas. 

Stupid, stupid, how fucking stupid! It was official: running into the bathroom after your ex made it on the top five worst ideas you’d ever had. You shouldn’t have stepped inside that bathroom but if you hadn’t…if you hadn’t Robby would’ve been alone. Alone to combat the heavy crushing weight of whatever triggered him to seek solace inside a hospital bathroom.

No matter what happened between the two of you, you wouldn’t regret being there for him like you used too. In truth, when you finally realized what was happening, you expected him to push you away. When the panic attacks started, there were days when he’d allow you to comfort him and others when he didn’t want it at all. 

Maybe it would’ve been better - less cruel - if he’d pushed you away rather than left you to try and survive the rest of the day after that kiss. No matter how fast your feet carried you to the ambulance bay, it wasn’t fast enough to escape the memory of the heat in his eyes as it died into something soft and familiar. You couldn’t run fast enough from the way that softness shifted to alarm at what just happened and the feeling of him prying himself away again inch by painful inch.

The bitterness of an apology you knew was going to be said to take back everything that just happened came moments later. 

In the fog of your panic, you heard the faint sound of someone calling your name but you didn’t stop. Has someone seen you go in after Robby? Did someone see you leave the bathroom and had Robby followed after you? 

It was possible. He’d been moving towards you when you bolted but Robby wouldn’t chase you through the pitt or, at least, you hoped he wouldn’t. 

You didn’t stop until you made your way through both electric doors and stood outside. Your hands behind your head as you tried to remember to breathe - just fucking breathe - and took in a deep inhale through your nose. 

“There you are,” a familiar voice teased, “I was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

Shit. Dana. You’d completely forgotten all about her and the inadvertent promise of talking. Forgot everything but the taste of Robby on your tongue, the scent of leather and sandalwood that clung to you now like a second skin, and the rich smoky sound of his voice calling your name. 

Fuck. You were screwed. So, so, fucking screwed. 

“What’s wrong with your face? You irritate it on something?”

On someone, you thought in reply, but that was thankfully kept safely to yourself. You needed to get your shit together before Dana sniffed out that something was going on; something happened between you and Robby. If she hadn’t already. 

“What are you talking about?”

Yeah, ask a question with a question. Classic deflection. With her cigarette clamped between her fingers, she circled around the offending area, your fucking mouth, and replied with concern, “It’s all red in this area.”

“Oh, I grabbed a sandwich from the chart. I probably scrubbed too hard getting the mustard off my mouth.”

If disbelief was a person, it would’ve been Dana. Her eyes calculated every part of your weak attempt at an excuse. It wouldn’t be hard for her to clock every single bit of your uniform that was different; scrub top untucked from Robby’s hands pulling it up or, apparently the most notable, the irritation from his beard around your mouth. 

“Huh,” she huffed, in a puff of smoke. “Imagine that.”

You expected her investigation to continue but Dana patted the space beside her on the wall. While you’d forgotten all about this upcoming talk, you could see it was something Dana was looking forward to. 

You didn’t have very many options. It was either go back inside and possibly run back into Robby - absolutely not - or be out here with Dana. You would pick Dana in a heartbeat.

You went to stand beside her, your back pressed against the jagged bricks pinching and pulling your racing pulse into a steady rhythm back to reality. The silence that came after didn’t feel frantic with a need to fill it with a stuttering of mindless words or excuses. It was comfortable, or as comfortable as it could be. Dana gave you the time to prepare for this conversation, as she always helped prepare everyone for everything. 

Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do to prepare you for having this conversation. 

“So,” she sighed. 

“So,” you replied, carefully looking at her through your peripherals. “You go or do I go?”

“Do you really want to know my answer to that question?

“Maybe?”

“Come on, kid. I think you have a whole lot of explaining to do here, don’tcha think?”

No, you didn’t think you had a whole lot to explain. It felt pretty simple in the grand scheme of things, but you didn’t say it. Didn’t want to start this conversation off with heated words that would only barricade you both from making peace with your presence being here.

“What do you want me to say, Dana?” 

It was a genuine question. You didn’t know where she wanted you to start because some things weren’t available to be talked about. Robby was one of those vague things; the last few hours of the downfall of a relationship is a sacred thing. You didn’t need to air out dirty details, to get confirmation on who did who wrong. It was an equally terrible, no good situation and you’d both contributed to it. 

A soft bark of laughter escaped her as she stomped out her cigarette. Her eyes drifted over the parking lot before she turned to home in on you. 

“Let’s start with why you felt the need to cut everybody out when ya’ left?”

Not everybody, you wanted to correct her. If you did that now, though, it would probably only lead to more hurt feelings but Dana was just too close to Robby. Her motherly hen instincts would’ve secretly been trying to right the wrongs she couldn’t understand or worse - picking sides. You took in a deep breath before you exhaled your next words. 

“It wasn’t an easy choice to make, Dana. I want you to know that.”

“It seemed pretty easy on my end.”

“Of course it would seem that way to you and I’m not saying it isn’t a valid response, but I didn’t just lose Robby when I left.”

“You made that choice, kid. Nobody made it for you.”

“And I’m not disputing that,” you replied, the irritation radiating underneath your words. “Let’s just be honest here for a second, alright? Would it have seemed fair to put you between Robby and me’s problems?”

“It’s not about right or wrong. I love you both. I care about you both and only want what’s best for you.”

“That is an easy sentiment to carry until one of us confides in you and you learn something that could change how you view us and could cause you to pick a side.”

Dana moved away from the wall, her arms wrapped around her middle. She took a few steps away from you before she turned. The coldness of her blue eyes felt glacier. 

“What is this third grade?” She scoffed. “I’m not picking sides on anything.” You couldn’t keep your brows from lifting up to your hairline; calling bullshit on her words before you could even reply. “What? I don’t.”

“Anytime we’ve asked for your opinion on something - any other coworkers - and it’s us against Robby, you always picked his side.”

“I do not always choose his side.”

“It’s okay to have favorites, Dana,” you teased. 

She turned away to look back into the ambulance bay. It wasn’t fast enough to hide the curve of a smile gracing her lips. When she turned back to face you, her face was schooled back into an impressive blank canvas. 

“Look,” you began, bouncing your butt off the wall to tuck your hands into your scrub pockets. “When I left, I did it not wanting to put anyone in a difficult spot of being put between us. I needed that alone time for myself and I was worried if Robby heard I was still here, just upstairs, maybe he’d come look for me - ask about me.” 

You were also worried that he wouldn’t. He’d let you go without fighting for you even though you’d been the one to walk away.

“If we couldn’t heal together I hoped…” The next words lodged themselves in your throat and refused to be said. “I hoped he’d begin to heal on his own.”

You hated how your voice cracked. A tornado of anger, sadness, regret, and grief thrashing into one chaotic broken mess. In an attempt to combat the sudden real possibility you might cry in front of her, you bit down on your lip and looked down at the top of your shoes. You wanted to make yourself as small as humanly possible because talking about this out loud for the first time was hell. 

You felt more than saw Dana come back to stand beside you. Her hand snaking around your shoulders to draw you close to her caused you to jump at the sudden touch. It jerked your head up from the safety of your shoes to meet her eyes that softened to something much kinder. 

“Well, unfortunately, he’s a stubborn bastard,” Dana offered to lighten the mood. “And the only thing he helps himself to is the shitty coffee in the break room.”

The two of you shared a laugh while she pulled you closer. Your heads coming comfortably together in the makeshift side hug you found yourself in. 

“I am sorry for not reaching out or telling you bye. I just knew you’d try and talk me out of it.”

“You bet your ass I would have.”

Your voice grew whisper soft, scared your emotions would betray you again: “I know. I needed to do this for myself, Dana. We were drowning and it felt like, if one of us didn’t make the hard choice, we might never surface for air again.”

Silence swelled around you. Your words hushed by the next breeze that rolled through the ambulance bay. It was the most honest you’d been with anyone that wasn’t your therapist. It was both terrifying and heartbreakingly relieving all at once for another human being to hear you say it. 

Maybe one day you’d be able to tell it to the person who needed to hear it the most. 

“How are you holding up with everything?”

You knew this question would come. You’d left seven months after the implosion of your makeshift happiness. Left behind the hurried glances of sad looks and whispers of rumors about what happened, which eternally were the worst. A pregnant woman no longer pregnant with no baby to show for it except at a funeral parlor and a small burial plot next to Robby’s grandmother because, “She’ll look after him in the meantime while we can’t.”

“I have more good days than bad now. It took me a long time to stop blaming myself for our son being still born. Sometimes, I still do and I have to remember it’s a process.”

“Sounds like you’ve been talking to a shrink.”

“I have.” 

Your confession caused Dana to pull away slightly. Just enough where you could comfortably look one another in the eye. She’d mentioned countless times for you to see someone and you’d always politely told her, “Maybe,” or “I’ll look into it.” Dana knew you never would. You were just pacifying her long enough for her to forget to ask until the next crack showed at work; the latest telltale sign there was a strain between Robby and you.

“Really?”

You attempted to shrug off her surprise. 

“It’s Abbot’s therapist, actually,” you answered truthfully. “I was standing on the roof -“

“It’s like a communicable hotspot up there,” Dana grumbled. 

You smiled around your words as you continued, “He told me not to be such a hard headed asshole like Robby and accept the damn help when it was offered.”

Dana still held you close, her eyes taking in your face and, for the first time since you've been back, you watched as her eyes began to well with unshed tears. It was all too much for you in that moment - to be held in your honesty. You looked away before your own tidal wave crashed against the wall you’d built. 

You will not cry. You. will. not. cry. 

You were back to finding safety in the tops of your shoes. Your body helplessly clocking every soft rub her hand gave your shoulder or tight squeeze. 

“I’m proud of you for taking care of you. I was so worried -“ Those simple fucking words, I’m proud of you, we’re an unexpected punch to the gut. You’d only heard them from Abbot the next time you’d seen him on the roof during your weekly check-ins. A life raft you’d unexpectedly learned you needed. It meant a lot to hear them from Dana.

The soft break in her voice forced your head to turn and face her head on. You weren’t surprised to find she wasn’t looking at you anymore. She was protectively turned towards her opposite shoulder with her free hand coming to wipe at her cheeks. 

“For a long time I was scared - so fucking scared - something happened to you.”

There wasn’t any point in telling her that her fears weren’t unfounded. You’d been walking with your own dark cloud for a while when Abbot found you that day on the roof. You’d been at your lowest and, for the first time, you were scared of your own thoughts.  

Dana finally released the hold she’d held on you to take out her pack of smokes from her thigh pocket of her scrub pants. With a shaky hand she dug a single Malboro out and quickly lit it. She took a heavy pull that hollowed out her cheeks while her eyes stayed looking at the opposite side of the ambulance bay. 

“Just promise me this time Houdini, that you’ll keep in touch after you disappear this time.”

Her words raised a smile on your face and you pushed yourself away from the wall. This time coming to stand in front of her, carefully out of the way of the cigarette smoke, and playfully gave a shrug. 

“Sure, but I don’t think you’ll be lucky enough to get rid of me anytime soon.”

Not if Gloria and the Powers That Be got their way. For a split second, you wondered if you should tell Dana what Gloria had offered an hour ago. There was a chance she might think you were being a snake or, just maybe, be the help you needed to warn Robby he needed to be on his best behavior, specifically today. 

You mulled over the idea a few times before two paramedics strolled out through the double doors and back into the ambulance bay.

“Don’t you know those things will kill you?” 

“I should be so lucky,” Dana quipped with a smile. 

You were about ready to chastise her that no, she shouldn’t be so lucky, when a speeding ambulance cut through the bay clipping Ziegler sending her spinning. 

“Holy shit,” you mumbled with your feet already carrying you forward. “Are you alright? Come here, Ziegler and let  me do a quick assessment.”

Ziegler just finished yelling in vain after the runaway ambulance, rotating her arm around in the socket. She came to a stop back in front of the gurney with her hands braced on either side. 

“I’m alright, Dr. Fullerton,” she attempted weakly to dismiss you. “Can you believe that shit?”

“Did you leave the keys in it?” Her partner asked. 

“Yeah. I leave them there in case someone needs to move it.”

“To the chop shop?”

Your words garnered you a glare from Ziegler who kept attempting to ward off your continued attempts at assessing her. 

“Who steals an ambulance at ten am?”

You weren’t sure if she was necessarily asking you or just anyone willing to share in her outrage. Dana flicked out her cigarette and shrugged as she replied, “It happens.”

“Come on, Ziegler,” you motioned for her to move back inside the pitt. “Let’s go back inside and start getting all this sorted out.” 

You watched her rotate her right arm in its socket for the third time and wondered if you should remind her it was protocol for her to be cleared for duty. She was going to need to be seen by you or another doctor just to make sure nothing was fractured or tore out of place. 

Ahmad was waiting for you all at the last set of double doors. His gaze centered on Ziegler and asked why she left the keys in the ignition. You weren’t ready to stand around and listen to them bicker back and forth like a set of siblings, so you took this moment to start heading back to trauma. Dana would no doubt be starting the protocol for Ziegler to be looked at anyways, and that also meant Ahmad and the nurses would start placing bets on where the stolen ambulance was going to end up. 

You’d be placing your bet soon after you saw some of the news footage. 

You made it all the way up central and were almost back up in triage when McKay came in from the south hallway. The med student Javadi, hot on her heels. You weren’t sure if McKay was coming to confer with you about a patient she may have pulled from triage. Usually, they were all supposed to bring their questions to Robby, but so far today it seemed a few of them were forgetting procedure and heading straight to you. 

You could definitely see why he was getting annoyed. 

“Can I help you, Dr. McKay?”

Her smile was tight; the kind of hesitation you knew was a prelude to an inquiry you might want to avoid. 

“Actually, I came to see if you’d gotten a chance to talk to Robby about David?”

Her question was enough to send your mind careening back into the mess you’d been in only twenty minutes ago. Robby’s words bitter and hot searing against your skin as he reminded you that he was attending. He was the one in charge of dealing with this mess and it probably wouldn’t get any better the more McKay or you poked at it. 

He’d also said he didn’t want you here. That was before he kissed you, your brain easily pointed out, and you were quick to tell it to shut up. 

“I did speak with Robby about the situation.”

“Okay and? How did it go?”

Your hand moved to grip the back of your neck, as if it would be enough to keep the stress from making you jump out of your skin. 

“Not great, Cassie.”

“He needs to take this more seriously. As someone who's been on the receiving end of a man’s anger, it’s not a place to be, including young women.”

That was the hard truth all over the world: being a woman was dangerous. There wasn’t a woman you didn’t know that had a questionable story or an all around bad one about something that happened to them. Hell, you’d had your own terrifying moments. 

How was it rational to believe that simply walking to your car became an Olympic sport in survival? The expectations high and the good ol’ fashion stigma of “Boys will be Boys,” was somehow still a rampant idea system that was used to judge whether or not a young girl or woman deserved what she got. 

“Well what was she wearing? Did she provoke him? Maybe she led him on?” 

The list could go on and on and in the court of public opinion, women would always be judged first before the actual perpetrators. So, yes you understood where McKay was coming from and her concern was more than valid. 

 “I hear you, McKay and I understand. My concern is for everyone involved and that does include the wellbeing for the girls and David. I didn’t see him, but to me it just sounds like a depressed kid dealing with a lot of shit and not knowing how to express his emotions.”

“Yeah, emotions that make him write out a list of girls he wants to eliminate,” McKay shot back. 

“Have you never written anything down before? Sad thoughts? Angry thoughts? Or wrote out some questionable texts to a friend or significant other in the heat of a moment?” 

“Sure. Everybody has.”

“Exactly. Therapists tell us to write out our emotions, don’t keep them bottled up, but nobody tells you that your thoughts can be later turned against you.”

“That’s because thoughts lead to actions. Come on, Fullerton, you’re not really defending this kid, are you?” She asked exasperated. 

You took a quick glance down the halls and around the nursing station to make sure Robby wasn’t walking by. You didn’t want him catching you talking to McKay and his bad mood following you into the next room with a patient. Or for him to follow you into the next room. 

You let out a sigh before you spoke. Your thoughts are moving at lightning speed because your job was to help and, unfortunately, you saw multiple people in this situation who needed it. Sometimes, figuring out the best way to help people, even with good intentions, could end up with messy results. 

“Sometimes we just need to vent and it’s not pretty, and no I’m not defending him. What I’m saying is I also see a young boy who needs guidance and our help. While making sure nobody is harmed in the process and that is all Robby is trying to do.”

You wanted to ask her what she would do if it was Harrison? How would she like the situation handled if the shoe was on the other foot, but kept your mouth shut. How many times have you, as adults, said some out of pocket stuff that was equally as concerning? That was threatening or putting another person in harm's way with you being the one wanting to do the harm? It was true that the world tells you to express yourself, and sometimes the expression it receives in return can be an ugly one.

McKay’s ankle monitor came from a situation just like that. A colorful dispute with Chad’s new girlfriend, Chloe, had that ankle monitor strapped to her leg and held her prisoner to the reminder of the price we pay when our emotions get the best of us. Your own instances throughout life where you’d reacted poorly to situations in your own life were a vehicle to remember we didn’t always make the best choices all the time. 

“I’ll try and speak to him again, McKay. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she sighed. “I don’t mean to be up your ass about this and I get where you are coming from it’s just…this is concerning. Those girls deserve to be safe too.”

“I agree with you, McKay. We just want to make sure everyone is okay. I’ll come find you when I talk to Robby.”

“Okay thanks. Oh, yeah, I almost completely forgot, Dr. Fullerton, this is Javadi. New student doctor.”

“We’ve met previously in the breakroom. Glad to see you back out on the floor, Javadi.”

She appeared to be as flustered as she’d been sitting in the breakroom, but the silent way she’d been beating herself up for a simple mistake was gone. Or at least, you hoped it was gone. 

“Thanks. Dr. Robby thought I should help Dr. McKay in triage.”

In a nervous tick, you watched as Javadi slapped the pad of her notepad into her palm a few times before she caught it. Her hand clenched around it and you wondered if she was trying to fight the urge to talk more. You made sure to give her a friendly smile before motioning in McKay’s direction. 

“He set you up with one of the best. Dr. McKay is a great doctor and teacher.”

“Be careful, Javadi. Dr. Fullerton likes to dish out flattery like they’re candy,” McKay teased. 

“Only when the compliments are deserved,” you corrected. “I’m on my way back to triage to find my next victim. You got anything?”

McKay lifted up the iPad she’d been holding and tapped a code to unlock the screen. The brightness illuminated from the screen brightened as it opened onto the FirstNet charting system. She tapped on 2 North and once the patient’s chart was on the screen, she passed the iPad over to you. 

It didn’t take long for you to discern that the name, age, and lack of ID were indications that this was a patient who was hiding. Whether from someone or just the system in general, it meant you had to tread carefully with how you went in. People suffering mental health problems could come in as an undisclosed 5150, but when you saw the chief complaint you knew immediately she was either a scared girl or possibly a scared sex worker. 

“I saw this on the board and was going to take Javadi in with me. It feels like a good teaching moment and how mandated reporting works.”

While the information given in the chart was most likely false, the alias she’d chosen today came with previous charts and visit notes caulk full of very red and angry notes that popped open in a side bubble. One of the doctor’s having labeled her as ‘possible drug seeking.’

“Mind if I take this one?”

A few years back, Kiara snagged you to be one of the doctor’s on her street team. She’d cornered you wherever she could in the emergency department, hounding you left and right, and pleaded with you to come out with her. Kiara did need the extra body and eventually Robby agreed it might be good for you to try and assist those unlikely to seek medical attention on their own. 

It was a little after he’d completed his Residency that Robby had taken some time off to go to Africa and help Doctors Without Borders. Whenever he talked about the experience, he told you it’d been the most meaningful and best decision he’d ever made. While he wasn’t trying to send you to a different continent completely, Robby did think taking a few weekends with Kiara would be a good thing. 

Of course, he’d been right.

The people Kiara and the rest of the team mostly saw were homeless individuals and sex workers. It was Kiara who taught you how to listen to them and to watch how you asked your questions. To wear your kindness in your tone and to let compassion choose your words wisely. 

McKay didn’t bat so much as an eye. Her hand extended out the iPad for you to take before shoving her now empty hands into her scrub pockets. 

“No, no, by all means go ahead. Just - do you mind taking Javadi with you? I feel like this one is important.”

“Yeah, of course. Javadi, are you ready?”

You kept the tablet held tight in your hands. Your head nodding in the direction of the room to inform her you were about to start heading that way. 

“Yeah. Yes.” She took a step around McKay to get beside you. The two of you walked in sync before she continued, “What exactly is the chief complaint?”

“It’s labeled on here as ‘possible pregnancy’ so she’s either here for an ultrasound to confirm or plan b.”

“How will we know which one she’s going to need?”

“That’s easy, Javadi: we’ll be able to tell.”

And you were able to tell in heartbreakingly real time the minute you stepped inside the room and peeled back the privacy divider. The girl was young - late or early 20’s at least - with her clothes and six inch platform heels scooped up into a haphazard pile in the chair. 

It was easy to spot the unease that rippled through her. The way her eyes - at least the one that wasn’t nearly swollen shut in the right socket - cautiously watched you both as you entered. There was a brief moment of defiance - her jaw tightening to prove she didn’t care about whatever you thought of her - but it didn’t last. 

You gave her your best genuinely warm smile in greeting and knew she didn’t trust that either. 

“Good morning, Kat. My name is Dr. Fullerton. I have a student doctor here with me. Is it okay if she comes in with us?”

“It’s fine.”

The words fell mumbled to the floor. You didn’t blame her for not looking at either of you for a prolonged period of time. She probably didn’t want to see the look of pity you know your eyes currently hold or the look of shock that was very apparent on Javadi’s face. 

There were contusions and lacerations in multiple areas of her body. A trail of them started at the top of her knees and seemed to spread ever upwards; blossoming into a flower of the aftermath of what occurred. From what you could see at least one elbow was badly scraped, possible deep burn caused from either a carpet or from pavement, and small lacerations on her hands and lip. 

“Can you tell me what brings you in today, Kat?”

You made sure your words were soft. An open invitation for her to share what she was comfortable with because it was obvious she was too scared to share any true information during registration. 

“I need to get the plan b.”

“Sure. We can do that. Can you tell me how you got your injuries?”

You knew how and it made your stomach turn. You both knew it but it wasn’t your place to force her but you knew, regardless of what she said, you were mandated by law to notify law enforcement of any kind of sexual assault. 

Kat shrugged and dared to glance up at you before looking back at her fidgeting hands. 

“I took a nasty fall down a flight of stairs.”

“That’s one hell of a staircase,” Javadi replied, a reflex that flushed her skin and left her eyes panicked. 

“You’re not wrong,” Kat quipped. 

“Do you mind if I examine some of them? I’m worried about your right eye, especially. It’s swelling up pretty good.”

Kat nervously glanced from you, the room, and back to the safety of her lap. 

“Is that going to take a long time? I - I kind of need to get back to work.”

Your stomach tossed the hour old coffee you’d had for breakfast at the idea of this poor girl, after everything, going back out there. No doubt in an incredible amount of pain and dealing with something hidden. 

“It depends if the exam findings indicate anything that appears worrisome. Your wellbeing is important and should come before work.” 

You set the iPad down on the counter and pulled a pair of gloves from your scrub cargo pocket. You made sure all your movements were slow and precise. You didn’t want to do anything that could possibly trigger her anxiety or worse. You held your hands out in front of you so she could see you were coming towards her face. 

When your fingers touched down on the edges of her cheeks you warned her, “I’m going to apply a little pressure,” and proceeded to push your thumbs against her maxilla and up towards her nasal. A sharp intake of air that bounded through the room in a hiss made her pull back from your hands. 

“I’m going to order a CT to rule out any facial fractures. Have you felt dizzy at all? Any bouts of nausea or vomiting since you…fell?”

“No. I mean, I get a little dizzy but it’s ok. Is the CT going to take a long time?”

“I’m super curious what your name is today?” Your head jerked at the sound of Langdon’s voice. His body leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, as he regarded your patient with humorless disdain. “Val? Eva?” 

“What are you doing?” 

Your voice held its own venom and was verging on acidic when you glanced back over at Kat. You knew she was a sex worker of some kind and what kind it was it didn’t fucking matter. She was a badly bruised woman, wearing fingerprints as a necklace for Christ sakes. It was obvious she’d been in an apparent struggle. There was no safety net for her and women like her when stigmas of their choices in life suddenly became everyone’s to judge. 

Well, you weren’t fucking having it here, not in front of you, not in front of a med student, and not fucking ever. Langdon jutted his chin towards Kat as his arms dropped at his sides. 

“She’s a frequent flyer and has been flagged at multiple other hospitals for drug seeking.” 

“Can I speak with you for a minute?”

Your words were brimstone and you watched as the playful gleam in Langdon’s eyes dimmed into panic. He thought you would have agreed and sent this girl packing. You clocked the way he jumped as you snapped the gloves off your hands rougher than usual; rough enough they almost broke. 

“I’ll be right back, Kat, alright?”

“Okay.”

God, her voice was fucking meek, like she wanted the world to make her disappear more than she was struggling to stay present in this room. You swung off the circular roller chair and bolted for the door with your hand tapping at Langdon’s shoulder and pointing out the door. Once he was clear of the doorframe you made sure to shut the door behind you. 

“I’m going to ask this as polite as I physically can right now, Langdon -“

“Look, Fullerton -“

“No, you look!” Your voice snapped like a rubber band. It was louder than intended but you were struggling to refrain yourself. “Did you take a good look at the woman sitting in that room?”

“Yes, I have fucking eyes,” he replied, his own irritation finally breathing life back into his eyes. “I can see who she is perfectly.”

“Who she is? She is a person who came into this emergency department seeking help for a sexual assault she believes she won’t receive proper care for because of what she does.”

“How do you know she didn’t do that to herself to get pills? We see it all the time in here, Fullerton and you know it. They’ll try anything to try and hide their addiction but will also try everything to make sure they get their fix.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of the signs. I’m also well aware you’re being biased towards my patient, not yours, because of what she does for a living. Also, you really think she choked herself?”

“It’s happens,” he shot back at breakneck speed. “There’s been multiple reported cases of men and women assaulting themselves for multiple different reasons.”

“This isn’t a fucking podcast, Frank. The imprint of the bruises from the fingers are literally twice the size of her hands. The bruise pattern on her thighs and the neck would form differently if she’d done them herself.”

A scoff came from him as he looked down at you. The disbelief making his angular jaw appear snarkier than usual. 

“All of the sudden you know forensic medicine?”

“Actually, yes. I took a few semesters in forensic medicine to help assess at the medical examiner’s office for crimes. Not a podcast.”

“Is there a problem here?”

At the sound of Robby’s voice you felt your body war with mixed emotions. It was unrealistic to think that you’d be able to completely avoid him after what just took place in the bathroom. You couldn’t run away from him forever. You’d already tried it once and look how well that went.

You just hated how easily your body shifted gears. How the sound of his voice alone made the tension ease from your shoulders. To relax and know he was here, but this was work not a damn romance novel, and there was still a real chance he might change gears and side with Langdon. What if he also wanted to dismiss her? You knew he wouldn’t - his time in Africa had taught Robby a lot about what it could cost him for assuming anything about a patient, but there was always a chance you could be wrong. 

“No problem,” you replied, peeling your eyes from Langdon and landing them on Robby. “Dr. Langdon here just forgot we’re meant to treat all patients with respect, no matter our views, and that more than 82% of sex workers experience some form of assault from clients and of that 82% less than 5% will ever report it because of people like Dr. Langdon.”

You could feel the weight of Robby’s gaze flickering between you and Langdon. He was trying to garner what he’d missed but you didn’t have time to tune him in. The longer you were out here talking with them the higher the risk Kat might start to believe you were both getting security and not the treatment and care she needed. 

“Robby, she’s been flagged for possible drug seeking in multiple hospitals, not just ours. It’s a fair assumption to make.”

Langdon’s gaze was all for Robby. No doubt secretly pleading for his mentor to have his back in this situation. It didn’t matter if they both went against you. You weren’t backing down in the slightest.

“See, you keep using key words like possible and assumptions in there,” you shot back. 

“Alright, enough,” Robby’s voice sliced through the growing argument. “Dr. Fullerton, I’m going to go in with you to assess the patient visually and Dr. Langdon, you know we treat every addiction, possible or not, on a case by case basis here. We do not make assumptions without first garnering all the facts.” 

If you were feeling extra petty, you would’ve stuck your tongue out at Langdon as Robby made a move towards the patient’s room. But you didn’t. Because you were a professional. 

You kept the pace with him as he entered the room and almost slammed into his back. It was all the indication you need to know Robby had finally laid eyes on Kat. It was a brief pause - a moment of hesitation to school his emotions before he stepped to the side to allow you room to come in. 

At his entrance, the alarm in Kat was visceral. Her back went rigid. Her words clipped on her tongue at whatever she’d been talking to Javadi about. She didn’t just look like a deer in the headlights, she acted like one too. 

“Kat, this our senior physician, Dr. Robby. I asked for his help during our assessment.”

“Hi.”

Cautious. Unsure of if you were both about to throw her out or worse possibly have her arrested. 

“It’s just like Dr. Fullerton said - I’m just here to check on you. I also want to apologize on behalf of my resident earlier if anything he said upset you. That’s not how we operate here.”

Wearily, her gaze slid over him waiting for the second pin to drop. When it didn’t she gave a nod of understanding but her eyes spoke plainly she didn’t trust it. 

“Thank you.”

Robby’s steps were tentative towards her as he pulled out his own pair of gloves and began putting them on. 

“Can you tell me how this happened?”

He asked the question while he gently took her face in his hands and began to apply pressure just like you had moments before. 

“I took a nasty fall down some stairs.”

When he reached near the middle, she winced again. 

“Does it hurt when I apply pressure?”

“Yes.”

“On a scale of 1 through 10.”

“It hurts but I’ll live.”

Robby glanced back at you over his shoulder briefly before he dropped his hands down to take one arm at a time in his hands. Examining to clock each laceration on her hands and up to her elbow. You knew he’d also seen the bruises on her legs and when he finished with her arms he let her know he was going to be feeling around her middle. 

“Dr. Fullerton, suggestions?”

“I’m sending her up to CT to check any possible fractures in the maxilla, nasal region.”

“Good. Add in a CT also for chest and abdomen along with an x-ray.”

“Why?”

You received your answer when his hands moved bilaterally left and right pressing on the medial of her abdomen. 

“That hurts, ya know.”

“I know. You’re sure you fell down a flight of stairs?”

“You calling me a liar?”

The earlier meek demeanor Kat held washed away in an instant. Her eyes looked up at Robby like she had to prove it was just stairs. She wasn’t a victim and didn’t want to be treated like one. 

“Not calling you a liar,” you cut in. “Your injuries unfortunately don’t seem to be from falling and landing on concrete.”

“I fell.”

“It’s okay if that’s how you want to play this,” Robby spoke gently. His arms crossed over his chest as he regarded her. “We won’t force you to share more than you’re ready to, but we just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I’m good. Great even.”

“Okay. Well, you’re in good hands with Dr. Fullerton. She’s one of our best.”

He was already removing his gloves and heading for the door. You moved like his shadow trailing behind him to make sure no one came and swept him up before you had your chance to ask him one last question. Before you stepped all the way out of the room, you looked back in and called to Javadi. 

“Can you put in the orders for the ct and x-ray Robby suggested and a urine. Tylenol with codeine for pain. If it comes back negative for pregnancy go ahead and put in for plan b. I’ll be right back.”

You hand tapped the doorframe in passing as you turned back around to find Robby already halfway down the hall. Shit, you needed to grab him before you lost him but before you left you stopped Princess to ask if she could join Javadi in the room until you returned. 

“Robby!” 

Robby turned quickly at the sound of your voice. The look on his face vaguely reminiscent of what you’d seen…how long ago? How many minutes have passed by since he’d caged you against his body? The heat of him searing into your skin and the faint taste of him still coated your tongue. 

This close, you couldn’t keep your eyes from dropping back to his lips or ignore the way your skin ached to feel his hands gripping you, pulling you in closer and closer until you combust. 

You scrubs still fucking held the scent of him. It was messing with but not how Robby kept fucking looking at you like this. Like he’d grab you in a heartbeat to kiss you again and you fucking wanted him too. 

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

No. He’d made himself clear. He’d overstepped. You’d overstepped by not pulling away sooner; by fisting your fingers in his hoodie and trying to pull him impossibly closer. Your senses heightened to the pads of his hands on bare skin he’d hungrily reclaimed with his teeth nipping at your bottom lip just before his mouth dropped back onto yours stealing what little air you’d gained.

Overstepped. You were found wanting more than you should’ve and were reminded in rapid speed that you weren’t together. All the things you need to say to one another left buried in a wreckage you both were too scared to touch. 

Quickly, you broke contact and found the safety of the tops of your good ol’ shoes. When you were sure your heart and your dumbass libido was back in check, you allowed yourself to look up. 

“Do you know where Kiara is? I want her to talk to the patient in 2 North before I call the cops to report the assault.”

“You mean the assault she labeled as falling down the stairs?”

Robby had a point but still…

“We both know she didn’t fall down the stairs, Robby.”

“Yeah, we do but unless she’s willing to state it herself we can’t force her. Calling the cops could possibly make her not trust us period and not come back at all.”

“By law we have to report suspected abuse even if they won’t admit it. What if she’s in danger, Robby?”

“What if us calling the cops without her acknowledging what’s happened to her just puts her in more danger? Did you think about that? The cops are going to have their own questions about what she was doing and the kind of work she does. I would hate to see a victim arrested all because she wasn’t ready to talk. Sometimes helping our patients doesn’t always come in the form of how we want to help them.”

He was right. Robby knew it and so did you. If you called the cops without her being ready to speak with them it would only complicate things. You wanted her to trust you and in doing this would only complicate that. Letting out a sigh, you placed your hands on your hips and felt your foot begin to tap.

“I at least want Kiara to speak with her. Maybe she can help lead her in the right direction so we can find the asshole who did this to her.”

“I agree.”

“Okay. Cool. So, where is she?”

Robby shrugged and an exasperated chuckle rolled like smoke between you. You wanted to curl up in the sound. 

“How the fuck should I know?”

“You’re attending, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you have sonar or something that alerts you to everyone’s locations?”

“Ugh, no I don’t have any of that because that sounds like it teeters on being unethical and illegal. Last time I saw her she was speaking with Theresa in Central 12. Maybe start there.”

“Thanks.”

That would’ve been the perfect break for either of you to just walk away. Why couldn’t you just walk away? Clearing your throat you found the strength to start turning around. Your brain desperately homing in on seeking out Kiara so you weren’t thinking about deep brown eyes that held a depth of mourning you could physically feel. 

You’d made it all the way back to central, your gaze scanning every room as you went, until the sound of Dana calling your name brought you back to the surface. 

“Fullerton, can I get a little help here?”

You felt your brow rise in question as you continued to make your way across the room. Your eyes took quick notice that Dana was surrounded by Donnie, Perlah, and two other nurses you hadn’t yet met. It could only mean one thing. 

“Nope.”

“What? You don’t even know what I was gonna ask!”

“You look like a mini army and that only means one thing,” you shot back. 

Your assessment was rewarded with the sound of a man screaming. He wasn't screaming tangible words or cussing left and right about being let out. It was animalistic and born of frustration. It could only be The Kraken.

“Sorry. Would love to help, but can’t. I’m 10-6 looking for Kiara.”

“Coward!”

You glanced into Central 12 and found no Kiara. It only meant you needed to keep searching and you would. Kiara was fantastic at what she did and where the proper words might fail you, Kiara would not. You just hoped that she would be able to at least help Kat to understand that you were looking out for her safety. 

You were about to backtrack through the south hall when a shout from the ambulance bay tore your eyes to the doors. Paramedics were rushing in with one holding an IV while another was running close beside it. Their body was almost on top of the gurney themselves which begged the question: where was the patient? 

It took your brain longer than you it should’ve to register the tiny body on the gurney. A little girl - unresponsive and lifeless with each push on her tiny chest. The only rise you saw was from the bvm pushing the air into the mask and down into her body.

“Trauma 1 now! Somebody get Robby! Tell me what we got?”

“One-year-old was found unresponsive by dad half an hour ago. Unresponsive to external stimuli and stimulations. Been administering compressions and rescue breaths for the past ten minutes.”

“Was she found next to anything she might have swallowed? Any open wiring?”

“All dad could tell us was that he and the girlfriend left her in the room to nap and that she has a heart condition.”

“What heart condition?”

“Dad was unable to tell us. Just told us to contact her biological mom who’s currently at work. Guy was just babysitting.”

You got the gurney lined up with the bed when Robby appeared just in time for all hands on deck to transfer the baby. 

“Jesus,” Robby grumbled, launching himself to the head of the bed barking out orders as he went. “Are we at least getting in contact with mom to get some fucking information?”

“We’re making that phone call now,” Jessie informed the room. 

You tried your best to stay clinical - every move was calculated and unbiased because you couldn’t break. Everyone around you scrambled with new pads and and fluids; checking for rhythms that weren’t coming and signs spontaneous breathing had occurred. 

You weren’t aware that Santos had entered the room until she was beside you asking what she could do. Nurses in the room took turns switching from compressions to breathes in rapid succession as every eye stayed glued to the monitors. It didn’t matter if anyone or no one believed in God or some form of higher power in that moment. Every breath made was a collective prayer that this little girl would make it. 

If sheer willpower could make it so, the energy in the room would’ve performed a miracle. The sad realization was that no matter how good you were, no matter what you tried or didn’t try, the crushing reality that this wouldn’t end how you wanted. 

Ten of the tiniest toes, ten of the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen and you’d only got to hold them for only a little while. 

You couldn’t make yourself stop working - stop trying. Somewhere outside of this room a mother was receiving the worst news of her life at work. Somewhere outside here she would be racing to PTMC to learn she would be going home to an empty nursery filled with so much love and memories that it’d haunt her. 

You wanted to keep fighting - going until your body gave out - to bring her back. It was the one thing you’d ever prayed for in your entire life - that someone would be able to save yours and Robby’s son. That you’d got to hear the sound of his first sweet intake of breath just before he cried. 

You were concentrating so deeply in switching every two minutes, listening to the call outs for what came next. You didn’t notice Robby was beside you - on you - until you felt his hand gently on your waist to keep you steady. His lips quickly moved to your ear just to say, “Go. I got this.”

The desire to fight him, to snap and rage that no you weren’t leaving because you had to do this. You needed to make sure that whatever was in your power another mother wouldn’t experience what the two of you had. You were so close to snarling the words but the heavy weight of sadness that darkened his eyes stopped you cold. You couldn’t trust yourself to speak; your mouth forming around nothing before you safely shut it. 

You took a moment to tear your eyes away from him to look around. The defeat and grief that held the room in a chokehold. The mess all over the floor and a tiny - too fucking tiny - body that laid on a hospital bed. He was going to call it - he should call it. 

You couldn’t be fucking in here. 

The burn behind your eyes was the first warning that you were about to break. Everything was coming in way too fast and suddenly the weight of failure made you claustrophobic. Every breath became too thick; too heavy to swallow around sobs that were threateningly close to clawing their way out from your throat. 

All you could do was nod and give the room one more passing glance before you tore your gloves off and bounded out of the room. You needed fresh air. You want to hear the sounds of life outside of this hospital; the ugly smell of city smog and the sounds of the metro and cars. Anything at all to make you get out of your head and thinking about how you were going to break a mother’s heart when she arrived. 

Most of all, you needed to run from the memory of that day and how unfair it was to notice he had his father’s nose and your eyelashes. Ten of the tiniest fingers that were so long you knew he might be tall - like his dad. 

You were bogged down by the would-be life of your son, and now this little girl, that they’d both never get a chance to have. No first words or first day at kindergarten. The first time either of them learned to ride a bike. First school dances and the wonder of seeing who they became. 

The world became less of an amazing place under the weight of their loss and you were failing to keep another mother from suffering. For the second time in less than half an hour you barreled through the ambulance bay doors and tried to keep the crushing weight of grief from crashing you down to your knees.  

As always, thank you for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

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[dre6ming]

𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑵𝑶𝑿 𝑯𝑶𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑳 - 𝑪𝒉.3: 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈

𝙈𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡 ‘𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮’ 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙭 𝙁𝙚𝙢!𝙍𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙡 𝙩𝙤 ‘𝙎𝙏𝘼𝙏: 𝘽𝘼𝘽𝙔!’ // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 1 // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 2 // 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 4

𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑩𝒀’𝑺 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 – 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙘𝙡𝙞𝙢𝙗 𝙩𝙤 𝘼𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙧’𝙨 𝙎𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢 𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠, 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙞𝙣 𝙗𝙚𝙙, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙨. 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙩𝙝, 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙚𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙛𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚—𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙙, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙨𝙤, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙨.

𝙒.𝘾. – 2.3𝙆

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 – 𝙎𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙣 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚, 𝙢𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙙, 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨/𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙨, 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙢, 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙖𝙘𝙮, 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙭𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜.

𝘼/𝙉 – 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙎𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙇𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙮 𝙂𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙤𝙧𝙮 𝘼𝙡𝙖𝙣 𝙄𝙨𝙖𝙠𝙤𝙫, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙩𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚—𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙝𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙, 𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙘. 𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙡𝙮, 𝙄’𝙢 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙞𝙩’𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢.

𝙍𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮’𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣!

Morning slips in soft and slow through the old hostel window, barely there at first—just a faint wash of pale light that seeps across the floorboards like diluted watercolor. It’s the kind of gray that belongs to Edinburgh in February, where the sky is more suggestion than promise, stretched thin and tired above rooftops slick with cold.

The air bites as they step outside, boots echoing on the damp cobblestone street. She holds a thermos under her arm, its warmth seeping through her coat as a buffer against the wind. He walks beside her, hood drawn tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the shadow of a laugh lingering on his lips from something she just said.

That laugh—low and genuine, tucked into the corners of his mouth like it lives there now—has become more frequent. Not showy or loud. Just warm. Just real. The kind of sound that only happens around someone who feels like home.

They make their way toward Arthur’s Seat, the hill rising like a myth against the dull sky. It’s steep and quiet, only the crunch of gravel and their breath in the air.

Halfway up, she slows. Drops to a crouch to fiddle with her laces, even though they’re not loose. The truth is, her heart’s been hammering in her chest since they left the hostel—not from the climb, but from the way his shoulder brushed hers when he handed her the thermos. From the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking back.

He stops behind her, too close. She can feel the heat of him even through their coats. When she straightens, his hand finds the small of her back without thinking, steadying her. It stays there longer than it should.

She doesn’t move away.

“Your shoelace wasn’t even loose,” he says, smirking.

“I panicked,” she mutters.

He chuckles, breath fogging in the cold air. “You panic a lot around me lately.”

“Do not.”

“But, you do,” he says again, bumping her shoulder gently with his own. That little grin still hasn’t left his face. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Like maybe he’s hoping she knows, too.

It’s become a rhythm between them—these small, deliberate moments wrapped in casual excuses. Her hand brushing leaves from his hood. His fingers tugging her scarf snug under her chin. The way they pass a sandwich back and forth without asking. The way they keep finding reasons to touch, as if their bodies are in on something they haven’t admitted out loud yet.

By the time they reach the summit, the city lies sprawled beneath them, muffled and quiet. The wind stings, sharp and insistent, but neither of them says they’re cold. She tucks her knees up to her chest and sips lukewarm coffee from the thermos. He shifts closer, his jacket rustling softly.

“You’re cold,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Come here.”

“I’m fine—”

But his arm is already curling around her shoulders, pulling her in against him. She goes easily, almost too easily, and rests her head against the side of his neck. His touch doesn’t surprise her anymore. What surprises her is how much she wants it to stay.

They don’t talk much. There’s nothing to say that wouldn’t undo the fragile spell of it all. They just sit, watching the sky darken shade by shade, the light growing heavy with something unnamed.

Eventually, the wind shifts. Damp. Inevitable. She notices it at the same time he does.

“Shit,” he mutters, already standing. “That’s coming in fast. We need to get down.”

They don’t make it in time.

The rain hits suddenly, no preamble. Not a drizzle, but a violent cascade. A soaking, sideways assault that turns the trail slick and treacherous. They run, slipping on muddy gravel, laughing breathlessly through curses. Her hat disappears somewhere behind them. His gloves are useless, soaked through in seconds. Their hair clings to their faces. Water snakes down the back of her neck, cold enough to make her gasp.

By the time they stumble into the hostel, they’re both drenched to the bone, flushed from exertion and exhilaration, teeth chattering.

“You’re shaking,” he says, immediately pulling her coat from her shoulders, fingers clumsy in their haste. “Come on, come here.”

The room is dim and cluttered, still warm from the radiator sputtering near the window. He grabs her towel and presses it to her hair with both hands, rubbing too roughly but with care buried in the motion. She doesn’t stop him. Her hands hang uselessly at her sides, too numb to help.

“You’re freezing,” he says again, his voice softer now, all the teasing burned off. “You need to get dry. Get into bed.”

She’s too cold to argue. Nods, trembling.

He helps her peel out of damp clothes, eyes flicking away when they shouldn’t. His hands are steady, though, and his touch never lingers where it shouldn’t. He hands her a sweatshirt that probably belongs to him. She doesn’t hesitate to put it on.

“If I get pneumonia,” she croaks, crawling under the covers, “I’m blaming you.”

“You won’t,” he says, crouching beside the bed. “But if you do… I’ll take care of you.”

The next day they both wake coughing, voices hoarse and cracked like they’ve been talking in their sleep.

He groans into his pillow. “This is your fault.”

She wheezes out a laugh. “My fault? You’re the one who said ‘just a little further.’”

“You didn’t have to agree.”

“You could’ve carried me.”

“Down a muddy hill in gale-force wind?”

“Exactly,” she says, her voice half a rasp. “Romantic hero shit.”

He rolls his eyes and sneezes.

"Karma, serves you just right. For not doing hero type stuff.”

"Hey, excuse you. You could have pulled that one out. Very bad of you, eh, not helping out an old guy like myself..." He shook his head, pretending to be disappointed, though an amused grimace formed on his face.

"Hey, you—don't bug me or I'll smother you with your pillow, Robinavitch." She pointed her finger at him, trying to hold back a laugh.

Then she was the one who sneezed.

"Hah, serves you just right."

"Oh, shut up." She grunted before covering her face with the comforter.

They’re a mess—sniffling, achy, utterly useless. His nose is red. Her hair is a disaster. Everything smells faintly of eucalyptus rub and lemon tea.

Still, somehow… it isn’t awful.

He ventures to the communal kitchen once to make tea and returns like a war survivor, soaked again, mumbling dramatically about the damp ghosts of the hallway. She calls him ridiculous. He calls her cruel.

They spend the whole day in bed, wrapped in layers of blankets and denial. Outside, rain ticks against the window in a slow, unrelenting rhythm. Inside, it’s quieter. Softer. The line between them blurs further, until there’s no real line left at all.

Her head ends up on his chest, his fingers tracing slow, lazy shapes across the fabric of her sweatshirt. Neither of them comments on it. It feels inevitable now, like something they’ve been circling for longer than either of them wants to admit.

Their conversation is quiet. Half-whispered thoughts, snippets of memory, dreams. The kind of talking that only happens when everything else has fallen away.

At some point, she murmurs, “This is nice.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks down at her, something unspoken tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says finally, voice rough. “It really is.”

There’s a storm outside, battering the city with all its fury. But in here, it’s warm. Still. The air charged with something quiet and bright—like lightning caught in a jar. Waiting.

And just like that, everything is different.

Even if neither of them says it yet.

Evening falls without them noticing. The light outside the window fades from slate gray to deep indigo, swallowed by the thick curtain of February rain. In the soft glow of the streetlamp outside, the water streaks down the glass like a slow, steady heartbeat.

They’re curled up in bed, still half-damp from the shower, still warm from the comfort of shared space and easy silence. His arm is flung lazily around her shoulders, one hand scrolling half-heartedly through something on his phone. Her cheek rests against his chest. Neither of them moves to change it.

She lets out a long sigh as she pulls the duvet up to her chin. Her limbs feel heavy, head still fuzzy from the cold, but none of it matters. There’s something quiet and grounding about being here like this—buried under mismatched blankets, in pajamas two days old, nestled up beside a man who keeps showing up for her in all the little ways that matter most.

Outside, the rain picks up, clattering louder now against the window—fingers tapping, then knocking, then clawing. A storm building momentum. A tension mirrored in the room.

“You know,” she says, voice low and rough from congestion, “you’re the only person I could ever do this with.”

“Do what?” he asks, barely glancing away from his screen.

“This. A trip. A bed. A head cold.” Her cheek shifts against his chest as she turns her face toward him. “The whole messy, cozy, unfiltered thing.”

He looks down at her, eyes soft with something unreadable but warm. “I was just thinking the same thing,” he murmurs. “It’s weird, right?”

She hums. “Not that weird.”

His thumb starts moving in slow circles against her upper arm, brushing bare skin just beneath the sleeve of her T-shirt. She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she shifts closer, her breath steadying as she sinks into the touch.

“You make it easy,” he says after a beat.

She lifts her head a little, propping her chin on his chest. “To be around?”

“To breathe,” he says, his mouth twitching into a small, tired smile.

"You're not seriously saying that, now, when we have an epic cold?" She let out a laugh.

"No wonder I say so." He laughed too.

A few days ago, it would’ve made her blush. She might’ve made a joke, deflected, buried the warmth under sarcasm. But now—like this, sick and storm-locked and stripped of pretense—she just lets it sit between them. A truth too simple to argue with.

Eventually, he breaks the silence again. “I had a dream last night that we missed our flight and just… stayed here. Got jobs. You worked in a bookstore. I made terrible coffee at some hole-in-the-wall café.”

She smiles into his shirt. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“No,” he agrees softly. “It wouldn’t be.”

The intimacy is no longer accidental. It’s a choice. A quiet ache. An inevitability.

Later, they brush their teeth side by side at the tiny sink, looking like hell—sweatshirts, messy hair, noses red and raw. They laugh about it. She accidentally spits toothpaste on his sleeve. He gasps like she’s mortally wounded him. She wipes it off, her hand pressing to his chest just a moment longer than necessary. His eyes linger on her, unreadable again.

Back in bed, they move without speaking. They don’t need to. Limbs settle in familiar places. Their rhythm already set.

The room is dim, shadows flickering across the ceiling as the storm rages louder now. Rain lashes the window in erratic sheets. Thunder grumbles low in the distance—like a voice clearing its throat.

He shifts beside her, rolling onto his back with a tired grunt. His arm brushes hers beneath the duvet, but he doesn’t move it away. They lie there like that for a while—breathing in sync, caught somewhere between fever dreams and fragile comfort.

Then he turns to her slightly, propped up on one elbow. There’s a furrow in his brow now, something tender flickering beneath the sleepiness.

“You’re not feeling worse, right?” he asks, his voice low and rough around the edges.

She shakes her head. “Just tired.”

Still, he leans in—slow and careful, like retracing a familiar path. And then he presses his lips to her forehead. A soft, deliberate kiss. Lingering just long enough to mean something.

“No fever,” he murmurs against her skin, pulling back slightly but not away.

Her breath catches—not from surprise, but from the way it feels. From how gently he said it, like he was giving her permission to fall apart a little.

She lifts her hand without thinking, fingers brushing against his brow. He doesn’t flinch. Just watches her, quiet and open.

“You don’t have one either,” she whispers, her palm resting against his skin. The contact is small, but it anchors her.

Another crack of thunder answers before he can, splitting through the sky with a sharp, breathless rumble. The rain intensifies—sheets of it battering the windows, as if the sky itself has something urgent to say.

They both flinch slightly, instinctively shifting closer. She tucks herself under his arm again, her cheek finding the curve beneath his collarbone like it belongs there.

This time, he pulls her in tighter. No hesitation. No questions. Just gravity.

His hand rubs slow circles against her back. Her fingers curl against the fabric of his shirt.

“Don't let this go to your head, but, I like this,” she says, voice barely audible. “Being close. It’s nice.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just exhales softly and presses another kiss to the crown of her head—brief and reverent, a kind of quiet vow in the dark.

The storm builds outside, bright flashes strobing through the blinds, thunder crashing louder now, raw and unruly. It mirrors the heat pulsing between them—sweet and electric, charged with everything unspoken.

She presses in closer, fingers curling against his ribs, her body instinctively chasing the safety of his warmth.

They stay like that for a long time—holding, breathing, listening. Wrapped in the kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

Eventually, her breathing slows, grows steady. She falls asleep like that—curled into him, her forehead pressed to his skin, his arm still wrapped around her.

He stays awake a while longer, watching the storm move across the sky through the slats in the blinds.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t speak.

But he doesn’t let go, either.

@asxgard @18lkpeters @hagarsays @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @blueb33ry-cat @captainoates @ilariyalavorowrites @teenwolfbitches28 @spoiledflor @kmc1989 @nfr-girly @nerdgirljen @obsessed-fan-alert @onlyrealjoy @thinemineours

[dre6ming]

Booked for One

pairing : Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!resident!reader

summary : A black-tie charity gala in Chicago. One bed. Months of tension. And a storm that forces both of you to stop pretending.

warnings/content : 18+ content, explicit sexual material (fingering, penetrative sex, condom use), strong language, emotionally repressed characters, unresolved sexual tension (resolved), jealousy, mutual pining, power dynamics (attending x resident), one bed trope, clothing sharing (his hoodie/boxers)

word count : 4,850

18+ ONLY MDNI, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

a/n : This is me projecting every inch of tension into one hotel room and letting it burn. Robby is so done pretending he doesn’t want her. She’s so done pretending it doesn’t wreck her. No further questions.

The Chicago skyline glittered beyond the ballroom windows like something out of a dream, but the room itself was thick with too much perfume and performative laughter to feel romantic. Somewhere between the crystal chandeliers and the overpriced floral centerpieces, you remembered: this was a charity gala, not a fairy tale. Not that you’d expected it to be one.

Your heels clicked confidently across the marble as you stepped into the crowd, the sound sharp and unapologetic. The red dress did exactly what it was meant to do—stop conversations mid-sentence. Backless, sculpted, slit high enough to make someone drop their champagne. Almost inappropriate. Almost. But cut with just enough class to keep mouths shut and eyes glued. You didn’t stumble into this look—you chose it. Every inch of it said exactly what you needed it to.

And beside you—silent, composed, unreadable—walked Dr. Michael Robinavitch.

Not behind. Not trailing. Beside. Step for step, shoulder to shoulder. Close enough that your perfume reached him, close enough that his silence pressed against your skin like static. The air between you practically hummed. No words were exchanged, but you felt his presence—intentional, sharp, heavy. Not accidental. Never accidental. He wore that tux like a threat and walked like he already regretted coming.

You didn’t blame him. He’d hated the idea of this from the moment the assignment hit both your inboxes. He spent most of the flight to Chicago muttering about schmoozing donors and dressing up for people who’d never seen what a ruptured spleen looked like in real life. Said if AGH wanted charm, they should’ve sent a PR team—not a trauma attending and a second-year resident.

But for all his complaining, he showed up anyway.

Beard neatly trimmed, jaw tight, suit tailored to the exact width of his frustration. He hadn’t bothered with a tie—left the top button undone and rolled his sleeves up in the car, like he couldn’t stand the performance of it all but still dared anyone to question whether he belonged.

Classic Robby.

All precision. All control. Except, maybe, for the way his eyes kept drifting back to you like he hadn’t meant to.

You’d felt it before you even got here.

The moment you stepped out of your hotel room earlier that evening, still adjusting the strap of your dress, you felt the air shift. His gaze had dragged down your spine like heat—slow, reluctant, and absolutely devastating. He hadn’t said a word. No compliment. Not even a grunt. Just stood there in the hallway, watching you like a problem he didn’t know how to solve.

Then you got into the car.

And now, here you were. Walking beside him like none of that tension had happened—like it wasn’t still buzzing under your skin.

He said nothing.

So, you flirted.

You’d barely handed off your coat when a man caught up to you. Mid-thirties, polished, expensive suit, and the kind of grin that usually came with a boarding group upgrade and a trust fund. His eyes dragged over you—slow, practiced—and landed on your badge.

“Emergency?” he asked, matching your stride.

You didn’t break pace. “That a problem?”

“No,” he said, trailing beside you now. “Just wasn’t expecting it. Not in that dress.”

“Guess I don’t dress for your expectations.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly intrigued. “Wasn’t trying to offend. You just... don’t look like you’ve pulled a chest tube.”

You glanced at him, expression unreadable. “You don’t look like someone who’s coded a patient without crying, but I’m not holding it against you.”

He blinked, thrown for half a second—then smiled, slower this time, like the game had just gotten interesting.

“Alright,” he said. “I deserved that.”

You gave a noncommittal shrug. “Probably.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Should I try again?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at him—cool, steady, unreadable. Not interested, but not walking away either.

“If you want,” you said finally.

And then you turned, letting him follow you into the crowd. He kept close, too close, like he wasn’t used to being dismissed.

“I’m Lucas, by the way,” he said, offering it like a favor.

“Of course you are.”

He laughed under his breath, clearly not sure if it was a compliment. Robby was across the ballroom, watching it all.

You watched him back. The way his jaw clenched every time you touched Lucas’s arm, the way he barely blinked when Lucas leaned too close.

"You here alone?" Lucas asked.

"That depends," you said, voice light.

"On what?"

You looked past him. Past the buffet table. Past the sea of donors and old-money medicine. Straight into Robby’s eyes. And you smiled.

“On whether he comes over here or not.”

Lucas turned, confused. “Who?”

You just tipped your glass toward Robby.

Robby didn’t move. He just stared back—still, unreadable, drink untouched in his hand like he wanted to throw it at something.

You turned back to Lucas. “Nevermind.”

You ended up pressed against the gold-veined marble counter in the bathroom ten minutes later, Lucas’s mouth hot and insistent on yours, his hands already on your hips like he’d earned the right. The chill of the marble cut against the warmth pooling low in your body, but you didn’t stop him.

Outside, rain had started to streak across the windows—steady now, soft at first and building. You barely registered it. All you felt was Lucas’s palm dragging slowly up your thigh, slipping beneath the slit of your dress, fingers skimming skin like he expected you to beg for it.

He kissed like a man used to being told yes. Confident. Greedy. A little too practiced. His teeth grazed your lip, tongue sweeping into your mouth with a low hum as he pushed closer, like he couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted.

You let his hand slide higher. Let him mouth at your neck, at the soft line beneath your jaw. Let him tug the strap of your dress down far enough for the fabric to slide off your shoulder.

Your lipstick smeared between you. Your breath came faster than it should’ve. And all you could think about—even now—was how Robby hadn’t said a single goddamn thing about the dress.

Lucas tasted like champagne and ego. His hands were good. His mouth was eager. His knee pushed between yours and your back hit the mirror with a dull, aching thud.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered against your collarbone, breath hot, hand skimming the edge of your breast now. “Jesus.”

You tilted your head back and closed your eyes.

Pretending it was enough.

Pretending it didn’t burn.

Then, gently—too gently—you pressed your palm against his chest.

“I should go.”

Lucas blinked. “Seriously?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just looked at him, steady, breath catching, lips swollen from someone you didn’t want.

Then: “Yeah. Seriously.”

Not cold. Just done.

You slipped out before he could say anything else, smoothing your dress and swiping your thumb across your mouth.

Outside, rain ticked louder against the glass.

And just a few feet down the corridor, exactly where you didn’t want him to be—was Robby. Like he'd positioned himself there on purpose. Like he knew exactly where you’d be. His eyes tracked you the second you stepped back into the ballroom—sharp, steady, and unmistakably furious.

“Was that worth it?” Robby’s voice cut through the hum of the ballroom, low and sharp like a scalpel slipping beneath skin.

You froze mid-step, spine straightening. “What?”

He pushed off the column, slow and measured, like he’d been holding himself still for too long. “Lucas. From Hopkins, right? He’s been at a few of these things.” Robby’s voice was low, sharper than it had any right to be. “In the bathroom. That's how you planned to go about your night?”

You crossed your arms. “Careful. You’re starting to sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he said, stepping in closer. “I’m pissed.”

You lifted your chin. “Why? Because he touched me, or because I let him?”

His jaw flexed. “You really want me to answer that?”

“You’ve been watching me all night, Robby. If you had something to say, you could’ve said it before I walked away.”

“I didn’t think you’d let someone else touch you first.”

You laughed once, dry and humorless. “That’s on you.”

“Don’t twist this.”

You held his stare. “Don’t try to control something you keep pretending you don’t want.”

He stepped closer, voice rough. “You think I don’t want you?”

“I think you want me when it’s convenient. I think you want me more when someone else does.”

His eyes darkened. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it.”

He shook his head. “You walked out of that bathroom looking wrecked—and all I could think was, I should’ve been the one to ruin your lipstick.”

Your breath caught.

“I mean it,” he said, voice lower now, almost ragged. “I stood here like a fucking statue while he got to touch you. Got to taste you.”

“Then do something about it,” you snapped, the air between you flaring hot.

“I can’t,” he said, jaw tight. “Not here. Not when I’m still trying to be the version of me that’s good for you.”

Thunder rumbled outside, closer now. A gust of wind rattled the balcony doors, and someone across the room shut one with a sharp bang that turned a few heads. Staff began to move like shadows between tables, and the string quartet shifted into something slow.

“Why not?” you whispered.

“Because the second I touch you,” he said, “I won’t stop.”

A waiter brushed past with a tray, and the spell broke—the quiet clatter of silver on porcelain snapping the air between you.

You stepped back like it burned. “We should go.”

Neither of you said another word.

Minutes later, you sat stiff in the back seat of the Uber, arms crossed tight, trying not to look like your heart was still somewhere back in the ballroom. Robby stared straight ahead, one hand flexing on his knee, the other resting uselessly between you. The driver didn’t ask questions. Neither of you offered answers.

By the time you stepped back into the hotel, the lobby was chaos—umbrellas dripping onto the tile, soaked coats draped over chairs, luggage leaving wet trails across the marble.

You were halfway to the elevators when the concierge spotted you.

“Miss?” she called out gently. “Room 124?”

You turned, already bracing.

“There’s been a situation,” she said. “A pipe burst on the first floor. Maintenance was able to shut it off, but your room was affected.”

Your chest tightened. “Affected how?”

“Flooded,” she admitted. “We pulled what we could from your room and sent everything to the laundry department for evaluation.”

You blinked. “Evaluation?”

She hesitated. “Some items were soaked. Our team is assessing what’s salvageable.”

You didn’t need her to spell it out. You could picture it already.

Your suitcase—soaked through from the bottom up, clothes clinging to the lining like wet leaves. The silk sleep set you packed on a whim, twisted and ruined. Your toiletry bag overturned, mascara tubes and tampons and a busted travel-size mouthwash bobbing in shallow water. Your heels wrapped in white hotel towels like they’d been injured. Your charger? Fried. The paperback you'd half-finished on the plane? Warped and curling at the edges like a dried flower.

You didn’t want it assessed. You wanted it not to have happened.

“We’re also fully booked due to the weather,” she added, almost apologetic now. “We’ve had cancellations, stranded travelers, local walk-ins. There’s a waitlist, but we can’t guarantee anything for tonight.”

Of course not.

You stared past her, toward the barricaded hallway at the far end of the lobby. Caution tape. Industrial fans. A sign printed in sharpie: FLOOR CLOSED FOR CLEANUP—1st. You could hear the low, constant roar of air pushing moisture out of drywall.

“Fine,” you muttered, reaching for your phone. “I’ll find another hotel.”

You had barely tapped the screen when Robby spoke.

“She’s with me.”

You turned your head slowly. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“You don’t have a room,” he said, measured. “You don’t have clothes. You’re not getting another hotel this late.”

“I didn’t ask for help.”

“I’m not offering help.” He looked at you then—just once, jaw locked, eyes hard. “I’m not letting you walk around Chicago at midnight with a dead phone especially during a thunderstorm.”

That shut you up. Not because he was angry.

Because he was worried. And trying not to show it.

The concierge handed over a second keycard.

Robby took it before you could say anything.

Just like that.

Final. No discussion.

He didn’t even look at you as he turned toward the elevators.

You followed him.

The click of your heels echoed against the tile, sharp and precise. Rain streaked the windows behind the lobby seating area, lightning flashing faintly across the marble floor. Neither of you spoke.

“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you said finally, your voice clipped.

“I’ve got boxers and a hoodie,” he answered without looking back.

You stopped. Right there in the middle of the lobby.

“Oh, perfect. I’ll just wear your hoodie like this is totally normal and not weird at all,” you said, tone sharp.

He turned—slow, deliberate. Shoulders tense, jaw tight.

“What’s your move, then? Wander around downtown at midnight in heels that are cutting off your circulation, soaked through, no phone, no plan?”

You didn’t answer fast enough.

His jaw ticked. “It’s a hoodie and boxers, not a wedding dress. Don’t flatter yourself.”

You blinked, slow. “Oh, I’m not. I just prefer not to sleep in something that smells like you’re still wearing it.”

He stepped in—closer than necessary. “You didn’t seem so bothered by that smell earlier. In the elevator. Or at the event.”

Your pulse jumped. You hated that it did.

You crossed your arms. “I’d rather not spend the night with someone who can’t stand to look at me.”

His eyes didn’t move from yours. “You’re not upset about me glaring.”

“Oh no?”

“No,” he said. “You’re upset because the wrong man undressed you with his eyes—and made a move before the one you wanted ever did.”

Your stomach dropped.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He didn’t move. He didn’t smirk. He just let the words sit there between you, heavy and sharp and so goddamn true you wanted to slap him for it.

“Wow,” you breathed. “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re still standing here,” he said.

The elevator dinged.

You turned and walked in first.

He followed.

The doors slid shut behind you with a hush that felt like it should’ve echoed.

You stood a little too close to the mirrored wall. He stayed behind you, angled slightly off to the side. You watched him through the reflection. He wasn’t watching you, but he wasn’t relaxed either. His jaw was locked. His hands were in his pockets, knuckles tight enough to show through the fabric.

His chest rose slow. Measured. Controlled.

The air between you wasn’t just tense—it was alive. Like it had heard every word back in the lobby and didn’t believe either of you were done.

The elevator climbed.

At floor ten, your arms were crossed so tightly your shoulders ached.

At floor eleven, your pulse jumped just from the space between your hands and his body.

At floor twelve, he looked at you in the reflection—just a flick of his gaze—and your breath caught.

“We’re both adults,” he said.

Your voice barely made it out. “Barely.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out before he could say anything.

His footsteps followed—steady, patient. The hall was quiet except for the distant hum of the rain hitting the windows at the end. The carpet muffled everything but your heartbeat.

He unlocked the door with one swipe of the keycard, then held it open. You didn’t look at him as you walked in.

You flicked the lights on.

And there it was.

One bed. Big. White. Obvious.

Robby walked in behind you, shutting the door with a soft click. He shrugged off his jacket and hung it neatly, like this was any other night.

You stared at the bed, then at him. Your voice was dry.

“Of course it’s one.”

He didn’t flinch. “Wasn’t expecting company when I booked it.”

You crossed your arms. “But when you offered to share—”

“I knew,” he cut in, voice smooth, unreadable. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that part?”

He turned to face you fully, one brow lifting just slightly. “I had a single room. Why would it have two beds?”

You blinked at him, but he kept going, tone low and infuriatingly rational.

“Sorry, I forgot to ask the hotel for the ‘in case my coworker gets drenched and stranded’ package.”

You scoffed. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.”

He tilted his head, eyes skimming over you. “Right. And if I’d said, ‘It’s one bed,’ you’d have said what? ‘No thanks, I’ll sleep in a puddle’?”

You didn't answer.

He smirked. “Exactly.”

The silence stretched. Long enough to make the storm outside feel closer. You peeled your clutch from under your arm and set it on the dresser like it gave you something to do.

He crossed to his bag. Pulled out a hoodie and a pair of boxers, both folded with the kind of care you recognized in him—practical, precise. He set them down at the end of the bed.

“They’re clean,” he said. “Bathroom’s yours.”

You didn’t move yet. Just looked at the bed again. Then at him.

He hadn’t looked away once.

You took the clothes in one hand.

“So,” you said slowly. “We’re just gonna sleep next to each other like none of this ever happened?”

His voice didn’t waver. “Is that a problem?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Can you keep your hands to yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Even if I wear this?” You lifted the hoodie an inch.

His gaze dropped for a single second. Just one. Then back up.

“Especially if you wear that.”

You stared at him.

He didn’t blink.

The moment hovered—thick and heavy with something neither of you wanted to name.

Then you turned toward the bathroom without responding.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you swore you could still hear the sound of him exhaling—low and rough, like he was trying not to want something he didn’t have permission to reach for.

The bathroom was quiet except for the faint hum of the fan and the thunder outside.

You reached behind you, fingers brushing the zipper. It slid down with a soft sigh, the dress loosening around your frame. The straps slipped off your shoulders, and the fabric followed, slow and heavy, like it didn’t want to let go.

It fell in a hush against the tile—crimson and careless at your feet.

You stepped out of it without hesitation.

His hoodie came next. It was oversized and warm. The sleeves hung past your hands, the hem grazing your thighs. You pulled on the boxers last. Loose, low, unfamiliar. You kept one hand on the waistband, like that might anchor you.

In the mirror, you didn’t look like the girl who’d worn that dress. You looked like someone else entirely—bare legs, messy mascara, lips still parted from things unsaid.

Like someone who’d made a choice.

Even if you hadn’t figured out what it meant yet.

When you opened the door, the lights in the room had dimmed. Only one lamp was still on, casting a warm glow over the bed and wall. The storm outside had deepened to a constant rhythm—rain tapping like fingers against glass, thunder slow and low in the distance.

Robby had moved. He was no longer standing.

Now he was sitting in the chair by the window, already in his pajamas. But the second you stepped out, he looked.

And stayed looking.

His gaze dragged from your legs to the oversized hoodie, to the hand resting at your hip like you didn’t quite trust the boxers not to fall. Then to your face.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

The air in the room changed. Tightened. Coiled.

You walked past him in silence, slid into the bed slowly—like you weren’t listening for the hitch in his breath, even though you were. The sheets were cold. Your skin prickled beneath the fabric, awareness spreading like a pulse.

You heard him stand.

Not right away. Not fast.

Just... eventually.

The creak of the chair. The soft thud of his steps against the carpet. The flicker of the switch. Then the dip of the mattress behind you.

He pulled the blanket up slowly. Settled on his back. Close, but not touching.

You stared at the ceiling. Felt the heat of him beside you—close, steady, impossible to ignore. Six inches of space. Maybe less.

And then you moved.

Not much. Just enough for the blanket to pull tighter across your hips, for the edge of your thigh to graze his under the sheets. It was barely contact.

But it felt like heat.

You knew he felt it too—because he stilled.

His breath caught, just slightly, like his lungs had registered something his mouth hadn’t been cleared to speak on. You could feel the way he was holding himself back. The way every inch of him had been still and disciplined until now, and now… now he wasn’t.

"Robby," you whispered.

He turned his head toward you.

Just a glance. But in it—everything. The tension. The ache. The silent plea for permission. Or for you to stop him before he crossed a line he couldn’t walk back from.

You didn’t.

Instead, you reached out—slow, careful—and let your hand find his forearm beneath the blanket. Warm skin. Solid muscle. He tensed at your touch, but didn’t move.

So you let your hand drift down, sliding along the inside of his wrist until your fingers brushed his.

He hesitated.

Then laced them through yours like he couldn’t help it.

That was all it took.

His fingers slipped free again, and his hand moved—up your arm, slow and deliberate. Not over the fabric. Under it. He pushed the hoodie up just enough to touch your bare skin, his palm dragging heat along the dip of your waist, the soft slope of your stomach. He moved closer, his leg brushing yours beneath the blanket, chest barely grazing your shoulder.

Your breath caught.

He heard it.

He hovered above you now, weight on one elbow, eyes locked on yours in the dark.

You reached up and found the side of his neck. Warm, tense, familiar.

That was enough.

He kissed you—deep, slow, but hungry. Not rushed. Just built-up control finally cracking. His hand slid higher beneath the hoodie, fingers spreading across your bare ribs, then rising to cup your breast—skin to skin. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and you gasped, the sound catching between your mouths.

He pulled back a breath’s distance, just enough to look down at you.

“You knew,” he said roughly.

Your lashes fluttered. “Knew what?”

His eyes dragged over your face. “That I wouldn’t stop if I touched you.”

You didn’t answer. You just arched into him, hips tilting, hand reaching for the hem of his shirt. Your fingers found the edge and pushed up, knuckles brushing his stomach.

He moved to help, lifting his arms, letting you tug the shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then he leaned back, one hand tugging the blanket down from both your bodies, eyes never leaving yours.

His chest rose and fell—slow, deliberate, barely in control. And he was still watching you like he hadn’t even started.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband of the boxers.

You gasped—quiet, sharp—and he froze.

“Okay?” he asked, voice hoarse against your throat.

“Yes,” you said. “Don’t stop.”

He groaned—quiet, guttural—and kissed you again, his fingers sliding through you slowly, then sinking deep. One, then two.

The hoodie stayed on.

But everything underneath it was his now too.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I think I do,” you said, breathless.

He kissed you again, but this time deeper—tongue sliding against yours with the kind of hunger that tasted like restraint finally breaking. His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, slow and deliberate, as if he was testing how far you’d let him go.

You didn’t stop him.

You tipped your chin up and gave him more.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice dark. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I’ve been like that all night.”

His hand moved in slow circles over your clit. You arched into him.

“Robby—”

“Fuck, you feel—” He cut himself off with another kiss. His forehead rested against yours, breaths coming fast now. “Don’t rush me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re shaking.”

“You’re making me.”

He added another finger. Your hips jerked, and he caught them with his other hand, holding you still while he fucked you slow with his fingers—deep, steady, curling in all the right ways. You whimpered into his mouth.

“Look at me,” he said roughly.

You did.

His pupils were blown wide. His jaw tight. His fingers still moving, still coaxing, still building the ache that had started the second he offered you this bed.

“Tell me when.”

Your breath broke. “Almost—don’t stop.”

His thumb pressed against your clit, just enough pressure to push you over. You came with a gasp—hips trembling, body curling into his. He kissed you through it, slow and open-mouthed, like he was breathing you in.

When your body stopped trembling, you reached for his waistband and pulled it down. He was hard. Thick. Heavy in your hand.

You stroked him once, twice—slow, just to feel the way his body jerked under your touch. His eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenching hard as your thumb teased the underside of his cock.

“Condom?” you asked, voice low.

“Top drawer,” he said. “I checked earlier.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Hopeful?”

“Prepared.” he muttered.

You fished it out and handed it to him. He rolled it on with shaky hands, then settled between your legs again—his hips aligned with yours, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling under your thigh.

He paused. “Last chance.”

You locked your eyes on his. “Shut up and fuck me.”

He pushed in with one slow, smooth thrust—stretching you open inch by inch, until your back arched and your nails dug into his shoulders.

“Jesus,” he gritted out, forehead dropping to yours. “You feel like—”

“Move.”

He did.

Long, deep strokes that built slow—his body pressed against yours, breath hot against your cheek, the bed shifting beneath you. His hips rolled just right, his rhythm steady but desperate, each thrust dragging a sound out of your throat you couldn’t have silenced if you tried.

You wrapped your legs around him, ankles hooking behind his back, dragging him deeper. His hand slid under the hoodie, found your breast, thumb brushing your nipple until you cried out.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Come again.”

He angled his hips and thrust again—harder now, rougher, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. You moaned into his mouth, fingers clawing at his back as your body built again, tighter, hotter.

Then you broke.

Your climax hit fast—sharp, shattering. You buried your face in his neck and held on as he fucked you through it, thrusts stuttering, voice breaking on a groan.

“Fuck—I’m—”

He followed you over the edge with one last deep thrust, his body shaking above you, hips grinding into yours as he spilled into the condom with a low, guttural noise that sounded like surrender.

When it was over, he collapsed half on top of you, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat.

Neither of you spoke.

You lay there tangled in each other, his hoodie bunched around your waist, your breathing slowly syncing with his. His hand rested on your thigh—still, warm, unhurried. Gentle in a way that felt unfamiliar for both of you.

The storm outside had quieted to a hush, rain tapping a soft rhythm against the windows like it was trying not to interrupt.

Minutes passed.

Then, quietly—like it had been sitting on his tongue all night—he said, “You looked really beautiful in that dress.”

Your heart stuttered.

You turned your head just enough to look at him. “You didn’t say anything.”

“I know,” he murmured. “Didn’t think I should.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just watched him, his features softer now in the dim light, his usual armor cracked wide open.

After a moment, you whispered, “I waited for you to.”

His fingers flexed lightly on your thigh, like the weight of your words hit somewhere deep.

“I know,” he said again, barely audible. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t forgive him out loud. You didn’t need to.

You just shifted closer, let your leg hook over his, and finally let yourself exhale.

Not everything had to be said right now.

But for the first time in a long time, it felt like something had changed.

And neither of you reached to undo it.

[dre6ming]

Residuals

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: So, I kept telling myself I wasn’t going to do this, but honestly, I’m such a sl*t for Noah Wyle and older men. I also kept running into there being just hardly any fics in general for this amazing show and so…here I am. Attempting to create my version with an OC that does have a last name (it's for the doctor purposes but also I hate that whole y/n, y/l/n stuff, ok? It just throws my ass off and throws me out of a story) and follows along with the episodes of the show. Idk how this will go or be received but I’m here wrecking myself. Much Love

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me and hyping me up when I feel like my shit is trash. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word Count: 3259

Next I

7:00 AM

“No, absolutely not. Ask someone else.”

The break room was the perfect place for Gloria’s early morning ambush. You’d barely pushed in the numbers on the keypad, the door swinging open when your gaze homed in on her position leaning against the small kitchenette. The words blurted out from a place deeply seeded in not being ready for her or the administration's early morning bullshit. You hadn’t even got to enjoy your coffee yet. 

You’d turned on your heel and raced back out the door in what could’ve been record time. Your hand tried to steady the sloshing of your coffee as you could feel Gloria hot on your heels. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You’re right - I don’t. However, seeing you this early, Gloria is not a good omen for starting my day.”

There was nowhere in the entire trauma center that you could go to get away from her and, knowing Gloria, she wasn’t going to make it easy for you. Realistically, you understood that Gloria was just another cog in the corporate machine. She rode your ass - and every other medical professional in the system from doctors during residency to technicians and CNAs - because it’s what the big bad CEOs demanded. The hospital functioned on efficiency facilitated by money and if too many bad Yelp reviews arrived it systematically hurt numbers. Bad numbers equaled a bad flow of funds. 

Gloria no doubt listened to her bosses during an early morning meeting where they rattled off complaint after complaint that dealt with a showcase of data and numbers. Both, of which, the board constantly claimed, showed the true efficiency of the hospital - not the life-saving measures taken to keep people alive. No doubt its main focus rested on the emergency department downstairs, because, once again, Yelp reviews of massive wait times and poor satisfaction scores outweighed the expertise of attending doctors. 

You didn’t envy Gloria’s position of being hated for being said cog in the corporate machine. Her job focused on relaying the demands from the top. Gloria was forever the bad guy to staff whenever they noticed her no-nonsense demeanor coming towards them. It was hard to be sympathetic to her plight when she followed you around like a bloodhound. The woman was relentless.

“The board would like to see if applying additional support down in the emergency department would help alleviate time issues that are keeping patient satisfaction at a tremendous low.” 

Absolutely not. 

You would rather chew your arm off than be sent down there. Your retreat came to a halt as you turned to face her. There weren't too many places inside the hospital you could go, and you were willing to bet Gloria was willing to follow you anywhere until you conceded. Plus, you came to a full stop in front of the elevator, and no matter how much you’d like to magically teleport yourself inside of it, unfortunately, you were mortal and would just have to wait.

Gloria’s hands were interlocked in front of her middle - eyes drilling miniature holes in you that not that long ago used to make you squirm. That was back when you were just starting your internship - eager back then to make a great first impression. Terrified of being reprimanded for making an unpopular decision or speaking your mind. 

“Gloria, I’m in family medicine.”

“Last time I checked you started in the emergency department and helped out in intensive care.”

“Yes, great memory, Gloria. If you also recall, I moved to family medicine where I’ve been for the last couple of years.”

The transfer to family medicine was a hard pill to swallow. You’d grown accustomed to the craziness of the ER. The constant adrenaline rush that required you to always bring your A game. Where the anxiety was at an all-time maxed-out high where a simple mistake cost lives but a quick deduction could save them. Once you’d moved upstairs to help out Dr. Nave’s family practice, it’d been a huge adjustment. Eventually, once your body got used to the monotony of the days, you found you were finally able to sleep. To be semi-normal. 

There was no denying, however, that you left something important behind in The Pitt. Something you hoped you could leave there inside its sterile rooms and the overwhelming storm of emotions.  

“I’m not asking you to go back down there to answer every trauma call. I’m asking you to take your family medicine knowledge downstairs to help assess triage for minor issues -“

“You mean people who come in for chest colds,” you interrupted. 

“ - and help the senior doctors clear out these cases so they can focus on more immediate health care concerns.”

Gloria’s words crushed your small outburst and bore down on your shoulders, keeping you from trying to move away. Her hands were now connected at her elbows, which was her silent way of informing you she didn’t appreciate you trying to talk over her. That no would never be an acceptable answer. 

You felt the drag of your teeth against your cheek. The temptation to bite down to relieve your growing irritation was overwhelming but futile. No matter what argument you came up with, you knew Gloria was here to make sure what the board requested was done. 

Instead of bloodshed, you eased your frustration out inch by inch through your nose. Your eyes scanned over the shitty egg wash walls while you debated all of your available options, which were a big fat none. 

“How long?”

Gloria didn’t need clarification on what you were asking. The way she practically preened like a peacock let you know she knew she’d won. 

“As long as the board requires it.”

“I’ll do it just for today,” you interjected, ignoring her raised brow. “Today you can see if pulling me from Nave’s floor makes your charts or numbers move or whatever data it is you all look at. If it does nothing, today is my first and last day going down.”

Gloria considered your counterargument. The sharpness in her eyes brightened; the terms of this new agreement were revised without you knowing the new verbiage. The only thing you were sure of was that you could count on this small verbal agreement being drawn out in document form for you to sign later.  

“Alright, Dr. Fullerton. You’ve got a deal. I’m sure the board will agree. Now come on. If we walk down fast enough maybe, you’ll make it in time for shift change.”

She didn’t wait to see if you were going to follow. Why would she when Gloria knew very well you weren’t going to fight it, especially when the main reason for your denial currently wouldn’t be working today. 

Anniversaries were never really Robby’s thing.

You would never admit it, but your anxiety was fifteen feet away from grabbing you in a chokehold. 

Get a fucking grip.

It had been two years since you left the ER. Two years since Robby and you had called time on seven years together. Seven years of memories filled with all the good and bad, co-parenting Jake, and keeping your relationship secret until it wasn’t. The early years of walking to work together with quick kisses goodbye before you split up just before you turned onto the final street to the hospital. The both of you choose different entrances each time to try and not raise suspicion. 

It took Dana four days to figure out the two of you were together.

Dana was perceptive like that. Hell, she’d been the angel on your shoulder whispering hints that Robby just might like you as much as you liked him. 

“I told him to ask you out to dinner. He thinks you’ll say no.” “If he did ask, I should say no,” you countered.  Your eyes struggle to stay trained on the chart in front of you.  “Yeah, but I know you’ll say yes.” “And what makes you so sure about that, Dana?” “Because if you don’t stop giving each other googly eyes from across my nursing station I’m going to throttle you both.”

Robby had only been divorced from his wife for less than a year. You’d overheard snippets of conversations between Robby and Abbot, Dana, or Adamson about custody battles and visitations. The last thing you wanted to do was be a possible added stress to an already stressful situation. At least, that was the bullshit you kept telling yourself to try and stay away.

But Dana was right (she usually was, but you’d never tell her that). 

You couldn’t pinpoint a specific time when things started to change between the two of you. The coffee breaks on the roof looking out over the top of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The jokes that caused smiles to crest over his face, rivaled the glow from the sun's early morning rays. He told you later, in the med closet, how the sound of your laughter was something he looked forward to hearing; the warmth of it was enough to keep helping him make it through his shift. A sound he began to crave in the quiet corners of his home. You could still remember the phone calls and early texts. The caution and heavy breaths that harbored a desire that longed to reach out and consume the other. The two of you were equally afraid to be the one to take that first step over the bounds of professionalism. 

The two of you knew the dangers of playing with lingering touches and knowing glances. The way you both acted like you wouldn’t ultimately end up burned. You could still recall the way he’d traced his thumb across your lips. The possessive way his eyes followed the motion made the desire for him to close that space, to claim you, to take you, threatened to make you lose all self-control.

Eventually, you stopped listening to the warning signs of all the what ifs; of being the intern and worrying about how it would make you look. When Robby asked you out on that date you didn’t hesitate to say yes.

You didn’t think it was possible to fall in love with someone the way you did with Robby. He was so attentive; he was thoughtful in the most pragmatic ways - packing extra scrubs in your pack. Teaching you how to fish and the differences between the lures and bait. The way he took the time to explain the objects he carved from wood and how much pressure was necessary to create the grooves and pattern. The way his voice would sound as he read to you; the soothing vibrations of his baritone the safest place you could be with his fingers in your hair.

He carved out a life that made it possible for all three of you to co-exist. His son, Jake, becomes the deepest interwoven part of your life you never realized was missing. On days Robby had him, you planned camping trips up in the mountains to hike and fish. To go on museum trips into Jake’s latest hobbies with the two of you making sure to have his game day off to cheer embarrassingly loud for him in the stands. The shared looks of pain from beside each other on the couch while Jake practiced his clarinet upstairs when he thought he wanted to be in the school band. You got lost in furniture manuals, cooking dinners that ended a few times with questionable outcomes, and attempting to bake tarts and pies that led to a one-time usage of the fire extinguisher. The euphoria of loving someone and being loved so fiercely in return made the years feel weightless, and when Robby finally proposed it made so much sense to say yes. 

And COVID happened. 

The quarantine and the endless amounts of patients that just kept coming - that felt like, no matter what you did, they couldn’t be saved. Family and friends, you both knew were ravaged by the infection. There were no answers. No medical treatments that you knew for sure would be what would save them. It didn’t discriminate and took lives without mercy. You just came to work every day, exhausted, and fighting to do what you could to heal those you could. You showed up every day for your patients.

Then Adamson passed. 

There was no denying Robby blamed himself for what occurred with his mentor. It didn’t matter what you said. What Dana, Abbot, or anyone else said. The guilt weighed down on his conscience, pressed so violently, that eventually, Robby cracked under the strain. His grief was all-encompassing and the added loss that should’ve been experienced together, was left for only you to bear - widening the gap between you until it became a chasm. 

The last time you’d seen Robby he’d been leaving to go to work. The latest fight - the endless bitter silences that stretched on - tore at the fabric of your being. Fractured pieces you didn’t know how to pick up on your own no longer felt worth fighting for. So, you decided to remove yourself from the equation. 

When Robby came home from work that night you were already gone. Your engagement ring and house key sitting on a note that asked him not to contact you. He’d made it clear enough that there was no place for you in the new person that he was becoming - made it clear that your grief would be processed alone. 

And so that was how you ended up transferring to family medicine. How you made sure to steer clear of all the places Robby was known to frequent. You ignored, as politely as you could, texts from Dana. Refused to talk about him in a work capacity or to close friends. 

The truth was that you were still in love with Robby after all this time. The idea that someone else could ever make you feel as whole - as complete - didn’t exist. So, yes, you only agreed to come back down to the emergency department, where it all started, because you comfortably knew he wouldn’t be here. Dana, you could deal with her by using a little recon - you just needed to stay two steps ahead of her. Langdon was easier to deal with because his loyalty to Robby was absolute, which made you public enemy number one. For you, that meant he’d stay away from you on principle. 

You were in the middle of shoving down the growing dread that was threatening to spill out of you when you came around the north hall triage. It was morning rounds. It was the attending's job to give the early morning pep-talk, debrief about patients who came in last shift, and go over the board. What you found waiting for you was what looked very much like a fresh batch of interns and/or med students taking instructions from a doctor you knew painfully well. One that made you question if it was too late to back out and turn tail and run. 

“Oh, shit.” Dana huffed the words under her breath, but Robby caught them. The way each one dripped in a warning he should’ve heeded. “Gloria -” 

It didn’t surprise him to hear she was here. He’d been warned by Dana but what Robby hadn’t expected was to see you - you - standing beside her. 

You who he thought completely disappeared to the point you’d quit the hospital. You, who he thought of in the most inconvenient of times, who haunted him, and you who he wanted to fucking scream and curse at you but also ask how the fuck you’re doing because Jesus Christ…

He didn’t need this shit today.

At least you had the decency to look as uncomfortable as he felt.

“Good morning, Dr. Robby. I’m aware you and most of your emergency department know Dr. Fullerton. She used to work down here previously a few years back.”

“You could say that again,” Langdon muttered.

“I’m sorry why are you bringing a random fucking doctor down into The Pitt?”

The annoyance contrasted with the peaceful professionalism Gloria tried to hold together. But if she was going to bring random doctors down here, God, bring you fucking down here, he was damn sure going to make her work for it. Inch by irritating inch.

“We both know that Dr. Fullerton is not a hospital resident or an attending transfer. As previously stated, she worked down here in this very ED, with you no less. She also holds one of the highest Press Ganey scores in this hospital.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud,” his words ground out like he’d swallowed gravel.

Gloria shot him a warning look as she continued, “-Something I figure she could teach the new students and old physicians here. I’m bringing her down to assist Dr. McKay today in triage.”

“Let me guess - this either has to deal with the hospital's numbers or lack of working bodies down here. Am I right?”

“What a fantastic guess, Robby. It does indeed have to do with the hospitals' numbers and poor patient output. Based on those numbers alone today, if it shows Dr. Fullerton’s presence helps patient satisfaction go up and wait times decrease - even in the slightest - she’ll be staying here. Permanently.”

His jaw ticked violently. He wanted to bristle and tell her where to stick her metrics and numbers. To tell Gloria to get you the fuck out of his Pitt. Somewhere in his brain, his common sense slowly won out. It didn’t matter how much of a fit he threw; Gloria had every intention of making you stay. Down here. With him. 

Robby also knew, realistically, that the chances of you driving up productivity were high. You were a damn good doctor. One of the best. Adamson had made sure. Christ, Robby himself made sure. Fuck. The edges of his vision were beginning to tighten in glaring white; he needed to get away before he succumbed to a panic attack. 

He should’ve kept looking away, but he was fighting a losing battle trying to keep his eyes away from you. It’d been nearly two years since he came home to find you gone. Two years for him to think of the hundreds of thousands of questions that he would demand for you to answer if he ever saw you again. All those months of burying it all down, telling himself he got what he wanted, only for it to be dredged up, and on a day like today, he was already close to his breaking point.

You looked good. Great, even. Just as gorgeous as the first day he’d met you and begrudgingly, for a split second, he wondered how you saw him. If you were equally as fucked as he was.

“Make sure she stays with you up in triage, Dr. McKay. I don’t want to see her in my red zone.”

He didn’t wait to hear confirmation from Gloria or McKay. He didn’t bother to see if you understood he meant every word he said. You had no place down here. Robby needed to start his shift - to start the normalcy of seeing patients - before he completely forgot why he chose to come into work today. 

He needed to get away before all his resolve shattered. The easiest way to keep himself whole was to begin his day. To do his rounds and when he passed you, he did his best to pretend you didn’t even exist.

___________

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! Much love.

[dre6ming]

Residuals Pt.2

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

Warnings: Language, sexual themes (it's the patient)

A/N: So, this chapter is much beefier than the last. To anyone new here and my writing - I'm a long-winded bitch, so I apologize in advance 🤣. This chapter also uses slight dialogue from the show. There is a scene in this I took from my time working in the ER during the 2020/2021 pandemic. 100% this actually happened. It was traumatizing lol. Thank you, guys, so much for taking such an interest in this fic! For showing so much love and loving on this show along with me (and Dr. Robby lol) because it's fantastic and deserves all the fics and all the love! I truly am grateful and hope that you enjoy this chapter. Much Love, Jenn 🖤

Shout out to @viridian-dagger for looking this over for me. Thank you for putting up with me lol. I Love you. Also, thanks to @strangergraphics for the cute little divider.

Word count: 7524

Previous I Next

7:00 AM - 8:00 AM

You’d been staring at the screen for what accumulated into an eternity in the ED. The longer you kept staring, kept from just choosing one of the damn patients on the board, the bigger the risk grew that Dana would notice.

Or worse - Robby. 

If Dana took notice of you willfully choosing to stare off into premeditated space, you were willing to bet your firstborn she’d reprimand you first and tell Robby second. She'd shoo you away from her desk with a fervor usually saved for psych patients, as if you had cooties. With your current calculations on how this morning started, either option would be unpleasant. 

Whether any of you liked it or not, you were here, and that meant one glaringly - neon sign bright - reality. Robby was going to be your fucking boss for the next twenty-four hours. And not in a kinky way. At least, not the way either of you used to enjoy.  

From the moment the briefing ended, the disdain at your presence made it painfully clear that you were not welcome. Everyone dispersed in true manic speed to meet the batshit energy that constantly swirled inside the Pitt. It was the place that kept on giving even when you politely asked to be put in time out - because damn you needed just a moment to get your shit together. But the ER was in its own solar system, and it required everyone who walked inside to be ready for whatever was thrown their way. You didn’t get a say - weren’t allowed to say no or ‘hard pass’, on cases that came flowing in and what dictated an emergency. You were either ready or you weren’t. You either made it or you cracked.

There wasn’t any damn structure here. Just spontaneity with a dash of madness but, in that madness, greatness could be born. Adamson always said you never knew what kind of doctor you were - the depths of your compassion - until it was tested in the blood, sweat, and fire of the Pitt. 

You’d been tried, tested, and by the end knew exactly what kind of doctor you were. What kind of doctor you strived to be - like Adamson. Just like Robby. But it’d been two very long years since you’d been able to call this madhouse home. The ease of set-timed patients with a patient history readily at your fingertips had spoiled you. Every question that needed to be asked without actually asking was answered and waiting just for you to see. Pre-existing conditions or possible new ones with known side effects were readily available for you to view.

So, yeah, you were panicky - terrified - about heading out onto the floor with a thousand unknowns. It wasn’t helping that Perlah and Princess hadn’t greeted you with more than a sneer and an eye roll that’d impress your fifteen-year-old niece. Robby and his flock of med students bounded off to make rounds that lasted less than three minutes before rapids began flowing through the ambulance bay. With any luck, you’d have one solid minute to look over the board, dissect what room held the most viable case to close, and head there. 

Just jump right back in and pray you didn’t fall flat on your face. 

The numbing sensation that resonated earlier in your chest returned with a vengeance. It didn’t start gradually, but collided against your nerves; exploding like a colony of ants that bit and tore leaving behind flashes of panic. You tried to lead the sensation out through your hands with a subtle shake. If you allowed the anxiety to fester itself it would no doubt become housed to you the entire shift.

You were better than this. You interned in the Pitt. You chose to stay after you’d obtained a full-time position. Two years away from this damn madhouse shouldn’t have affected you this strongly but that wasn’t accounting for outside stimuli…

But looking up at the large TV monitor, new names being added to the FirstNet system with brightly colored labels, it made you want to scream. It made you feel hopeless.

Fuck. You were better than this. 

The background erupted with shouts from an incoming trauma. Two severe traumas from the sound of rushing feet and Robby’s directions. You didn’t hear most of what the paramedics relayed to Robby and the med students. You did, however, catch the word degloving as they rolled into trauma rooms one and two. You did not envy the med students.

You gave your hands one last shake as your eyes combed over the patient list one more time. You’d found a possible ingestion of a foreign object by a child in triage room eleven. Simple. Easy. You were already going over possible orders to give. An x-ray was to get a better picture if the obstruction was heading downward or if an endoscopy would be necessary for removal. What signs to look for as you assessed the child while making sure they were still alert and swallowing normally. You thought of how to introduce yourself when a familiar voice thrust you back into the present. 

“Forget how to read a patient board, Fullerton?”

Dana’s words were pure ice. The years of friendship and playful jokes appeared to be burned to a pile of ash. You didn’t need to look at her to know she wasn’t regarding you with a friendlier expression than Perlah had moments before. 

“No,” you sighed, your eyes finally dragged from the screen to her. “Just taking in the options.”

“This isn’t a buffet, in case you forgot. I know it runs easier and less dirty for you guys upstairs, but down here time is a precious commodity.”

“I am well aware of how simple consultations can turn serious, Dana.”

“Oh, you do,” she gasped in mock surprise. She’d removed her glasses from her nose and held them against her chest. “I guess that means you should stop wasting time and do your job. Don’t want your Press Ganey scores droppin’.”

“Not that I don’t love the pep talk, Dana. I’m just curious, are you going to be riding my ass this hard the whole shift?”

The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it. The ears of every available RN and technician who sat around Dana’s nursing station no doubt heard. The verbal back and forth so early in the morning was beginning to give you whiplash.

“I don’t know, sunshine is there a reason you think I shouldn’t? You know,” she began, her body involuntarily inching closer. Her shoulder leaned in closer so her barbed words could sink deep enough to wound. “What a surprise to learn that this whole time - the entire fucking two years you were gone - you’d simply been up-fucking-stairs.”

It was in those last few words you saw it. It was so quick you might’ve missed it if you weren’t dialed in. No matter what Dana, or anyone else, said to you today, it would never compare to the carnage you’d left behind with your silence. The pain of seeing the hurt you’d left behind, sharp and unforgiving, was like a lancet; slicing through the tough hide you’d prepared for the day. 

“Dana -” 

Shit, you did not need your voice to crack. You did not need to crack. 

Unluckily for you, she wasn’t in the mood to hear from you. A hand rushed up to brush off whatever weak attempt at placating her she knew you would try and send her way.

“I don’t want to hear it, kid. Months I was worried sick about you. Just to find out you chose to forget we even existed down here. A literal ghost walking back into our lives right when we’ve just about healed. You’re a real asshole, Fullerton.”

She lifted the glasses back to rest on the bridge of her nose. The coolness of her stare reminded you - if her final words didn’t - that you weren’t a welcome sight in the Pitt. Your presence threw off what little harmony they coveted, the family dynamics, and you knew she would fight to preserve it - to protect Robby -  and everyone else in the process.

Your tongue pressed against the side of your cheek. A weak balm to cool the warring wave of emotions that rapidly replaced the anxiety that moments ago threatened to shatter you into embarrassing little pieces. Now you only felt like shattering for an entirely different reason. 

Dana tore her gaze away from you and answered an incoming phone call. Whatever emotions she contended with were conveniently pushed down because she had a job to do. So did you. You found yourself wanting to say to hell with today; with Gloria and all her standards. You hadn’t agreed to be fucking public enemy number one. 

It didn’t matter how anyone else saw you. What mattered right now was the glaringly obvious pain you’d caused to someone who was the Pitt’s raining surrogate mother. Who’d checked in on you, and brought extra food from home because she miraculously knew you’d forgotten yours. A friend that invited you to her family’s Christmas Eve dinner your first year as an intern because you didn’t have family to celebrate with. The woman who’d held you when you’d lost your first patient and scolded you about smoking cigarettes even though she smoked herself. 

You wanted to be stubborn. To wait for her to get off that damn phone so you could try and explain, but really what could you say? It wasn’t just Robby you left. You’d chosen to abandon ship with all of them aboard a sinking ship. They never even knew they needed life jackets in the first place. 

The cool stare of the nursing staff made your back itch. You needed to get away and get back to why you were here. What you were damn good at doing. Clearing your throat, you made your way around the nurses' station. The stride of your steps was suspiciously close to turning into a jog. Although, you’d never admit that out loud.  The sooner you could get to the patient's room the more normal this day would be.

“Holy shit, Fullerton? Is that you?”

The chipper tone and the laughter behind it had warning bells going off in your head in a matter of minutes. You only knew one surgeon who took glee in other people’s discomfort. 

Yolanda Garcia, the resident pain in the ass at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, beamed at you like the cat who was dangerously close to eating a new canary. You had a not-so-sneaking suspicion you were the canary in this scenario. 

“I don’t know, Garcia does it look like me? It’s too early for you to be hallucinating.”

“Does Robby know you’re here?”

Oh, she had to be eating this up. The sheer mayhem she knew this would cause - psychologically speaking - must have been making her toes curl. She was beaming, practically euphoric from the very thought.  Her feet were no doubt burning to run and tell him as if he didn’t already know. 

You tried to sidestep around her obnoxiously grinning form only for her to shadow your movement. 

“It’s great to see you haven’t lost that dream of auditioning for the Wicked Witch of the East, Yolanda.”

“Robby is going to flip when he hears about this.”

“Great. Why don’t you run along now and tell him,” you quipped while patting her arm. “I have patients to attend to.” 

“I bet you do.”

This time when you moved to sidestep her, Garcia didn’t make any move to follow. No doubt too busy riding her broom to be the harbinger of doom all over again for one specific unfortunate soul. 

“Are you aware that Fullerton is here? Just walking around the Pitt attending to patients?”

It shouldn’t have come as a shock that once Garcia saw you, she’d use you in any capacity to rile him up. Hell, Robby was willing to bet the minute she’d noticed you - whether walking or inside a patient room - Garcia would’ve encroached on your space. The two of you historically had one of the worst feuds Adamson said he’d seen between interns in years. It didn’t surprise him that even after you’d both secured your jobs within the hospital it never ended.

What did surprise him was how breezily she asked her questions. She hadn’t even taken five steps into trauma one before she fired each one off in his direction. His hands crossed his body to grip his shoulders. He needed something to steady himself and each finger that dug into the meat of his biceps was all he needed to help keep him centered. Keep his head in this room with this patient and not somewhere else.

“Yes, Dr. Garcia I am well aware she is here.”

He watched the exchange between Collins and Garcia and nodded his approval at Collin’s when she stood her ground and called for a popliteal block instead of morphine. 

“Where’s the next guy?”

“Next door. He’s a bit worse.”

This was something he could do. Something his mind could piece together and work around. Robby knew medicine. Saving lives wasn’t the hardest part of his day - it was having to try and make sense of his own that held that prize.

Garcia was in the middle of giving one last instruction of what she wanted before she fully followed him into the room. Dr. Mohan and a med student, Santos, were in the process of intubating Mr. Wallace. 

“How do you feel about that?”

Robby had been so laser-focused watching them place the tube that he hadn’t heard Dr. Garcia the first time. So, of course, she asked again. 

“Feel about what?”

He was under the impression they were focused on the patient. He should've known better when it came to Garcia. She was relentless until she got what she wanted.

“Come on, Robby, let’s not be coy. You expect me to believe you don’t have big feelings about her being down here? You guys were engaged - ”

A split second. That was all it took for him to become glaringly aware of the room. Of all the people in it, they no longer were singularly focused on the patient but split down the middle. While Garcia effortlessly watched over the med students and their progress, she equally watched him for any sign of a reaction. 

He needed to put an end to her question before she overshared information that first-day interns had no business knowing. Robby found himself itching under the watchful gazes of staff. Princess in particular he caught glancing up from where she was handing over instruments. 

“I don’t see how that information pertains to anything dealing with our patients, Dr. Garcia. How about we stay focused on the task at hand.”

Robby saw the smirk on her face. A dog with a bone. That’s what Garcia was going to be like all fucking day because she was just eating this up. 

He put himself back in motion - being the watchful attendee as Dr. Mohan successfully placed the intubation tube. 

“I’m in!”

“Good! Well done.”

Robby could do this. He could be a doctor. He could be the attendee overseeing and teaching others. He could do this. He could do this. He listened closely as Dr. King checked for the patient’s medical history - there was none. He listened to Yolanda give off medication to administer before shipping Mr. Wallace up to CT for a scan. Once Robby was sure everything was moving smoothly, he moved around the foot of the patient’s bed to stand next to Princess. 

“Do me a favor,” he asked gently, “Swap out with Jessie for me, would you?”

Their degloving patient screamed in a language no one knew but - Robby was hoping - Princess would know. He was following behind her when a familiar - and unwelcome voice - called out behind him. 

“Dr. Robinavitch. Do you have a moment?”

No. He would never have another fucking moment for Gloria. She effectively used up every last moment he had left to spare when she dragged you down here. Robby was barely holding on to what small pieces of sanity he had left. He didn’t need any more shit to deal with before 7:30 am. 

“Ugh, I’m a little busy right now, Gloria. One sec.”

He meant no fucking seconds but he still had to play nice, right. Robby was never good at playing politics. Adamson told him countless times it was the unseen added responsibility of an attending. The constant hounding from the administration staff and CEOs demanding doctors and nurses carried more than just keeping people alive. 

Gloria followed him through the rooms and stood at the side. Her presence was a constant reminder to him that she wasn’t going to leave empty-handed. 

Robby did all he could to monitor the med students’ and his residents as they made their assessments. When Princess notified him she couldn’t figure out the language, Robby took it as a small win to allow him to grab language services, giving him a few seconds to breathe. 

It was short-lived. 

By the time the officer walked in, Gloria had her fill of being on the back burner. She wouldn’t be ignored any longer and they both knew Robby was no longer needed. His residents’ had both patients stabilized and were finishing up preparing them to begin proper treatments. It left him the odd man out. It left him having to take a walk with Gloria. 

The walking and talking was about metrics - Press Ganey scores. The endless bitching about low numbers that couldn’t be fixed without proper staffing was affecting patient satisfaction. It was easy for Gloria to pin the poor numbers on Robby, Abbot, and the entire Pitt staff. Easier to claim they just weren’t already busting their ass hard enough instead of admitting they were short-staffed in every department. That their metrics and data issues of force-fed shitty scores could be solved simply by hiring more nurses - paying better wages. 

But everything Robby ever said - tried to tell Gloria until his vision reddened - fell on uncaring ears. 

After everything he tried to tell her again all she latched onto was when he used the word “Pitt” instead of the official term of an emergency department. Derogatory. That was what she called it. Incompatible with institutional images.

Robby wanted to scream. 

“You know what's incompatible with the institution's image? Me speaking to the media about people who code in our waiting rooms and people who get shitty care in our hallways waiting for an ICU bed for days.” 

“I’ve heard about doctors who tried that and found themselves out of work.” 

The thinly veiled threat wasn’t lost on him. The next words he would’ve liked to have said to Gloria in response, he was forced to cover up under a mirthless laugh. 

“I know today is difficult for you - “

Fuuuck no. No. He was not doing this, especially not with Gloria. No matter what was said after this, Robby could feel the cusp of a storm riding at the frayed edges of his psyche. Knew it was there with each passing millisecond as he waited for it to implode. 

“Everyday is difficult down here,” he bit in. 

“Boarding is a nationwide problem. Your predecessor, Adamson, sure as hell knew that. Or wasn’t that something he taught you?”

And there it fucking was. His eyes snapped shut as he tried to rain in the tidal wave that roared in his ears. The cautionary warnings of a catastrophe brewing beneath the surface only grew louder. 

It wasn’t even fucking 7:30 yet. 

“Fuuuuck. Wow. Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

Gloria would never back down. She was as strong and determined as anyone Robby ever met. Under different circumstances, he would’ve found her impressive, but this wasn’t any other circumstance than her riding his ass like she usually did. 

Robby shook his head again to try and clear the black dots from his vision. It was just a brief shake. His eyes skimmed across each full bed that held a waiting patient. The universe must have perfect timing with fucking with him today. In that brief look, Robby watched you appear from behind a patient curtain. A reassuring smile on your face as you spoke one final time to the family of three inside before you closed it shut behind you. 

You weren’t aware he’d seen you - that he was watching. It was a split second but live wires only needed one second to find a conduit to create sparks that burned down everything around it. He shook his head to try and clear it. His gaze landing back on Gloria with a new bone to pick. 

“Don’t you think you should’ve cleared it with me before you brought Dr. Fullerton down?”

Before his sentence finished, Robby could tell by Gloria’s response she found his question idiotic. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was unaware the board needed to clear every decision with you first, Dr. Robby. Also, weren’t you just complaining about the lack of staffing?”

“I was saying to hire more nurses - not to bring down a doctor from a whole other floor.”

“A doctor who has been with this hospital for close to a decade, trained by Adamson, and you, might I add. Look, I get it. You two have…history. Which is one of the main reasons we frown upon fraternization.”

“Please, spare me the HR talk, Gloria.”

“You need to put your big boy pants on, Dr. Robby. Fullerton is staying down here whether you like it or not. Don’t like it, can’t manage the crisis or who the hospital chooses to staff down in the ER, you can either step up or step aside.”

Gloria didn’t give him a chance to respond. She gave him one last condescending look, one Robby hoped he mirrored back to her, before turning on her heels and walking away. His eyes followed her for a few seconds, debating if he wanted to chase after her. Just hand over his badge and call it quits because the feeling of defeat weighed so damn heavy on his shoulders that he thought there might be a chance he’d never get back up. 

Instead, he turned to look at the nursing station where Dana was casually walking. He knew she heard the entire conversation. He just didn’t want to have to repeat what just occurred or discuss it in the slightest. 

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and was ready to return into the fray because he could handle that. He could help patients. He could be the doctor they needed. Before he even moved a step Dana motioned for him to come towards the desk. 

The little devil on his shoulder warned him that he might end up regretting it. 

“You know, Robby, I’ve been thinking - “

“Why do I feel like this isn’t going to go well,” he sighed. 

Dana simply waved him off before she continued. 

“You aren’t being very realistic on the whole, ‘stay in the triage only’ demand. You want her to just waste her skills by only helping out in the front?”

“She won’t be wasting them,” he huffed. 

His hands reached out to grip the edge of the counter. He didn’t want to have this conversation. He did not want to have this conver -

“I think you’re just hoping that’s where she stays so you don’t have to see her.”

“One can dream, Dana.”

Robby did not trust - nor like - the coy look he received in response to his words. 

“Who am I to get in the way of a man’s dream?” She replied, her eyes examining him in a way he hated. No one could hide anything from Dana.  “Although, if I know you -“

“Dana -“ he warned. 

“ - I would be willing to bet -“

“Dana, I’m being serious -“

“ - that you want to see her.”

“Now why would I want that?”

“You’ve been scanning the halls every few seconds since we’ve been talking, Robby. I don’t think you’re admiring the wonderful view of bodily fluids and stale piss scent.”

“Alright I’ve had enough of your idea of what I’m assuming is a half-assed pep talk.”

“Just…be honest with yourself, Robby. You both got a lot of unresolved tension with a dash of a shit ton of issues. Probably be better to hash it out when you can, and in private, instead of exploding in front of interns or patients.”

Robby wanted to question if she was willing to do the same. Would Dana be able to have you come to the desk for patient transfer information, for updates, calls; and for everything and not be as affected as he was? Robby remembered he wasn’t the only one who’d lost you - felt lost without you. 

Robby wasn’t ready to confront you. Hell, he wasn’t ready to be alone with you and try to talk like civil adults. He wasn’t there yet and maybe he wouldn’t be. What he could be was an attending physician. He was great at that. 

He could do that.  Everything else would just have to wait. 

Upon further examination of the little penny swallower in 7 North, he showed no signs of abnormal drooling or trouble swallowing. Palpitating the stomach didn’t have any response of abdominal pain or tenderness. With a few more questions about possible fever or trouble breathing, you felt confident in informing the family an x-ray would be needed just to verify the penny was making safe travels down to be…expelled. Easier and less invasive to exit that way. 

You told them once you were notified the x-ray results were ready, you’d come to speak to them about the next steps. Hopefully, it meant they could be discharged in an hour or less. Which meant you had an hour to kill between waiting for the results. After reading the chief complaint on the board for 12 South, you thought it was a solid contender for a quickie. 

As it turned out, it was the worst idea you’d had that morning. 

When you pulled back the curtain and began the examination, what you’d found waiting for you under the dressing gown wasn’t on your bingo card. Actually, it should never be on anyone’s bingo card. Not ever. 

You’d tried to come up with any other option than needing to consult Robby. He didn’t want to see you throughout the day - ever. It was a sentiment you equally shared with him and one you happily would’ve avoided except…you need the advice. 

You need to present the case and get some solid, solid advice and, quite possibly, traumatize him in the process. You couldn’t be the only one subjected to seeing what you saw at freaking 7:37 in the morning. The only issue: you had no fucking clue where he was. 

In true Pitt fashion, doctors were bouncing from one room to another. Already you’d heard McKay call earlier about needing a crash cart. When you’d run out to assist, Mateo, a newer RN you’d yet to meet let you know they had it - if you were needed they’d call. 

You also knew that after 7:30, rigs would be bringing in elderly patients from the nursing homes. Another thing that would keep Robby busy and make it near impossible for you to try and consult with him. It was already going to be a battle just to keep him from turning and bolting in the other direction when he saw you. 

This limbo of time left you a few minutes to run to the break room and take a blissful sip of your more than likely room-temperature coffee. It didn’t matter: caffeine was caffeine and you would take it any way you could get it. You just had to make one last pit stop before you disappeared. 

You circled the nurses' station and found the exact nurse you were looking for sitting at one of the station’s computers. You had to hand it to Perlah, whether she saw you coming or sensed your presence like a disturbance in the force, she refused to glance up from the screen. Her eyes scan over something repeatedly as her fingers pound into the keyboard. 

“Perlah, have you seen Robby?”

She still wasn’t looking up.

“Nope,” she replied, popping her P heavily. 

“If you do see him, can you let him know I’m looking for him?”

“Nope.”

Your lips tucked into a grimace as your gaze peered over the edge of the computer. Perlah’s eyes didn’t lift once. 

“Okay. Great talk.”

“Mhmm.”

Yeah, today was off to a really fantastic start. 

There wasn’t any point hanging around the nurses' station for longer than was embarrassingly needed. You took the loss in stride, and by stride, it meant with a heavy sigh of defeat that had your feet dragging that defeatist attitude into the breakroom. Where you found one of Robby’s newest med students sitting at the break room’s table. 

If you felt defeated, you weren’t sure what the proper word for her would be. She looked like a reprimanded child instead of a doctor. Her small frame was tucked in tight, like a fetal position with her forehead almost completely collapsing onto the table. 

You weren’t able to catch any of their names earlier because you all but missed morning rounds. All you knew was she was one of Robby’s four interns and by far the youngest from the looks of it. 

You eyed her warily as you moved towards the side counter. You’d stashed your coffee on top of the microwave and, once in hand, immediately brought it to your lips for a long pull. 

Yep. It tasted as good as you thought it would. 

The girl brightened once she realized you’d entered. Her nerves had her eyes darting down and back up again seemingly unable, or just not comfortable enough, to keep them trained on you. 

“You’re one of Robby’s new med students today, right?” A timid smile rose and fell on her lips. You watched while she tried to make out if you were friend or foe. In an attempt to prove the former, you offered up a warm smile as you introduced yourself. 

“Victoria Javadi - MS3.”

“It’s a pleasure, Dr. Javadi. May I ask what you’re doing in the breakroom instead of out in the Pitt?”

Your question was meant to be that: a simple question. No ulterior motives were waiting in the wings especially not the lecture Adamson gave you your first year when he caught you napping in here. But your simple question extinguished what little bit of life had lit up in the young girls’ eyes. 

“I - I - my foot hit a gurney during Dr. Collin’s and Dr. Langdon’s demonstration on the degloving patient. It was nothing.” 

It wasn’t nothing. Whatever happened was everything to her and not in the best of ways. 

“That’s okay. It happens,” you shrugged. “I stuck myself with a needle once.”

“Really?” She asked, her voice timid and eyes unbelieving. 

“Oh, yeah. My second year of residency too. The patient became combative while I was trying to administer the medication. The needle got jammed in my clavicle.” 

You couldn’t believe it - it earned you a laugh. A nervous one, but it was still a laugh. You watched her as she brightened and dimmed; a constant flux of warring thoughts that you weren’t sure which side was winning. 

“Whatever happens out there, don't let it get you down. We never stop learning as human beings or as doctors. Everyone out there has made a mistake in some capacity. Hell,” you snorted as you pushed off from the kitchenette’s counter, “Michael got hit with a bedpan once.”

“Michael?”

God, you’d gotten too familiar. Your memory of that day makes you have a Freudian slip into the days you called him more by his first name instead of his nickname. 

“Oh, uhm, Dr. Robby. I’m going to head out but if you want, once you’re done here, you can come find me. I’d be more than happy to teach you.”

“Thank you, but I’m sure Dr. Robby is just having me take a break. It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine.” 

You were tempted to tell her to come find you anyway, just in case. In case it didn’t go how she thought when she did finally check back in with Robby. Whether she verbally agreed to the offer or not, you hoped she knew it was still there. This was a teaching hospital after all. 

Dana and Robby were walking back to the nurses' station. He’d just gotten one major surprise of finding out Javadi was Eileen Shamsi’s daughter and while he was all for surprises, that was one he'd like to have been prepared for. 

Just like Dana had warned him, via Perlah, that you were looking for him he saw you standing there waiting. For him. He’d had all of five seconds to come to terms with the fact you were both about to have your first direct conversation in over two years. After two long years of no contact, it was about work. 

He should’ve been happy it was just about work and not all the other bullshit that’d accumulated over those two years. He should’ve been fucking thrilled, but he wasn’t. Robby had so many questions - so many things he wanted to say. There was so much to say - to ask - and instead here he was preparing to discuss something easy. 

Robby and Dana split up at the middle entrance. She returned to man her station in the center of this circus, while he came up to stand beside you leaning against the nurses' station. Your fingers tapped on the counter while your chin rested in your other hand. 

“Something’s got you deep in thought.”

Robby knew the answer - knew it because outside of himself, outside of Jake, you were the only other person he knew inside out. Your fidgeting fingers, a tick he knew well, would tap out a Morse Code of a problem you were trying to solve. The faster the tapping, the closer Robby knew you were coming closer to asking for his opinion. You’d done this all the years you’d worked together and at home when you couldn’t decide if oregano was an okay substitution for Italian seasoning. 

“Cock rings.”

“Excuse me?”

Robby could feel his eyebrows skyrocketing towards the ceiling. He rocked forward and back on his feet while the fists he’d buried inside his hoodie pushed against the fabric. His body subconsciously leaned towards you because, well hell, he couldn’t believe those two words just left your mouth. 

He hated that his eyes caught the slight uptick in the corner of your mouth. The same corner where all your sarcastic ass smirks originated before they blackmailed their way to full-blown smiles. What Robby hated the most was how that small bit of familiarity took a sledgehammer to the carefully constructed walls he’d built. Fucking hated how his lips betrayed him by beginning to match the playfulness in your eyes. Loathed entirely how his heart did somersaults like he was a teenager again and the girl he’d crushed on just looked at him like he hung the stars. 

“Cock rings.” You said it like it wasn’t the lewdest thing he’d heard all day. Simple. Matter-of-fact. “What do you know about them?”

This was fucking absurd, was all he could think. 

“Uhm, why exactly is this your question?” 

“Jesus, Robby, I’m not asking if you’ve used them. My patient in 12 South - was brought in by his mother for supposed swelling and pain in the inguinal region. Upon examination, found he attached sixteen key rings as makeshift cock rings along the length of his penis.”

His brain was still in the process of trying to comprehend the scenario you’d just fed him. That was his excuse for his eloquent reply, “You’re fucking kidding me.” 

“I sincerely, with my full chest, wish I was. He’s traumatized. Mom’s traumatized. Shit, I’m traumatized, but I can’t figure out a safe alternative to removing the rings without causing damage.”

“What are you two discussing?” 

Dana seemed to arrive at the best and worst possible moment because Robby didn’t know how to answer that question. Apparently, you had no problem informing her it was - 

“Cock rings.”

Robby wondered if Dana’s stunned-to-silence expression was how he’d looked earlier.

“Well, shit, Fullerton this is the wrong department for that - “

“It’s my patient in 12 South. He decided to MacGyver himself some cock rings out of key rings.”

“What about MacGyver?” 

Langdon slid a tablet back on the charging station - gaze laser focused between you and him. One of Langdon’s brows rose in silent question that Robby could only answer with a shrug. 

“I’m sorry but who is MacGyver?” Dr. King asked, eyes shifting with expectation between the four of them for whoever would give up the answer. 

“MacGyver’s an old 80’s TV show where the detective guy gets himself out of sticky situations by using random stuff.”

“Random stuff?”

“Anything eye level,” you quipped. 

“Okay, anyways, Fullerton,” Langdon butted in, “What’s with your MacGyver patient.”

“Cock rings.”

Robby swore if he heard the words “cock” and “ring” come out of your mouth one more time he was going to fucking combust.

“Cock…rings?”

From how green Mel looked after stuttering out those words, Robby was sure he wasn’t alone in his earlier sentiment. 

“They say it’s meant to enhance stimulation by restricting blood flow to the penis. I’m pretty sure men buy them because it enlarges the penis making it thicker with the possibility they’ll last longer in bed. You can currently pick one up on Amazon.”

“Jesus,” Dana mumbled. 

“Really?” 

Mel took a giant step closer to the edge of the desk. Her earlier discomfort was removed by the idea of garnering new information. The warning signs were blaring loudly when you whipped your phone from your scrub's back pocket. 

“Oh, yeah and they come in different styles of materials - “  

“Oookay.” Robby heard more than enough. If he was being honest with himself, fuck he hated how it bothered him hearing you talk so casually about sex toys. Toys he knew, for a fact, the two of you never used because he never needed the extra help. He knew every inch of your skin; how you liked to be handled and touched. Could recall with crystal clarity the plains of your body, mapped out to memory by his hands, by his mouth, and the way your breath would hitch just before a moan slid past your lips. If any asshole was touching you now - he wasn’t fucking doing it right. Clearing his throat - and his fucking head because Jesus H. Christ - he rested his forearms on the counter as he leaned closer to you. “Can we please move past showing my med students unnecessary sex toys?” 

Robby was leaned down enough that the next time you looked at him it was direct. Direct and ready to challenge him every step of the way. A spark of some hidden remark you were burying back under your tongue brightened his favorite color of iris. 

“Squeamish, Michael?”

And there it was again. That fucking smirk. 

The use of his name falling so casually from your lips was a gut punch that stole the air from his lungs. He couldn’t stop the pinch of his eyes that narrowed in on you. 

Did you just lean closer?

“Not particularly, no. I am, however, making sure we aren’t having an unnecessary conversation that doesn’t pertain to the care and wellbeing of our patients.”

“Sex education is fundamental education. Dr. King asked a question and I was teaching. This form of teaching does pertain to my specific patient who used a similar style of material usually made for this particular toy and, because of lack of education, thought key rings would be a supplementary alternative rather than a safer one. In showing Dr. King the types of materials safely used, and how obtainable and discrete it is to get one, she could educate someone else if she finds herself in a similar situation. Also, it’s 2025, Dr. Robby - we don’t kink shame here. We educate on safe sex practices.”

“Here, here!”

Robby shot a look in Dana’s direction and caught the wisp of a smile before she turned away. 

“What a great speech just to cover up your kinks, Fullerton.”

Robby couldn’t tell if Langdon was trying to bait you on purpose just to rile you up or to get you to slip up. He got neither in return. 

“You found me out, Frank.”

“Alright, enough.” He needed to cut in before you both went back and forth in an endless loop of who could irritate who the most. It was just a little over half an hour into the shift. “Dr. Fullerton, is there anything else?”

“Ugh, yeah. You still haven’t given me your opinion.”

“Because you never asked a specific question,” he reminded you. 

He watched you consider his words; your lips rising into that small pucker. It was your tell that always let him know the debating was over and you were ready to listen to what he had to say. 

A part of him hated the familiarity that rested between the two of you. Fuck, you hadn’t changed. Not in any way Robby was able to notice. It was barbaric; and painfully unfair that every mannerism and every glance housed years’ worth of memories. The most painful part of being reminded was the remembrance of loss. 

Loving you had been as easy as breathing for him. Until it wasn’t. 

The communication the two of you held so easily for years was torn apart during the pandemic. There was too much happening and not enough support mentally when the PTSD started. When the sleeplessness and hopeless feeling began to press a weight down on his chest - his existential crisis bloomed red and bright. Robby didn’t know how to stop the bleeding. 

And then you…you’d…

“You’re right, I didn’t.” Your words cut through the fog in his mind, bringing him roaring back to the surface. “If you have a few moments, I would like to get your opinion on my patient and what you think will be best for this particular…situation.”

Robby pushed his arms off the counter. An arm swept out in the direction of the hallway south to indicate you could lead. 

“Alright. Let’s see what you got.”

You clapped your hands together before you took a step forward. You hadn’t expected him to agree and the giddiness at winning a battle - or not having to fight one? - intoxicated him. A ghost of a smile tilting the edges of his lips unwillingly up. 

The two of you’d made it about five feet before Myrna rolled herself from beside her latest haunt. 

“Hey Sugar Tits, where are you skipping off to?”

“Myrna, I’ve expressly told you, my name is Dr. Robby.”

“I’m not talking to you, Fruitcake.” 

“It’s me,” you whisper to him before returning your attention to Myrna. Never stopping. Always moving. “I can’t talk now, Myrna. I have a patient.”

“You always say you have a patient,” came her gruff reply.

It was the first hint her chipper demeanor was about to expire. 

“Yes, because this is the ER; where I work.”

“Fuck you.”

“Nice talking to you again too, Myrna.”

The walk to 12 South wasn’t quick enough. Every step and moment he spent walking beside you sent a flood of memories rushing to the surface. Robby didn’t know how to do this. He didn’t know how to pretend you hadn’t shared a life - that he hadn’t spent time loving you in every way he could. 

“Fruitcake, huh?”

Your words cut through his thoughts and, at first, he’d been grateful for the interruption. Grateful until Robby noticed the teasing gleam in your eyes. How he could spot the mischief that darkened your eyes and didn’t have enough time to prepare. 

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled.

He didn’t need to look to know you were side-eyeing him.

“It could be worse.”

“Oh, no I doubt that.”

“She could call you something less delicious.”

His hand was mid-reach to pull back the curtain. Your sentence pulled him short and forced him to look down at you like you’d just grown a second head. 

“You think fruitcake is delicious? Nobody thinks fruitcake is delicious.”

“True, but it’s arguably better to be called a shitty holiday dessert than, say, something like cocksucker,” you shrugged, moving yourself around him to push behind the curtain. 

He was supposed to be angry with you - and he was. He fucking was but…it was easy, almost too fucking easy, to forget the last few months that led up to what dissolved your relationship. It was easy to forget you’d both broken each other in different ways. Robby should’ve hated you, but he couldn’t, and, because of that, he was grateful you couldn’t hear the chuckle he tried to shake away before he followed in after you.

____________

As always thank you so much for your support and for reading! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! Much Love,

[dre6ming]

Residuals Pt 3

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: Screaming at the top of my lungs because you have all been so incredibly lovely and sweet. I appreciate every single one of your comments, reblogs, and your excitement over this spur-of-the-moment series idea. Honestly, I can gush forever. Thank you! This chapter is centered around a little extra backstory on their relationship (briefly). I noticed it's around ep. 4 when everything starts popping off in the show (and I have scenes already pre-written cause I’m excited!) so I hope the story stays entertaining and true to showing slow insights into characters, their flaws, and being human. As always, I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. Much Love. Jenn

Thank you to the bestie @viridian-dagger for humoring me and checking all of my work. Thank you for helping keep me sane.

Words: 7208

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You remembered with agonizing clarity the last day you’d seen Robby. You could recall down to the very marrow of the hour how you’d watched him grab his backpack and head out the door. 

If you weren't careful, your subconscious loved to dredge that particular memory up in frequent rotation. 

If you weren’t careful, always on mental high alert, the memories came violently to the forefront demanding that you remember what it felt like to walk the halls of your home in nothing but his shirts. It had you up late in the middle of the night writing a list of all the achingly obvious differences between the empty bed you now slept in and the one you’d shared with him. How his large frame curled against your back or how his nose pressed into the crook of your neck before he woke you, trailing kisses down your collarbone. 

Sometimes, Robby held you so tight you’d jokingly ask if he was trying to morph together like The Thing. 

You’d gotten used to the quiet in your home. The lack of security knowing another person was there. You’d learned to portion down your meals, so you didn’t make some on accident for two, or three when Jake was home for the week. You did laundry less and didn’t have to fold as much. There was no one to help you build furniture or tear it down. The trash was handled by you and only you. Dishes sat questionably for longer in the sink than they should’ve. There were no hands on your hips to keep you steady as you demanded to be an independent woman and use the step ladder to change broken fixtures and lightbulbs. No car rides with blues gently playing through the speakers with his hand on your thigh. 

No. You were reminded every minute of every day since you’d left of what you lost. What you chose to leave behind.

The day you left you’d waited in the hall. In the past, before the pandemic, before the world went to shit and stopped making sense, Robby waited for you to send him off. You’d bring him his backpack full of protein bars, a homemade sub sandwich (if he ever got to it), and instant coffee packets when he didn’t. The moment you were close enough for him to grab - to touch - Robby would reach for you. 

Before Robby, you didn’t know what it felt like to be worshipped; to be craved and wanted so badly that they couldn’t wait for the moment they could touch you. The safety of trusting someone because they loved you without pretense allows you to be comfortable enough to be good, bad, weird, and everything in between. 

“You’re my favorite person.” He’d told you this randomly, while you’d both been curled up on the couch. Your cheek pressed against his chest. You heard the slight change in rhythm before he spoke. It was an answer to a question you’d asked weeks ago. One he refused to answer because “What are we in junior high?” 

You didn’t believe in fairytales or the idea of perfect relationships. You believed in what someone’s actions said about them when they tried to cover them up with words. You didn’t know what it was like to have someone choose you, all of you, until Robby. 

Whenever he had the chance, Robby was always touching you - light traces of fingers that drew aimless doodles in your skin while he read. His hand glided across your back as he passed you in the kitchen or the hallways at work. Once Robby learned how much you loved having his hands on you, he found ways to use them all the time - in ways that made you feel secure and others that were far from innocent. 

But out of everything, Robby always made sure you were taken care of and, most of all, loved. 

Usually, when Robby departed from the house, he used his large frame to crowd into your space. Possessive hands snaked around your waist to pull you flush against him. Every time, like clockwork, you eagerly respond to his touch. Your neck already falling back just enough for his mouth to slate over yours.

Those memories of better days, days where you didn’t have to question if he still loved you, are what made the last day so hard. You stood there, silently hoping that he would turn around. That Robby would just stop putting in his air pods, looking everywhere but at you, and finally acknowledge you. You didn’t want your last fight to be what you remembered - the words you’d hurled at one another with tired vehemence the final thing you heard. 

You just wanted him to love you like he used to. But the problem was, you weren’t sure if you could love him how you used to anymore either. 

“I think you should take Kiara up on her offer, Michael. You need to speak with someone even if it isn’t her.”

“Jesus,” he huffed. A hand scrubbed at his face before latching behind his head. His eyes screwed tight as if he could simply blink the conversation away. “Here we fucking go again.”

“Yes, here we go again. We wouldn't have to keep doing this merry-go-round around the issue if you would just admit - “

“Admit what?” His voice rose in challenge, and it took every ounce of you not to return it. “You seem to want me to say I’m broken so you don’t have to be the only one.”

“That’s bullshit,” you scoffed, pushing your dinner plate further down the table. 

You weren’t hungry anymore.

“It’s not bullshit! I’m not the only one in this room who won’t be honest with themselves.”

“That’s real rich coming from you, Michael. If you think that’s true, look me in my eyes and admit you don’t feel some type of way since he passed. And I never once fucking said that you were broken - “

“That’s the point! You don’t have to. I can see it in the way you look at me. The way you talk to me. It’s like no matter what the fuck I say you don’t believe me. You just want me to be depressed like - “

“Like what, Michael.”

The room went glacial cold. Your eyes turned to slits as you waited for him to finish his sentence. A piece of you prayed he didn’t because you didn’t know how much more you could take before you finally broke. 

“Like you,” he sighed, voice defeated as if he hated saying it as much as you hated hearing it. “You haven’t been the same since -”

“Shut up.”

“- it happened and I’m sorry. I - I wish I’d been there - “

“I said shut up! Jesus, just stop talking!” 

The venom in your voice was toxic. It had your arm lashing out and shoving the plate of food off the table. The sound of tableware clattering and glass breaking dimmed the flash of anger enough to be embarrassed at your outburst. You hadn’t meant to do it. Just like you hadn’t meant to do a lot of things since Adamson passed, since the pandemic, and…since you received the news. 

It was written plainly in the silence held between you. The unspoken depression from two different spectrums left you both unable to help the other. Neither of you knew how to bridge the gap your stubbornness bred.

Doctors were historically the worst patients because of that very reason. Pride. You used to believe Robby and you didn’t share an ounce of it between you, but you’d been wrong. You forgot you were both human and flawed.   

“I just want to help you, Michael. Please. Ever since Adamson passed and - and what happened - “

“He doesn’t have anything to do with what happened! What happened fucking happened because it’s nature. It’s - it just wasn’t our time. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up for something you have no control over. How many times have we told our patients this?” Robby looked up from his hands and you wished he hadn’t. His watery eyes were close to spilling; the tsunami of pain was all-consuming and when he whispered your name before he spoke again, you wanted to shatter. “You’re killing yourself from the inside out with this self-hatred.”

How many times have you been told that exact thing? It was an unfortunate natural process. It just ‘happened’. Every word is sterile and scientific which makes you feel less and less like a person. And what about the news that came after? Was that natural too? 

Maybe you were the one who was broken.

“Adamson happened too, and you haven’t been the same since we lost him. You’re on edge more, Mike. You snap at work and home. You’re closed off. You’re so desperate to put it under the rug that we only focus on me? Bring up my faults so we can bury yours.”

A sneer pulled up his lips as he turned away from you. His eyes scan over the shelves and furniture in the room - looking everywhere but at you. 

“You just want to help me? That’s what you keep feeding yourself but in reality, you just want me to be who I was before this. I don’t know if I can be that man again and when I tell you that, you act like a fucking child going around slamming doors.” Shame flushed up your face, turning your cheeks red with embarrassment. You’d done that and worse. You thought you could wait whatever this was out until it got better. But it wasn’t better. It was worse and you were so, so tired. “You want to focus on me but what about you?”

“You aren’t the only one hurting - that lost someone. You left me! You fucking left me to deal with it all on my own. Where the fuck were you when I needed you?”

“I’ve been right here with you!” Robby shouted back. “I’m right here with you, baby, but you don’t fucking see it. You won’t let me in.”

The tears you struggled to contain escaped in one shaky exhale. You carried around so much of your shame and guilt - tried repairing the cracks with quick fixes so Robby wouldn’t see because the last thing you wanted was pity. You didn’t want the confirmation that you were irreparably broken. 

“But you’re not here. Are you? Not really.” 

The earlier flash of rage was extinguished with each word. This job was a marvel and a curse. It took and took without forgiveness. Sometimes you’re fighting to save people who don’t want to be saved; who’ve never known the support and love they needed to believe they were more than their demons. Who wanted to succumb to a brief drop of loneliness in the ocean of a lifetime. Or you saw the ugliness that people did to one another and left you having an existential crisis if someone’s bad choice made their life unworthy of saving. 

Robby dealt with all of these things daily. He shouldered them for every friend in the hospital. For every patient who needed the strength of his resolve and the care he delivered. He gave all that and more during the pandemic and now he’d given so much that there wasn’t much left to tend to himself. 

Robby used to lean on you for just about everything. Sometimes, your talks were gradual - opening up little by little until everything was exposed. Other times, they came in bursts. A rush of words said too fast because if neither of you just ripped the band-aid off and said it, nothing would ever get fixed. Now all of that came to a screeching halt. You didn’t know what he was feeling anymore or thinking. He shut you out in so many ways. You tried to break through and failed. 

You both stood at separate spectrums of grief and neither of you knew how to reach the other anymore.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You hadn’t meant about your relationship. You wish you could’ve said that - informed him that the despair and betrayal of your own body left you in a place of purgatory. The pandemic stripping you bare and raw pressing salt into every wound. How was Robby supposed to love you if you didn’t know how to love yourself?

But it’s not how it sounded leaving your lips. It’s not how he took it as you watched his shoulders deflate. The emptiness that hollowed out his eyes in protection and left them empty as you felt. 

“No one is forcing you to stay.”

You never did get to tell him you saw him - saw that he’d been there waiting for you to open up. He wasn’t who he was, but he’d still tried the best he could in whatever ways he could. In the end, you believed you deserved punishment. 

Maybe that’s what losing Robby was - the universe's way of dishing it out for a wrong you never knew you committed. 

It felt suffocating; your chest caved to create a black hole of grief that felt never-ending. You watched as the pandemic tore him down piece by piece - shredding him to ribbons. So many lives were ravaged by the virus with no way to combat it. You remembered the overwhelming, crushing feeling of seeing dozens of patients lining hallways because there were no more beds. Every doctor, nurse, RTs, and CNAs struggled to care for every patient and be with those in their final moments because the families couldn’t. It was chaos. It was frightening. It felt like it would go on forever. The last thing anyone expected was for Adamson to get sick. For the virus to infiltrate his body and claim his life. 

Robby had run outside, tearing off his hazmat suit. Unable to breathe around the soul-crushing grief that constricted the air from his lungs. He’d crumbled like a house of cards as you held him in your arms, but he wasn’t allowed to grieve. He was a doctor, you were still a fucking doctor, and neither of you were allowed to grieve. You needed to compartmentalize; sew up the fraying edges of your grief and go back inside and be the doctors everyone needed.

It was agony watching what came after. The way he struggled day and night to get any amount of rest while wrestling with his demons. The guilt kept him up at night and woke him screaming covered in a cold sweat. Eventually, he stopped sleeping in bed with you all together. Slowly, you saw him less at home and only at work. You watched while the anxiety ate him alive and transformed him into someone you could barely recognize, and you felt helpless against it. At any moment, the pain in your chest would swallow you whole.

And just when you thought, given a few months, you’d be able to find new joy in your life, it all came crashing down again.

So, you waited in that hallway. You waited for any sign that you should stay. You waited to see if you’d change your mind and begin to be honest with him. You waited for him to at least turnaround and look at you - for the recognition of the life you’d had months before to flash in those beautiful brown eyes. You waited in the hallway even after he’d left - waited for your tears to dry before you went upstairs to pack up your old life and find a new one. 

You’d expected a lot of possibilities when Gloria brought you back down to the Pitt. You considered all the variables and the endless amount of what-ifs. It felt inevitable for you to end up in this very situation; him being the attending, in charge of the Pitt, and overseeing a case. The only thing you hadn’t accounted for was how the heat of his body pressed against your back made you forget how to breathe. Your mouth suddenly dry and your heart pounded violently against the ache in your chest. 

Was Robby even aware of what he was doing? You could practically feel him take a breath he was so fucking close. Fuck, you wanted to scream and you almost did when you felt his gloved hand move across your lower back as he stepped around you. The old desire to touch you every chance he could was a surprise to you both when the reflex made its appearance. It must have been a mistake - a subconscious tick because old habits can die hard. It was the only thing that made sense. You fought the urge to mouth a, ‘What the fuck?’ at him. Did he even realize what he’d done? If he did, he was damn good at hiding it. 

You needed to get your shit together. You brought him in here for your patient.

“Allan,” you began to introduce him and found you had to clear the warble from your voice. “Allan, this is Dr. Robby. He’s the attending doctor here in the emergency department. Robby, this is Allan and his mother, Rebecca.”

“Pleasure to meet you both. Now, Allan, why don’t you tell me what brings you in today?”

Once Robby agrees to your use of wire cutters to remove the key rings, conferring on medications during and after a take-home prescription, you immediately go to work. It took a few extra minutes of explaining to Allan (and his very traumatized mother) that you would be as gentle as possible, but the longer the key rings stayed on to cut off circulation, the higher the chance of necrosis would occur. You also promised him lidocaine to numb the area. Lots and lots of lidocaine. 

You’d just signed off on discharge paperwork and spoke with him one last time about maybe just buying what he wanted to try next time. It was not only the safer option but probably more fun and less mortifying than having his mom bring him here. 

You stepped out of the room and made your way up to Dana’s desk. While you’d been in the room doing minor surgery to metal keys, you’d heard a couple of new traumas that arrived through the ambulance bay. The one that unfortunately had stuck with you was the nineteen-year-old kid who’d been found unresponsive. Nineteen. Two years older than Jake. 

For years you tried to make sense of how it was possible to become so attached to a son that wasn’t even yours. You didn’t give birth to Jake and missed the beginning stages of his life. You met him at his ninth birthday party and thought he would automatically hate you. Instead, he asked you questions about superheroes and if you had a favorite wrestler. 

The relationship between Robby and Jake’s mom had been hard to navigate. Harder when you came into the picture because all mothers are understandably weary of unknown variables and people around their children. You did your best not to step on any toes and bided your time until Jake’s mom trusted you - felt comfortable enough - with your presence to allow Jake to stay over when he asked Robby. 

You went on field trips as a chaperone when Jake asked, helped him build science fair projects, and tried your best to play basketball with Jake and Robby. You were better at three-pointers and playing horse than the original two - on - two. Jake chose to see you as another parent. His mother decided to let you be a part of his life and knowing Robby, loving Robby, brought you all together. You were forever grateful to both of them for it. 

But seeing cases like this one - hearing about them - caused a cold sweat to spread across your body. Jake was a good kid - a smart kid but even smart kids could make mistakes. 

You pulled your phone out of your back pocket and continued moving towards where Dana sat front and center in all the chaos. She was currently on the phone but her eyes tracked you as you made your way towards her. 

Quickly, you unlocked your phone and went to your messages. You tapped on Jake’s name.

Mom v2.0 ~ Hey kiddo just checking in. Everything good?

You were about to lock the phone and put it away when his reply came back at lightning speed. 

JakeTheRipper ~ Hey! Ya everything’s 👍🏽 I’m coming by the hospital later to get tickets from dad. Be cool to see you.  JakeTheRipper ~ if you can! JakeTheRipper ~ if you have the time!

You and Jake never lost contact with one another after you and Robby split. It’d been his golden rule and who were you to break rules, especially golden ones? But you hadn’t seen him since he was fifteen. The last weekend you spent housed up in the house - his teenage self picking up a dark cloud stole the warmth from the home. 

He’d asked to see you a few times since then but you were always busy. Always unsure if you were overstepping. But you were here now and he said he was coming here anyways so -

“What’s got you smiling all goofy?”

Dana’s question sent you crash landing back into the present. You were standing directly in front of her seated position, phone in one hand and wire cutters in the other while a perfectly arched brow did most of her questioning.

“Ugh, it’s nothing,” you replied, tucking the phone back into your pocket. 

God, you were acting suspicious. Be natural. Be cool. 

“You got a boyfriend or something?”

“Oh, god no, no, no.”

You were throwing in way too many no’s. 

You felt like you were under a microscope when Dana’s eyes narrowed in on you like this. A cold sweat was going to happen any minute now. 

“There aren’t that many things that make women smile at their phones like that.”

“Memes make people smile at their phones because they’re witty and funny. A good deal on a pair of shoes, funny videos of animals, or cute babies…anyway,” you mumbled before handing the wire cutters over the top of her computer. “Ron the maintenance guy should be coming by to pick these back up. If I miss him, can you let him know I appreciate him letting me borrow these?”

“Did you tell him what they were gonna be used for?”

“Oh, god no, and please Dana don’t tell him I used it to cut key rings off a patient's penis.”

“You mean he didn’t know why you were asking for them?” She laughed. Dana fucking laughed and it eased the tension from your shoulders tenfold. “I think at least owe the man some kind of lunch, don’t you?”

“Ugh, well, I disinfected them. Twice? Does that count?”

Another bark of laughter came as she shook her head in disbelief. She was still smiling when she reached out and took the cutters from your hand. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be up in triage?” Langdon asked, sliding in on your right. 

“Did you come all the way over here from your spot in hell to ask me that, Langdon? Are we slacking off today or willfully choosing to be lazy?”

Langdon shot you a sarcastic smile before he reached over to grab a tablet and handed it over to the med student who’d been with him before. Her dirty blonde hair was slicked back into a tight ponytail and her glasses gave her an almost childlike demeanor that was only enhanced by the excited way she bounced on her heels. Her hand shot across the counter in way of introduction. 

“Melissa King - everyone calls me Mel.”

She was so eager - sweet - that you almost warned her to be cautious in the Pitt. It tends to eat the good ones alive. 

“Dr. Fullerton,” you replied, taking her hand briefly. “I remember you from earlier. Hopefully, Langdon is taking care of you and isn’t showing you what not to do during a residency?”

“Ha, that’s very funny, Fullerton. How long has it been since you’ve been down here? You’ve probably gone soft with all the babying they do upstairs.”

“Out of the two of us, Langdon who is still in their last year of residency and who is a board-certified doctor?”

“You know what I smell?” 

“I don’t smell anything,” Mel interjected, thin lines of confusion creasing around her eyes.

“No, I don’t mean - it’s metaphorical, Dr. King.” 

“Okay, kids that's enough. Robby sees you two both standing here bickering, you'll both be in trouble.”

“Is that your way of telling us to go back to taking care of the board?” You asked. 

“No, it’s my way of telling you both to get the hell away from my station. Now shoo both of you,” Dana retorted, using a stack of patient demographics to swat at Langdon and you. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” you surrendered, backing away. 

You were mid-turn when an enthusiastic wave from Dr. King was thrown your way. 

“It was nice to meet you. Again,” she excitedly called after you. 

She seemed too pure to have picked the Pitt. Everyone had their reasons for doing residencies here and, hell, you believed med students should be mandated to work at least one full rotation in an emergency department to truly learn. Mel, however, made you just want to protect her from the harsh realities of a place like this. It could be soul-crushing and there is no way to prepare yourself for when it happens.

“Likewise, Mel. If you ever want a break from ER Ken you’re more than welcome to come find me.”

“She’s good where she’s at, Fullerton.”

You didn’t bother giving a retort; you and Langdon could keep up the verbal back and forth the whole shift. You were only a couple feet away when you heard Dr. King state, “She seems nice.”

“Yeah. She’s alright. A little unhinged, but alright.”

Each word had been pulled like teeth from him; admitting you weren’t the absolute worst thing in the world, or at least inside this hospital, you knew made Langdon grumpy. Those few words left a sour taste in his mouth admitting anything nice about you, but it was enough for you because it meant one thing for you. There was hope that today wouldn’t be a total disaster after all. 

It was a busy morning but mornings were always busy in the Pitt. There shouldn’t have been a reason the hum of panic constantly buzzed behind his ears. It only grew louder the closer he got to the pediatrics wing of rooms. The bright colors blazed out into the hallway; all greens and blues. Animal motifs meant to instill comfort instead summoned what he’d struggled to keep buried. 

Dana already caught him helplessly trapped outside the room. The memory of that day - the last day with Adamson - flashed vividly like every nightmare he’d had of that day since. Robby had been so engrossed in the recollection of monitors blaring and Princess shouting for him to do something, “Robby we’re losing him,” that he wasn’t able to shake the feeling of dread off. 

He knew Dana noticed. The way her eyes craned over his shoulder to take in the peds room was the only confirmation he needed. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. When do I ever make you worry about me?”

“Are you kidding?” Dana chuckled. “All the time.”

They both knew he was lying. Robby never did confirm it when Dana asked, but he didn’t need to. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be fine or even close to simply being okay. Even after four long years, Robby found he still sought Adamson’s advice. Moments in the Pitt he swore he could hear him directing the room; asking questions to challenge Robby because “a doctor never stops learning.”

He missed being able to confide in him. The expectant look on Adamson’s face when Robby asked about situations in his life where he was at a loss of what to do. 

Robby needed to change the subject - and lead Dana down a safer path of questioning that he could handle. If he could keep himself away from that room he should be okay. He could handle you being here and everything else if he didn’t have to step foot in that room. He should’ve known there was no safe space where Dana wasn’t going to bring you up. Robby could see the hard exterior she tried to keep up to defend against your presence was beginning to crack. 

Maybe so was his. 

“The two of you looked cozy earlier.”

“Dana, you know I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her voice oozed a playfulness that edged towards teasing. 

“But there is no universe where you and I talk about this.”

“I was just making an astute observation.”

“I would appreciate it if you maybe observe somewhere else. We have eleven more hours of this shift to go and I’d rather not have to spend it talking about her.”

“Yeah, because you’re allergic to talking in general.”

“Well, that’s just not true. I’m allergic to people I don’t want to have a conversation with,” he pointed out.

She tried to shake the smile off her lips. Her palm lightly smacked at his shoulder which caused his smile to rise in response. 

“You’re such a smart ass.”

“I try my very best,” he mumbled as he leaned down towards the computer. 

He’d just grabbed his badge to swipe past the electronic monitor to unlock the computer, placing his arms to brace on either side of the keyboard when he felt her presence eclipse to his right. Dana was leaning over the counter divider. Her arms hanging over waiting for him to look back up at her. 

“Something else I can help you with, Dana?”

“Just wondering if you’d be more talkative if you knew Fullerton was all smiles earlier. She had her phone out. Seemed to be textin’ someone.”

Robby could feel his eyes narrow in on her position. He shouldn’t care - he shouldn’t fucking care - because you were the one who left. What did he care if you were dating anybody? It’s been two years. The chances of you dating were astronomically high; shit, he’d attempted it a while after you left. Instead of taking care of himself because, “You look like shit,”, as Dana lovingly told him, he’d done what 95% of the population does: he ran from it. 

Heather Collins was an R2 at the time. She was funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful, and he’d fucked it up in record time. All the things you’d thrown at him about being shit at taking his own advice, hiding from his problems, were true. When things took a turn he’d lock up. Collins noticed the cracks and mentioned them enough he countered with argument after argument. The worst part was he was harboring a love for someone else that was gone. You can’t love someone else, give them the love they deserve, when you’re buried ten feet deep for someone else. She deserved better than to be a rebound - better than what Robby could’ve given her because no matter how amazing she was he still thought of you. Heather deserved more than to be a body to bury his sorrows in. He tried dating again a year later but that had also gone up in spectacular flames. Robby couldn’t keep the ghost of you from haunting him.

He tried to act like he didn’t care - that Dana’s words weren’t threatening his last proper brain cell for the day. By the look on Dana’s face, he did a shit job of hiding it. So what if you were with someone? He shouldn’t even care. 

“Did she say who she was talking to?”

Why the fuck did he ask that? Dana didn’t necessarily answer him as much as she chose instead to grin. A silent, ‘Gotcha’ flashing that he absolutely hated. He’d walked right into it. 

“Surprise, surprise. I thought she’d be one of your allergies.” 

A huff of laughter rushed past his lips that he tried to cover up with a cough. 

“You’ve got a mean streak in you.”

Dana patted his arm before she retracted back inside her bubble. The phone went off in record time to pull her safely away from having to hear him complain. She gave him one last thumbs up before her back faced him, completely ending the conversation and forcing him back to the open file on the screen. 

He enjoyed the quiet for all of a millisecond before he heard - 

“Hey, fruitcake.”

God, take him now. Robby chose to ignore her. Ignore her like every other time - 

“Hey, I’m talking to you, fruitcake.”

“Myrna,” he bit out. “I told you a hundred times my name is Dr. Robby.”

He expected her to argue about nicknames and their usage. It’s usually what happens when he advises her that maybe she’d get better treatment if she’d use real names. That isn’t what he got. 

“Do you wanna see my vagina?”

Robby’s eyebrows ran towards his hairline as he replied, “I've already seen it. And once was enough, thank you.” 

“And what about mine?”

Robby knew that voice. He’d know it in any lifetime, through space and time; Robby would know your fucking voice anywhere. He turned to his left and there you were with your elbows and back resting against the counter. You’d leaned close enough so that your words were for him and him alone. 

Robby wanted to humor himself that it had to be his imagination. The flash of something dark, ravenous, and achingly familiar he saw in your eyes must have been his subconscious going haywire. It wasn’t until he watched recognition dawn of what you said, the way you’d fucking said it, crest over your face that Robby knew he hadn’t made it up. 

The heat of embarrassment had you straightening up beside him. He could see it in the light tinging of your cheeks, the anxious beat your fingers rapped on the counter. You weren’t looking at him now but he wished you would. 

And then the memory of Dana saying you’d been caught smiling at your phone reared its evil head. 

Mine. 

He couldn’t keep the word from forming in his head. You’d been his for so long and those words of yours meant to tease and force him to give you a response. Robby wanted to tell you that no, once wasn’t enough. It was never enough. 

Mine. 

The last few months of your relationship had ended in flames but the rest. What about the rest of the many years you’d spent together? They’d been spectacular. The best memories he had you were a part of. The attempts at gardening and doctoring up sick animals. The way you’d dance to his records as you danced through every room while you dusted. The sounds of yours and Jake’s laughter mixing from the kitchen table going over homework. 

He could remember the way your hands fisted the sheets as his hands hooked under your thighs to bring you closer to his greedy mouth. Your slick drenching his face, his beard, stubble - whatever phase he was in with or without facial hair. Robby loved it when you began to let go; body melting in his hands as your fingers wound themselves tightly in his hair to pull him closer, deeper. Robby could get drunk off your taste, the soft keening breaths that came ragged and shaking from your chest. How your body trembled as he worked each finger inside you until your back arched beautifully off the bed. 

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine….

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t fucking care, but he fucking did. 

“What can I do for you, Dr. Fullerton?”

Robby grabbed the PPE gown from beside the table before he went to his full height. From this advantage, he could faintly make out the dying hint of a flush on your cheeks. 

“I was talking here first, Sugar tits.”

You pivoted to glance around him and waved at Myrna who waved back with her middle finger. 

“Myrna, always a pleasure. I think that’s my third finger wave today,” you muttered the last part to him. 

“Dr. Fullerton.”

“Right, right. I wanted to see if I could borrow one of your med students. Central 3 and 4 have two patients, males twenty-three and twenty- four in age. Both were at the same BBQ and believed dumping liter fluid on a fire was a good idea.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, they look like human marshmallows right now. One has second-degree burns while central 4 has, what I believe, might be second degrading into three.”

“Do you need me to come take a look?”

It felt like a reasonable question. He was attending and usually, all consultations like this went through him for an opinion. He’d just done it with her half an hour ago. It shouldn’t be a big deal - 

“Oh, no, no. Thanks but I think I got this.”

“Oook. If you got it, why do you need a med student?”

“I figure it would be a good teaching moment for one of them on treatments of burns and how to assess the level. I’ve already called surgery for a consultation on central 4. Plus, there’s no available nurse to help me attend to both.”

Robby tried to keep the scoff from coming out. He shook his head and went to move around you, shooting Myrna an irritated glance that hopefully she caught as his nonverbal way of telling her he didn’t want to see her the rest of the day. 

“So, you are saying you need help, you just don’t want my help.”

God, he sounded like a petulant child. By the look on your face, you’d agree with that statement. 

“Robby, I know you’re busy - “

“I’m not busy,” he cut in. 

“Robby, the parents of the OD teen are here.”

Dana came from behind the station, her eyes glancing between the two of you. 

“Okay, park them in Trauma 1. He’s not back from CT yet. I’ll be there in a minute. You can borrow Whitaker,” he directed at you.  

He had to move. There was still the floating face patient in trauma 2. He needed to find out if they’d been able to prep for a safe intubation and if not, they were doing a solid alternative. Langdon was there with both interns. Robby could trust him. He should’ve been more worried about himself because as he passed by you on his way to trauma 2, he felt his body dip towards you. The jealousy rushed up like a lance piercing his heart as he remembered Dana’s words. The idea that you’d moved on, that someone else had taken his place, threatened to remove whatever sensible bit of himself he had left. 

“And don’t pull your phone out on the floor. It’s unprofessional, and I won’t have it in my department. You can step outside like everyone else.”

You didn’t look at him as he spoke. You didn’t even snap at him or give him any hint you’d heard him. Robby knew you’d heard him, but your eyes were solely focused behind him. It was the spot he’d just been standing - the spot Dana now occupied. 

There should’ve been some satisfaction in watching Dana’s face crumble like this. All the earlier anger dissipated back into a playful, if not biting, rhetoric that gave you some hope the day wouldn’t be your version of Dante’s Inferno. 

But Robby’s comment…

Only one person saw you on the phone earlier. One person who’d asked about who you’d been talking to while you’d read Jake’s texts. You’d been so ready to shout at Robby that it was Jake, his son. It might have given you some retribution but why should you have to explain anything to him? He was acting like a jealous significant other, not a damn boss. The way he’d pressed himself against you earlier; touching you as if half-possessed. 

You weren’t helping, were you? The minute the words had leapt from your mouth you’d wished you could take them back. You shouldn’t have said it and yet, you did. You fucking did and now the wanton look he’d given you was forever etched into your brain. 

You were an idiot. 

An even bigger idiot for thinking Dana would’ve left anything between you. 

“You just couldn’t help yourself. Could you?”

“Kid - “

Dana took a step forward ready to explain. You didn’t have it in you to listen. When the phone went off in her hand you found your way out and took it. 

“Do you know where I can find Whitaker?”

“He had a patient around the North-East hallway.”

“Thanks.”

You heard her call your name. Not Fullerton, not kid. Dana said your name and for the first time today, you wished she’d stuck to calling you an asshole. 

You followed Dana’s instructions and moved toward the hallways. You weren’t sure how long you’d be searching for him, but luckily it wasn’t long. On the opposite side of the hall, you watched him wheel a patient out of 17 North and into the halls. Whatever the patient said stopped Whitaker in his tracks - both grateful and surprised all at once. You waited a few minutes longer for him to enjoy a good moment with his patient (because sometimes it didn’t always go like that) before you made your way around to get to him. 

“Whitaker!”

“Uhm, oh yes. Hi, Dr. Fullerton.”

“I have a couple of burn patients in Central 3 and 4; second to third degree. Dr. Robby said you’d be able to assist if that’s alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I would. That’d be awesome. Thank you.”

He was so earnest it was endearing. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go remove some dead tissue.” 

You took the lead in showing Whitaker to the rooms. You were trying to make polite conversation. It only seemed fair to take a small interest in what motivated a young doctor to get into the field of medicine, of saving lives. Basic questions such as those were able to tell you a lot about who someone was and if they held enough compassion to be around people during their most vulnerable times. 

You did try your best to keep your attention trained on the work. It was your turn to be a teacher, and you wanted to do it well. You didn’t have an excuse why you looked toward Trauma 1. No excuse at all why you watched Robby speak to the kids' parents looking defeated before they’d even begun. There was even less of an excuse for when Robby looked away from them, his eyes searching until he found yours, that should’ve made you want to forget these last two years. You hated the old impulse to run to him - to care for him. The last time you’d seen Robby looking desperately close to combusting like this it’d been a few doors down standing outside pediatrics. 

Looking at him now, Robby seemed ready to quit, and it wasn’t even close to 8:30. 

______________

As always, thank you all so much for reading!! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

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Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange

[dre6ming]

Residuals Pt. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: First, I read an article on burns to try and make this as accurate as possible, (article here by the NIH) but it’s still not terribly accurate. So, please, I tried lol. Secondly, I’m still screaming at the amount of love you guys have shown this series. Truly, I appreciate it more than y’all know. Thirdly, enter in a little extra dash of drama by Gloria (who redeemed herself in ep.12 but we ain’t there yet) and ya girl is just having a rough-ass day. Fourthly, yeah…she’s a thick chapter. Hopefully, it's still good because I’ve edited it as much as I can. As always, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for the support and for being here. Much Love, Jenn

Warnings: Mentions of death, language

Words: 10k +

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Whitaker proved to be an adept student. He followed directions well and answered whatever questions you threw his way about proper wound care at home and possible infection risks around the burned areas. When you’d finished with the first patient, you ensured he knew to return to the emergency room immediately if they experienced any new or persistent discomfort, like pain or tenderness in the area, increased warmth, discoloration, or advanced swelling. 

“If the infection is invasive and takes hold of the wound, what is the main course of treatment, Dr. Whitaker?”

“We would contact surgery.”

“Correct. Why?” 

“The need for surgery would be based on the high concentration of the bacteria levels found present in the wound.”

“We’d check for signs of possible sepsis and a full check-up to narrow down if it's gram-negative or positive bacteria, which tells us further about our treatment plan. What is the chief cause of burn wound infections?”

“Staphylococcus Aureus - MRSA.”

“How would we verify the patient had MRSA or any other type of possible bacterial infection?” 

“By taking a sample from the area for testing -“

“You guys aren’t about to cut me up or anything, are you?”  

The sudden input from the patient caused a nervous tick from Whitaker. It halted his hands from finishing the last few loops around with the gauze. The patients' eyes darted nervously from you to Whitaker and back again. You gave your best reassuring smile while making sure the dressing was secured on his chest and shoulder.

“Well, Kyle, the faster we get you out of here, you take the antibiotics I prescribe you, and make sure you keep your burns dressed and away from exposure to possible germs, then no. We won’t be ‘cutting you up’ today.”

“Okay. Cool. Because that sounds really uncool.”

Dilaudid truly did wonders for conversations. You’d have to make sure the discharge papers were clear on his care and warning signs to look out for. Plus, add extra emphasis on trying to make sure not to share any items in the frat house bathroom. 

In truth, it wasn’t him, but his fellow frat boy neighbor in four that had you worried. So far, he showed no obvious signs of infection, but once the adrenaline of the moment wore off he noticeably seemed to slip into shock at having half his face, eyelashes, and eyebrow singed off. Not enough shock, however, to keep from asking if he’d make a handsome Harvey Dent for Halloween. 

The burns to his neck and chest indicate to you he was closer to the fire pit than his buddy Whitaker currently patched up. You’d ordered blood work, x-rays, and a culture swab on two-face and his friend just to rule out any surprises. 

You did your full assessment, asked questions, and directed Whitaker the best you could. You wanted to be the good mentor like Adamson and Singh had been for you. A good mentor like Robby was too. You would never admit it out loud but a small piece of you wanted Robby to see how capable you were. A silent bid to prove he could trust you with his interns and medical students. Between Robby, Abbot, and the previous attendings you knew you could teach. 

It wasn’t a hidden thing that you’d both meet here during your residency. Yes, it was Adamson’s circus, but Robby thrived under Adamson’s direction and the insanity the Pitt offered. He was funny, charismatic, incredibly smart, and showed a level of empathy that bordered on worrisome at times. A tidal wave of grief encapsulated him and carried him under if he wasn’t careful. Robby was exactly the physician any patient should want taking care of them when they arrived in the ED. 

And hell, you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that Robby was handsome. Painstakingly, stupidly, egregiously, fucking handsome. It was fucking criminal. 

Robby taught you so much in the time you’d spent here and you knew he probably still could but that would mean being around him. The two of you standing closer than you’d been in years was proving to be a dangerous thing. He’d fallen back into the habit of stealing touches and you’d fallen back into the habit of shamelessly teasing him with things he’d usually make you pay for later trapped between his body and whatever surface in your house.

It was a dangerous game neither of you realized you were playing, and both of you were losing fast. Instead of having your focus one hundred percent on the patients and being back in the ED for the first time in years, your focus repeatedly returned where it shouldn’t. At first, you could lie to yourself and say you were simply scanning the hallways and nursing stations to make sure you didn’t see him. Of course, that’s what you wanted to believe; to coast through this shift without any additional emotional trauma following you home. 

It was fucking impossible.

You could continue to lie to yourself all you wanted, but the truth was blatantly clear. Your eyes didn’t comb over the hallways and desks in hopes of not finding him. You didn’t quickly peer into rooms in anticipation that he wouldn’t be in one. You wanted to see him just as much as you denied that you didn’t. 

The day you left, you made sure to do it while Robby was working because you knew, that if he’d been home and asked you to stay, you would’ve. And if he didn’t fight for you - never uttered a singular word of pleading to keep you from leaving, you weren’t sure you could survive it. 

So now you found yourself hopelessly looking for him in all the places you swore you’d never go again. You may have chosen to leave, but it never meant you stopped loving him. The fact you were still in love with him made seeing the lost look in his eyes sting harder. You watched as he spoke to the parents of the kid who overdosed with no possible hope of waking up again, and you wanted to go to him. It was the shattering look of grief that made you forget how to move. Robby knew what was coming better than anyone else did. 

How many times was Robby the one in charge of giving the heartbreaking news that loved ones weren’t coming home? Shouldering the burden of listening to the breakdown of their world and being the pillar of strength and comfort while families struggled to rearrange? 

You hadn’t realized the black hole of anxiety was leading you down a rabbit hole until the sound of Whitaker calling out, “Dr. Fullerton,” at your side left you practically jumping out of your skin. 

Shit. How long had you been zoned out? Hopefully, you hadn’t said anything weird. Or incriminating.

“Sorry,” he swiftly followed up. “I was trying to ask where we were off to next, but, uh, you seemed a little…preoccupied.”

“Oh, yeah, no sorry. You can go back to the red zone. I’m just going to help McKay up in triage.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, not at all. You’ll have more of a chance to learn with Langdon and Collins.” What you actually meant was to see more if that was what he was into. “Also, maybe check on your last patient I pulled you away from earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You watched him take your advice and, in real time, get ready to dispute it. “Why am I checking back in with Mr. Milton?”

What should you tell him? In the Pitt, it was easy to be thrown from one patient to the next - forgetting their faces and names as the minutes blurred into hours. Easy to forget they were waiting on test results that needed to be read by you and needed a treatment plan discussed and planned by you. Major issues could present as something small, something easily missable until further testing exposed the truth of the situation. If you went just the smallest amount of time without checking the results, without popping your head in for a visual, well, it wasn’t hard to imagine how sometimes those major issues finally presented themselves and everything got much, much worse. 

“Look, Whitaker. As much as the powers constantly stress about getting people in and out quickly like this is a drive-thru, we have an obligation to each patient to give them the best care we can. It means staying on top of orders and checking in regularly. Trust me, Whitaker, things can change quickly down here.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes perfect sense. Thanks, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You bet. See you around, Whitaker.”

He gave you an awkward wave and didn’t move right away. It wasn’t until you turned away from him that you heard him shuffle on his feet. A part of you was curious if you glanced behind you he’d still be standing there, deciding where to go.   

All that mattered to you was that you currently needed a new patient. It didn’t matter what the chief complaint was. Ideally, for the all-seeing eye of admin, quick and easy ones would look better. At this rate, you were positive your Press Ganey score was dipping. You were seeing patients at the speed of an R3; two patients per hour and they were after fast and loose results. But you wanted something with the capability to keep you occupied for hours. Preferably something that would require so much of your attention it would force you out of your head. 

Yeah, that would be good. It was too damn early still to be spiraling into a midlife crisis just because you had to work with your ex. An ex, you realized, who was wearing the damn navy blue hoodie you’d bought him on his last fishing trip to Canonsburg. 

No. No. Nope. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him or stupid hoodies or the gold chain of his necklace that used to drag over your collarbone. How your fingers curled around the thin chain, using it like a lead, to bring him down on top of you on the couch. Absolutely not - you were at work and he was your ex. He was your ex and you shouldn’t fucking care how you could still tell after all these months he was sleeping like shit. 

You were almost back to Dana’s station, the monitor looming overhead like a beacon to salvation when you noticed Whitaker walking in tandem beside you. You cocked a brow in question that Whitaker rushed to answer. 

“The board is this way, so…”

Right. You knew that. 

“I was trying to talk to you but I think you were in deep thought or something. Again.”

Or something. God. That was twice. Twice your head was everywhere else but where it needed to be, which was at work. You should’ve fought harder when Gloria came to reassign you, but none of this should’ve mattered. 

You were a damn good doctor. You’d trained under the best, learned from the best, and kept progressively learning and didn’t stop. You spent years of your life on this because helping people was your passion. It shouldn’t matter where you were placed if you were down here to help for days, months, or years. 

Yet, in the matter of an hour, your mind waded into memories that were better off left for dead with your eyes searching for someone you shouldn’t. 

You didn’t know how to answer him. “Sorry, I should remember where everything is but find myself stuck daydreaming about the past and looking for signs where I shouldn’t and sexually fantasizing about your attending”, didn’t seem appropriate to tell a med student. So, you ended with a weak, “Sorry about that,” which passed for understanding. It made you feel like an ass, but you didn’t trust yourself to speak. 

You came to a stop just a few feet from Dana’s desk. Her back turned to you as she went through folders preparing patient's charts for transfer upstairs. Her eyes shifted up at the board and over to a newer resident you hadn’t met yet. 

Her gaze was fixed on the monitor; eyes scanning rapidly down the chart as if there was a code that needed cracking. You knew that look. It was a shared one you’d no doubt mirrored only an hour ago. 

“What do you need, Fullerton?”

Your head swiveled back to Dana and found her now facing you, her glasses removed, and waiting for your answer. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Are you kidding?” The question fell out of her in a chuckle. “You’re the only one I know who goes around taping on every damn surface when they’re thinking. You act like my five-year-old grandson, just less noisy. Barely.”

“That’s offensive,” you pointed out. 

“For who? You or my grandson.”

You felt the first crack in your defenses tug at the corners of your mouth. If you weren’t careful, Dana’s whip-smart comments were going to make you fold back into a routine you hadn’t been a part of in a while. It wasn’t just you who was slipping at this point, and you clocked the moment Dana began to realize it too. 

She was supposed to be upset with you - grumpy, mean remarks only. You were supposed to take them and dish them back so you could comfortably stay in your bubbles of denial and anger. The denial of what, exactly, was achingly easy to see. 

You both missed each other. More than either of you were willing to admit. 

Your reply sat cocked and loaded on your tongue when you remembered what transpired half an hour before. As much as you missed one another, you had to be careful with what you shared around her. It was obvious, whatever the ‘It’ may be, Robby would magically seem to find out. 

“Any quick ones up here? It’s only 8:30, and Robby’s already on my case for being too slow. I can usually at least make it to lunch before he starts hounding me.” 

Your attention swiveled back towards the resident. Her gaze fixed on the board before glancing between Dana and you. Hopefully, her question wasn’t meant for you to answer. You weren’t very good at picking off the board either. 

“Cut him a little slack today, ok? It’s the anniversary of Dr. Adamson’s death.”

Of course, Dana would cover for him. Intercept all incoming rapports of Robby being prickly and sometimes downright mean to bury them under the rug of understanding. 

Yes, it was the anniversary of Adamson’s death. It always would be. Grief wasn’t easy. It was messy and unrelenting in the moments it chose for sights, smells, and touch to materialize memories that recalled moments you wouldn’t get the chance to share with them again. A constant reminder of all that we lost. Time didn’t seal up that cavern their loss created; it just became more manageable over time. 

Robby never coped. Never allowed himself to grieve, heal, and thrive in the good memories he did have. The doubts and guilt haunted him every day in every step, every decision, he made. He housed it inside him like a ghoul in a cemetery feasting on the remains of who he was before Adamson’s death - before the pandemic. 

“That’s sad. But it’s still no reason to take it out on me. I’m just saying.”

You liked her. She got it. You wanted to properly introduce yourself. By the look on Dana’s face, you need to do it quickly before she breaks out into a lecture. Luck wasn’t on your side because Whitaker beat you to the punch. 

You didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation but you also didn’t want to go back to having a conversation with Dana, either. It left you the only option of staring back up at the beloved board. You’d just decided on 7 North when Dr. Collins walked by, her hands digging in the glovebox on the wall to retrieve a pair. Her eyes were on Whitaker and yours were on her. 

It wasn’t a secret that Robby and Heather had dated. Well, maybe to those in the Pitt, and not including Perlah or Princess because they suspiciously seemed to be psychic. Or just really loved to gossip. No, you’d learned about them when a friend spotted Robby and Heather out on a date. You’d only assumed it was a date because she repeatedly kept using the word cozy. 

And why should you have cared? It’d been almost a year since you’d left. You chose to leave and that meant making him free to date and find new love or whatever. You didn’t have a right to lay claim to him just because he’d been yours. And Heather? She was gorgeous. She was fucking brilliant, with a beautiful smile, and it suddenly made you feel uncharacteristically subconscious. 

Whether it’d been a date or they just seemed cozy (it was a damn date) you shouldn’t have felt jealous. You were fine. It was perfectly fine and healthy for people to seek out relationships and companionship. It was normal and you were fine. You weren’t any saint either. You’d dated someone briefly and, if you were honest with yourself, you could’ve stayed in that relationship. It was nice and easy. Simple. But you didn’t love him and you weren’t sure if you ever could. 

The problem of loving Robby - still being in love with Robby - was that he stood witness to your most intimate memories of love. There were stories woven into your bones that bore witness to the man he was and how he loved you. They were told in joy and tragedy, laughter and sadness. When Nathan kissed you, the earth kept spinning. He didn’t taste of bourbon or smell of leather and sandalwood. He didn’t spend time in the backyard sanding down tables or staining decks. He didn’t wear glasses that somehow slid minute by minute inch down his nose until he subconsciously tilted his head back to see.

In the end, you left because of one glaring fact: Nathan would never be - could never be - Robby.  

Dr. Collins told Whitaker to come with her for a teaching experience - an unconscious unhoused man was being brought in. Whitaker quickly moved to follow her lead in grabbing a pair of gloves just in time for the paramedics to wheel in the gurney. Said man was very much unconscious and appeared very much unhoused. 

Your time playing the gawking bystander had come to an end and you needed to get to 7 North. You pushed away from the counter when you were stopped by the resident from earlier barreling into your line of sight. 

“Dr. Fullerton? I’m Dr. Samira Mohan - R3. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dr. Mohan stuck out her hand and you accepted it warmly. Besides the obvious annoyance from Robby hounding her existence, it seemed Dr. Mohan was friendly. She held a kind air about her that reminded you of Robby - only now that kindness held an edge of grumpiness because his empathy was playing an overwhelming game. By the sleepless bags under his eyes, you could tell he was losing. 

You wanted to point the probability of this out to her, maybe offer her a consultation for Robby’s apparent hard-ass demeanor, but quickly shoved it off. 

“It’s nice to meet you, as well, Dr. Mohan.”

“Would it be okay if I could confer with you later?” Dr. Mohan’s eyes shifted to where Dana stood only inches away. “In private?”

You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or wanting to run for the hills. Dana’s eyes practically bore into the back of your head, waiting to hear your answer. You knew no matter what you chose to say this was getting back to Robby. 

Fuck it. 

“Of course, Dr. Mohan. I’ll come and find you after my next patient.”

“Thank you. I look forward to speaking with you.” 

She cut a cautious glance over her shoulder and turned on her heel towards the south hallway. It must have been nice to make an easy exit. It was definitely something you were down to try but Dana stood closer to the counter, her glasses down the bridge of her nose, and accused you with a look of being a troublemaker. Your only defense was a shrug. 

“What?”

“What the hell was that about?”

Your brows converged together as you shrugged again. 

“How am I supposed to know, Dana? I haven’t even talked to her yet.” 

“Talked to who about what?”

Fucking kill me. 

What was with today? Were you unknowingly walking around with a ‘Kick Me,’ sign written by life? You’d gone over two years without ever running into Robby and within an hour in a half, you couldn’t seem to avoid him. 

And why was he standing so fucking close again? 

You didn’t need to glance over to your left to know he was close. The heat of his body, the nudge of his elbow against your arm informed you at breakneck speed you were close. Too fucking close, Michael. 

“Mohan seems to want to speak with Fullerton. In private.”

“You couldn’t just wait for me to answer, Dana?”

The words rose up your throat like bile, acidic with its irritation. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t need this shit. You didn’t know what Dr. Mohan wanted but the cryptic way she asked wasn’t doing you any favors. It was at this moment you finally chose to look in Robby’s direction. He was leaning into his elbow that rested on the counter. Even with his body slightly slouched the height difference was substantial causing you to crane to look up at him. 

The problem with this? He was close enough that your temporal lobe was overloaded with thousands of memories of his thumb gliding across your lips. Large hands taking hold of your neck and tilting you back at just the right angle for his lips to claim yours. 

When you were no longer held hostage to the sensory manipulation your brain concocted, you prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t look as lovestruck as you felt. By the dark glint in Robby’s eyes, you were doing a piss poor job at being Switzerland. 

“What? So you can conveniently disappear by the end of the shift without any context or explanation? No, thanks. Been there. Done that. Not a fan of the outcome.”

“This bipolar verbal assault is getting real tiring, Dana,” you huffed. 

“Alright. Alright, enough!” Robby cut in. “I expect this behavior from patients, not my staff. Now, Dr. Fullerton, what did Dr. Mohan want to discuss with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” you sighed, “I have no fucking clue, okay? She just asked if she could speak in private and seeing as how she did ask for it to be private, I don’t see why you need to know.” 

“Ugh,” a dry huff of what might have passed for a laugh - a cough maybe? - exited his lips. His brow was drawn tight while he looked at you. No doubt wondering where you’d gained the audacity. “Because this is my emergency department. I’m in charge of the entire thing and I think I need to be aware of what is going on with my staff.” 

“Well, maybe if you stopped acting like an ass to said staff they wouldn’t be seeking outside counsel.”

A mirthless laugh exploded from between his lips. The sound carried part of the disbelief his eyes showed while he took you in. He was no longer leaning against the counter but had his arms crossed against his chest. You weren’t sure if he was looking at you like he wanted to throttle you or found you unbelievable. Neither option would make you a winner if you guessed right.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “Are you a fucking counselor all of a sudden?”

“And what if I was? I would ask if you’d require my services, but we both know you’re allergic to seeking help.” 

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. You were bringing up personal shit - inviting a possible fucking mess to happen - and yet you couldn’t help yourself. You kept poking the proverbial bear and damn it, you weren’t exactly sure you felt bad about doing it. Were you so desperate for a reaction from him - after all this time? What the hell was it going to prove? 

You watched the storm of emotions roll in. The deep set of his forehead and the dark clouds that zapped all residual warmth from his eyes. You weren’t sure if Robby was even aware he’d taken a step towards you, jaw flexing, and body slowly seeping into whatever free space you had left. 

Whatever words he would’ve said died in the aftermath of hearing shouts a few rooms down. It jarred you both out of your staring contest and sent him into action. One minute he was standing in front of you, the next, he was running to see what the commotion was. 

The second Robby was removed from your space, you took a deep breath in. Why did it feel like you were in a constant state of fight or flight? Your answer came in a set of blue eyes who homed in on you the moment Robby was gone. 

“When’s your next smoke break?” 

“Who says I still smoke?” 

“Dana, be serious. The day you quit smoking is the day hell freezes over. So - when?”

She regarded you for a moment. The scale in her mind no doubt weighed if this was going to be worth her time or possibly ruining her nicotine break. 

“I usually take it around 9:30. Why? You suddenly have the urge to open up?”

“Do you want to talk or not?.”

She could bitch, make jokes, and moan and groan all she wanted. You knew offering up a chance to talk would be all Dana would need to agree. Was it something you honestly wanted to do? Not really. Were you willing to do it so that at least you had one less person hounding you the rest of your shift? 

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Ah, what the hell. I’ll see you on break kid.” 

A sigh of relief eased through you and you prayed Dana hadn’t noticed. You didn’t think she’d agree but, now that she had, you had a tiny ounce of hope this day wasn’t going to be so much of a shit show. 

“What was all that screaming about?”

You knew the question wasn’t directed at you. Robby must have made his return and the soft laughter wasn’t what you expected to hear. 

“We seem to have involuntarily just admitted rats,” he replied. 

“You’re kidding?” Dana scoffed. 

“If only I was. Whitaker was saying it was about three or four of them.” 

“And on that note,” you drummed your hands on the counter, “I am going to 7 North.” 

It wasn’t until you went to take a step forward you noticed the weight on your left foot. A weight that felt like something was sitting directly on it. You looked down just in time to watch a rat - a damn rat - scurry off your foot to run around the edge of the nursing station. 

What you did next wasn’t your proudest moment. You even used to pride yourself on being rational when it came to rodents. The shout that clawed its way from the depths of your stomach proved you wrong at lightning speed. 

You felt your body jump backward and collide with Robby. His hands were on your hips to steady you. You were bouncing back and forth on your heels, eyes scanning the area to make sure no further surprises snuck up on you. Your arms were bunched up at your sides and you were trying to talk yourself down from sweeping the remaining area with your leg. Just for good measure.

It was the feeling of his hands on your waist, the soft sound of his chuckle touching your hair that brought you careening back down to earth. Robby was close. Not like last time when your arms touched - closer than when he followed behind you into Allan's room. Even through your scrubs, you could feel the scorching heat of his palms spreading like wildfire through the fabric that sent your heart racing. 

He should’ve let go by now. The threat of you possibly knocking him over or you both tripping and falling was over. He could let go. He could just let go, but Robby’s hands were holding you firmly in place with neither of you willing to move. You refused to look behind you - afraid of what he might see if you did.

You were afraid of what you might see if you dared to look too. 

Slowly, you took a step forward, disengaging his hands from you. The sensation of loss was instant and you almost stepped back into him. Your body and mind were at war between desire and being rational. Fuck being rational. There was nothing rational about the way your heart brutalized your ribs. The need to ask stupid fucking questions that no longer mattered. The consuming way your body craved for him to wrap his large hand around your throat, whispering words of filth into your ear. 

You had to get away before you made a mistake. 

“Sorry about that. I’m going to just, ugh, go do my rounds now.”

You didn’t turn around while you softly spoke. You may have been delusional at times, but you weren’t crazy. If you looked back and Robby’s eyes gave away any hint of emotion - anything that sparked that dying ember of hope inside you - you would crumble. 

You should’ve fought harder to stay upstairs in family medicine or threatened Gloria with firing you. You were safer there. Now, you were rushing off to remember what patient room you were going to with Robby’s cologne clinging to your skin. 

You were a pain in the ass. But you were his pain in the ass. 

Used to be, his mind reminded him. 

Could still be, came his stupid heart's reply. 

Robby used to love it when you challenged him; called him out on his bullshit. You weren’t afraid to stand in the current of his disapproval or to openly have a debate, especially when you could see he was missing something. You challenged each other to be open-minded to change, because it happened so fast, and to accept that being wrong wasn’t failure but a moment to grow and learn. 

When you both stopped being open with one another, and being honest with yourselves, was when the challenging energy took a turn. Everything felt like a confrontation. Even in moments when the constructive criticism came from colleagues - from you - it felt like an attack he had to defend against. 

Robby saw it in you too. The small hints of walls slowly being built to keep the inquiries at bay. When your responses become short and brief or not at all. 

Now, before nine o’clock, you were in the Pitt not only wreaking havoc on his already fragile mental state but accusing him of…what? When you’d thrown the counselor's comment at him, Robby wanted to rage. How many times was it the main part of your arguments near the end of your relationship that he needed to talk to somebody? Anybody. How many times did he deny it? 

You’d thrown it in from the sidelines and it jarred him so much, Robby felt disoriented. For the briefest moment, Robby forgot that you were no longer together. His mind reflexively thought you were arguing about the same old tired thing. He’d taken a step toward you and wanted to ask, “And what about you?” 

You who wasn’t as honest and open with yourself just like him. There were things left unsaid between the two of you - the things that eventually buried the hatchet too far in to safely remove. 

What about all the times he’d found you in the bathroom sitting against the tub crying in the middle of the night? Your panic attacks and OCD tendencies that started after…

Every time Robby reached out to be there for you, your response was always the same. 

“It’s nothing, Michael.”  “I’m fine.”  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sure, Robby wasn’t open and was guarded in his own right but neither were you. Where he used to read the transcript of your emotions so delicately on your face, you’d closed yourself off to him and he no longer knew how to get in. 

An angry shout from down the South hallway thankfully tore his attention back to reality. His feet were already moving him robotically forward where he could see Olson entering Central 15. 

“Whoa, whoa what is going on?”

Robby directed the question specifically to one of his many team members in the room. Thankfully, Kiara started to explain or, more appropriately attempted to explain but he couldn’t fucking think through all the damn shouting. 

“Ok, ok, okay ENOUGH!” Robby couldn’t believe he was already raising his voice. Yelling at grown-ass adults like they were children. “This is a hospital. This isn’t ‘ The Jerry Springer Show’.” Although it was really, really starting to fucking feel like it with the morning he was having. “Ma’am, nobody’s trying to take your child. So why don’t you stay here with him while your husband talks to our social worker outside and straightens all this out?”

“Well, I don’t want him speaking for me and my son.”

It was clear by the wavering of her voice, that this was a tough spot for the mom to be in. Robby could sympathize but what he couldn’t sympathize with was starting a miniature war zone in one of his rooms. 

“Well, it is either you or him. Your son is not leaving, but you can be escorted out and even arrested if you refuse to cooperate. Nobody wants that. So you tell us. What do you want to do?”

Robby knew the answer before she replied. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this mother didn’t fiercely love her son. Whatever situation the husband did to get them in this position was unfortunate, but the only option they had now was to press forward. 

“I’m staying with my son.”

“Ok, great. You do that. Are we all on the same page here?”

The last question he sent out was rhetorical. A feeler to see if anyone else was confused about what was about to happen and if further clarification was needed. God, Robby sincerely hoped it’d all been made crystal clear what the only two real options were; the only choice being to cooperate. 

“You okay?”

Robby could see Langdon was shaken up. It could be a lot dealing with a combative patient - harder when it was a parent just trying to make the right choices for their child. You were always the best at coming in and soothing cases like this one. Somehow able to give relief and comfort while giving the most gut-wrenching news of a parent's life while calmly explaining the next steps. You were able to keep people from feeling lost in the bad news and prepare them for the onslaught of change. 

Robby waited until Langdon confirmed he and Dr. King were good before he walked out of the room. Regarding parents with kids, Robby almost forgot Teresa asked to speak with him about David. 

Central 12 was just a few steps away from Langdon’s patient. It was close to being comfortable but too close to give Robby time to think. He felt out of his element here because he was running out of options. He wanted to help Teresa, because, while she did this to help her son, she knowingly put her own life at risk to get him the help he needed. 

But isn’t that what parents did?  

At times, they blindly waded into the fire if it meant that their child would be safe. 

All Robby could do was watch and listen while he told her about how he left. While he followed up her questions with his own and did his best to try and ward off the sick feeling burying itself inside his gut. 

“Do you think David would hurt anyone?”

Even allowing the question to come out of his mouth made a rush of nausea swell back behind his tongue. He didn’t want to ask it. Nobody wants to ask any parent if they think their child - a fucking child - could be capable of harming another human being. 

Robby carried his thoughts on the reasons why young men are more prone to violence these days. With idiotic podcast hosts spewing their hatred for women who were goal-oriented and not focused on babying them like their mothers. Boys who were told to bottle up their emotions: “Don’t share your feelings. Don’t get caught crying,” unless you want to be told that you were weak. There was so much bullshit in the world for kids to have to contend with these days that Robby didn’t find it surprising a lot of them were overloaded - overwhelmed by a constant flurry from the world to be someone different than who they are. 

Robby had plenty of talks with Jake about these things. He found it easy to lean into him with the both of them connecting during shared trips and quiet nights at the house. Robby made sure his stepson knew that Robby would always be a safe place for him to land. When the world got too crazy and if he couldn’t tell his mom Janey, Robby would be there. 

Because that’s what parents do - willingly walk through fire if it meant their kid would be okay.

“The nasal swab came back negative for COVID, RSV, and Flu - which is a good thing.” 

“Then what’s wrong? What about her eyes?”

The her in question was a three-year-old named Jasmine who was vocally letting you both know that she was not in a good mood, which was very fair. Nobody liked being sick. The only issue with her actively voicing her bad mood was that any high octave screams were soon followed up by a violent cough. 

The moment you stepped inside the room you’d been worried about RSV, especially because of her age. Lungs sounded clear with slight wheezing indicated in the upper left lobe. Thankfully, all major possible viruses came back negative. The unfortunate thing was that this specific viral infection just meant mom was going to have to ride it out.

“It’s still a viral infection. The conjunctivitis, since it started coming from both eyes this morning, it’s from the infection and sinus blockage. The whites of her eyes aren’t red in any way. The best thing to do is apply a compress every few hours on the eyes to help with drainage, saline drops, or spray on the nose to help clear up the congestion and suction as often as you can. Over-the-counter cough medicine is fine unless you need a prescription?”

“No, no, it’s okay. We have some at home. So, she’s okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine. I just recommend having her sleep elevated to help with drainage and if you have a humidifier, use it. Follow up with her pediatrician in two to three days or come back to the ER if any new or persistent symptoms occur.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

“You’re so welcome. Make sure to wait for a nurse before leaving. I hope you feel better, Jasmine.”

 You gave them both a wave before exiting out of the quiet of the room and back into the noise. The nurse assigned to the room came over and held out a tablet and pen for you to take. Quickly, you scribbled a signature down, because doctors were notoriously known for sketchy penmanship, and began to walk towards a nursing station. 

Technically, you did have a second option you could take before throwing yourself into the next patient room. Dr. Mohan asked to speak with you. She didn’t necessarily give a time or a preference. It was more focused on secrecy, which you found a little odd. This was Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center - it was a rare thing to have a private conversation here. You were curious to find out what it was Mohan wanted, a bigger part of you wasn’t ready for the headache of Robby undoubtedly finding out later. The worst option: is if you were the one who had to tell him to be the advocate for his resident.

The scent of his cologne still held tight to the fabric of your scrubs. Slowly, it was beginning to fade but if you leaned in close enough to your right shoulder you could almost get a hint of -

“Dr. Fullerton.”

You were a millisecond away from calling out, “I wasn’t doing anything!”. Was it too early in the shift to consider a name change?

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Gloria making her way towards you. Each step in your direction sent your fight or flight raging back into gear because fuck no. Between Gloria and Robby, the two of them were about to have you so damn stressed out there was a high chance for premature balding to occur. 

“Oh no. I’ve had enough surprises from you today.”

“I just wanted to have a chat - “

“And definitely enough of those,” you shot back. 

You weren’t exactly sure why you kept moving. If previous experiences told you anything, it was that she would follow you until you stopped on your own or she got you into a corner. At least stopping to face her was a choice compared to being cornered with no way out. 

Resigning to your fate, you took in a big meditative breath through your nose and turned around. 

“What can I help you with, Gloria?”

Your voice was so monotone you sounded like a robot. 

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stop running and actually talk to me like an adult.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria. You brought me down here to assist in decreasing triage wait times and that is what I am doing. Stopping to have a chat with you will reflect poorly on my scores.”

“Cute,” She bit back. The smile on her face was too harsh to be genuine. “Well, it’s funny you mention scores. I’ve been keeping an eye on the numbers and the system is showing barely any signs of process or improvement. Can you explain why that is?”

The simplest answer you could’ve given her came with one name, one word, and one human being. Robby. Robby was your fucking problem; the bane of your existence. 

Gloria shoved you down here not knowing all the variables that could hinder productivity. There were moments of clarity where your brilliance shined through and in a matter of seconds it evaporated again. Realistically, it was your fault. Your inability to control your stupid fucking emotions - you didn’t need to react every time you saw him. 

How could you not react when Robby did exactly the same? 

You weren’t stupid. You’d spent years, months, days, and hours with him. Every minute is accounted for in conversations and touch. It wasn’t insanity (although the jury was still out on that one) that made you believe - to fucking notice - Robby was affected too. 

But no way in hell were you divulging any of your innermost thought demons to Gloria. 

“Look around, Gloria,” you said, arms opening up to motion around the Central rooms. “There are no beds available. You ask for solid care, for good patient satisfaction scores and that requires multiple factors. To be a good doctor you have to listen to the patient's chief complaint that they’ve been waiting almost eight hours to tell you.”

“I am well aware of the current wait times in triage, Dr. Fullerton.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Problem solved then because once we assess them and decide they need monitoring and tests to ascertain the issue, it’s only another three to six-hour wait. Maybe longer if it’s life-threatening. Not to mention if any trauma patients come rolling through the red zone adding another twenty-five to fifty minutes on their time.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with not having any beds. Not every situation in triage necessarily requires a bed to be seen.”

“Gloria, your precious Press Ganey scores are going to stay low if a patient doesn’t get back to a room. You can make beds available by sending people upstairs or how about removing the deceased guy in nineteen who’s been posted here since before I arrived?” 

“Robby is in charge of contacting the coroner's office about picking up the deceased.”

“And yet, the body is still here,” you pondered. “I know Robby, Gloria. He wouldn’t knowingly leave someone’s loved one here if it didn’t mean the coroner is backed up, which means our morgue must house him until then. And why are you complaining to me like I'm attending here? Robby is the attending - “

“I’m well aware of that - “

“You keep saying you’re well aware, Gloria but the fact is it feels like you’re not. It’s easy to come down here making demands but the reality is without the proper staffing and moving boarders out of the emergency department to free up space the numbers will never fucking change. Sending one doctor down here isn’t going to change shit.”

“Are you just about done, Dr. Fullerton?” She did a dramatic pause to allow you time to cut in. “The board and its administration are well aware of the pressures that staff face down here in the emergency department - that all hospitals are currently facing shortages. The fact of the matter is studies show close to seventy-five percent of ER visits are non-life threatening, which means more than half of those patients could be fairly seen in triage without needing a room.”

You could feel your mouth opening; primed for a response that Gloria was not going to let you detonate. Her hand waved to warn you not to cut her off. 

“I don't want to hear any more about boarding or staffing. I want to see the results, Dr. Fullerton. It’s already bad enough that there are rats inside.”

“To be fair, they piggybacked on an unconscious unhoused man, so,” you shrugged. If looks could kill, you’d have dropped dead right then and there. “Not helpful?”

“No. Not helpful,” she confirmed. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The earlier annoyance at seeing Gloria twice in less than two hours of your shift changed course. Dread ice cold and paralyzing coiled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like where this was going. 

“Is there a pass option?”

“This is an offer from myself and the administration. So, no, there isn’t a ‘pass option.’ How would you like to be considered for an attending position?”

“No.” 

The word barreled out of you without thinking. You didn’t need to think about this proposition Gloria, the administration, or whoever was trying to dangle in front of you. It was any doctor's dream to become an attending at a facility - it made you the doctor. 

You didn’t want it like this. 

“You didn’t even hear the terms.”

“I don’t need to hear them to know that you’re trying to be sneaky.”

“Robby is failing to meet standards -“

“Robby is a fucking good physician.” You fumed. “He’s one of the best physicians in trauma medicine you have here outside of Abbot.”

“No one is disputing that, Dr. Fullerton. The board is open to having you both down here during the morning shift, maybe even making a swing shift for you to help between shifts.”

You raked your hands over your face scrubbing hard to try and cut off a mirthless laugh that came out in patches between your fingers. 

“No - you want me to be a Judas. It’ll be a swing shift until you can get whatever data you need to confirm whatever fucked up plan you’re making.”

“Dr. Fullerton -“

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout the word at her. Or maybe you had. Whatever it was, it surprised you both. You should be quieter - don’t draw attention but your heart was thrashing wildly. Your hand swiped through the air to cut her off before she could attempt to continue. You didn’t want to fucking hear it. “Robby is a damn fine physician and to try and - I don’t fucking know, get rid of him because he doesn’t kiss the boards or your ass is fucking stupid. I don’t know half of what Robby or Abbot knows. I’m not them and it would be beyond idiotic to lose him.”

“Your opinion will be taken into consideration and I’ll dismiss your…outburst, for now, because of the current situation. But make no mistake, Dr. Fullerton this will move forward with, or without, you.”

You wondered if any natural disasters were named Gloria. It seemed possible since she came and created an instant upheaval of your day, completely devastating it in a matter of minutes and once she was done simply went about her day like nothing happened.  

She left you to deal with the aftermath. The rushing thoughts with a million questions - thousands of things you should’ve said to defend Robby. There were dozens of ways you could prove her wrong about him - that he fucking cared about his patients and was such a damn good doctor, phenomenal at times, that to equate all that he was and all that he did down to a simple metric of numbers was fucking ridiculous. 

All the sound in the room began to drown out around you. Somewhere in the background of the hum you heard a shout for help. It could be Code Blue. It could be anything. You tried to get your body to react, but the hurricane of anxiety was sweeping in fast and you were running out of air. 

You needed to sit. You had to act normal because the last thing you needed was Princess or Dana or fucking anybody else coming over to speak with you. Your hands used the counter like a rope to pull you along to the nearest computer. You quickly sat down and swiped your credentials to enter the computer, quickly clicking on anything just to appear busy. 

“How are you holding up today?”

The last person you expected to see at that very moment was Heather Collins. What did you expect? This was an emergency room and doctors worked inside of it. She offered up a close-lipped smile that matched the kindness in her eyes. She was genuinely wanting to know how you were doing and for the first time, you hated the question because you couldn’t answer it. 

Not truthfully, anyway. Who was ever truthful in answering that specific question?

So, you painted on a grin that more than likely resembled a grimace and prayed you didn’t look as tired as you felt. 

“It’s been…an adjustment.”

“What’s taking adjusting?”

Good god, this man was fucking everywhere. 

Robby came into view as he moved across the station to get to the opposite computer. The question was thrown out carelessly; he didn’t expect a response. He was pulling out his glasses and sliding them over his nose, his full focus on the screen. Test results thankfully took priority over your response. 

You were quickly forgotten by Collin’s who walked over to where Robby read the test results. She waited until he removed his glasses and stood to his full height. 

“Please don’t tell me you are going to intubate that poor old man?”

“It’s what the family wants.”

“So what? They want to torture him?”

“I explained all that.” 

It was painfully obvious this was a case you knew nothing about. By the sound of it, you were willing to bet five dollars that it was one of the elderly patients from a home who came in a little after 7:30 that morning. It meant it wasn’t your case. You didn’t need to know the information and you could continue counting down backward from ten while you reminded yourself that no, you weren’t Judas and -

“Dr. Fullerton, if a family came in -“

Fucking hell, you needed to stop zoning out. You brought your attention back to the two of them, wondering what you missed.

“You don’t need to ask her,” Robby interjected.

Collins continued like he’d never spoken. 

“And they had durable power over an elderly family member who had a pre-existing DNR. His family wants to intubate. It’s not what he wants. Whose choice do you honor?”

“What are you doing?” 

A singular brow of hers arched in defiance. 

“Asking for a second opinion.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

They continued to bicker about the decision Robby made to not fight for a dying man’s wishes. You would’ve told Collins to let it go because once Robby’s mind was made up, it was like talking to a wall. Maybe she already knew that. 

God, what fucking twilight zone episode were you stuck in? You actively wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your eyes darted to the time on the bottom of the screen and you had to fight to keep your forehead from landing with a thud on the keyboard. It was only 9 o’clock. There were ten more hours of this day and you needed it to be over. 

Robby released a sigh that reflected how exhausted you felt. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion but one of the soul; a weariness that vines grew thorns and were beginning to tear you slowly open. You could feel your legs wanting to shift out of the chair and go to him. The urge was so strong your hands scrunched into fists to keep from moving - to quell the urge because he wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t his. 

“Shit.”

“What?”

Robby’s best magic trick? Deflecting. Whenever he wanted the current conversation to end, and didn't like where it was heading, he diverted it completely into something else. Anything else that kept him from having to continue down a conversation he wanted no part of. You knew that trick all too well. 

“I got to go tell those parents their 18-year-old son is brain-dead.” 

“You want me to go with you?”

It should’ve been you offering to go with him. A comfort to the harbinger of bad news because it was never easy to give it. Never easy to stand in the storm of grief and simply be a bystander while their world ends in a matter of words. 

What did it matter who went with him? Who offered? At the end of the day, a family was forever going to be encapsulated by a loss too many people unfortunately knew. 

Vaguely, you caught the end of their argument. Robby wanted to perform an apnea test and a cerebral perfusion study. Dr. Collins didn’t agree. It offered the family false hope but Robby was right - maybe it did offer a false sense of hope, but with each test completed and results read off it was a graceful way to ease a family into acceptance. It gave them the time to process and grieve and come to the very heavy realization their son wouldn’t be going home with them. 

“They need time to process before they can accept what’s happening.”

“You ever consider taking that advice? Physician, heal thyself.”

Dear floor, please fucking open up wide so you can just swan dive right on in. Thanks a bunch. 

Heather knew. She fucking knew about the wall of grief - of acceptance - Robby himself was unable to accept. The King of dishing out advice left and right but unyielding in taking it. Suddenly, all the cool reserve of not caring about them dating evaporated in a crushing wave of heartbreak you shouldn’t have felt in the first place. 

Did he tell her about you? Did he share with her about…about what happened? Was he able to open up to her in ways he stopped doing with you? Their relationship was gone, but the respect and care were still there. 

The irritation came off him in waves. You should’ve told her Robby’s least favorite thing is being told to take his own advice. Or to heal for that matter. Oh, and to also maybe seek therapy. All three of those would turn his mood sour and aggravate him to peak levels at hyper speed. 

He shoved his hands down into his hoodie. His head swiveling between Collins and probably anywhere else in the ED. 

“Don’t you have patients?” 

There it was. The dismissal. The, in not so many words, “I’m done talking to you about this and everything else,” so he could make a quick exit. The magician's last trick before his temper was lost. 

Don’t look up. Do not look up. Don’t fucking do it. 

You didn’t need to look up. There wasn’t any reason to do so. You weren’t on their radar the last half of their conversation. You were just a bystander to a miniature car crash. The issue with crashes? Everyone who drove by couldn’t stop themselves from looking. 

The itch between your shoulder blades was your first warning sign. The weight of his gaze was bearing down on you. You didn’t have to react to it but it was a reflex to look up for him. To search for him in every crowded room and find yourself wishing he was there when he wasn’t. 

Your eyes found he was still looking at you. An in-house debate flashed across his features. If it was whether or not to come to you, you hope he chose not to. You just need a few moments of space. It was too much. You’d run from him and now he was just here all the time and -

“Why are you looking at puppies? You getting a dog?”

“What?”

For the first time since you’d opened the computer, you realized whoever was on it last left it open to an ad for a puppy. 

“Oh, no. This wasn’t me. Hey, earlier did someone shout a Code Blue?” 

You could also perform your own magical change of subjects. Robby took a moment to answer before giving a curt nod. 

“Whittaker’s patient that’d been placed in the hall. If you heard it, why didn’t you go assist? All hands on deck for a code, you know that.”

God, was he chastising you right now? A flood of irritation rippled over your skin. You wanted to snap at him. You weren’t a med student. But he was frustratingly right - you’d heard it and instead of running you’d kept yourself here. 

And Whitaker. It was his first patient of the day. He’d been so excited that he’d done good. He’d gotten praise from Dr. Robby about his work up and Whitaker wouldn’t shut up about it. It meant something to him. 

“I’ll go see if they need someone to switch.”

You went to get up but Robby was too close. If you got up from the chair you would bump straight into his chest. 

“You okay?”

The sudden care behind the question jarred you. How did he expect you to answer? There was no way you could be honest with him - not at that second. He was supposed to go break the worst news a parent could ever receive and he was worried about you. He should be worried for himself. You could warn him about Gloria but what good would it do if he thought you might possibly be in on it with her? Your sudden reappearance, while inconvenient, hadn’t raised suspicion like an ulterior motive waited in the wings just yet. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Never better.”

His smile held every worn line of fatigue that signaled his lack of sleep. His attempt at strength in a moment he refused to seek outside help. You found the same words Dr. Collins asked moments before crawling their way up your throat before you swallowed them back down. He wouldn’t change his mind and agree just because it was you. 

You wanted to be there because whether he voiced it or not, this kid whose family was seconds away from being told was gone wasn’t that much older than Jake. A single accident of taking non-prescribed Xanax ended his life. Jake was a good kid. You wanted to reach out and take his hand and tell him Jake would never - Jake was different. 

Jake was still a kid. 

Robby didn’t wait for you to reply before he headed towards the room. You kept telling yourself to get up and move. Go find Whitaker and the team performing cpr on his patient and do your part. Between everything that’s happened this morning: being forced down with Robby, seeing Robby, Dr. Mohan requesting to speak with you, Gloria’s ultimatum and now the news this young kid didn’t make it you were officially mentally exhausted. 

You needed to move but by the time your legs finally lifted out of the seat, Robby told them. The mother’s wail of agony resounded through the room and rose in octaves. The soul-wrenching loss of her child, her baby, turned the Pitt into a mausoleum of mourning. Her cries followed you down the hallway until you reached the curtain where Whitaker and others were on their third round of Epi, and you could see the continued despair evident in the room. 

It was barely 9 AM and you already wanted to fucking go home. 

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @travelingmypassion @jupiter-sky @catsgoogander @rosiepoise88 @It-jakeseresin @blackpopcorn @celmentine111002 @dcgoddess

[dre6ming]

Residuals Pt. 5

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: This chapter was so long, and I apologize because it also drove me absolutely crazy, lol and I've edited this into near extinction. I will say that I slightly rearranged two events to make this chapter work going into episode 4, and it's between Dana’s smoke break and Robby’s breakdown. I’m paranoid about this chapter, but I’ve done the best I can. But also, things are not as they appear.  As always, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Thank you for the continuing support of me and my fic, and for being here. It means a lot. Much Love, Jenn. Also, shout out to @viridian-dagger for always being my hype man and talking me off the edge of deleting this chapter all together. ILY.

Warnings: Mentions of death, language, soft mention of infant death, sensitive material

Words: 15.6 +

Previous I Next

9:00 AM to 10:00 AM 

There were a lot of memories that played like the greatest hits of his life on repeat in his head. Sometimes, they weren’t always pleasant to recall, but the ones that were worth remembering, worth the solace they offered his drowning mind, were a lifeboat in a sea of bad.

The first time you said his name was number one on that list. It was simple, but that evening, when you’d said it, it had changed everything between you. It’d been right after shift change, sitting in the designated spot the two of you claimed as yours on the roof. Two cups of shitty cafeteria coffee in hand to try and combat the fatigue because neither of you were quite ready to call it a night. You kept calling him ‘Robby’ or ‘Dr. Robinavitch’, not that he minded either, but for once, he just wanted to know how your lips formed around each syllable of his name. 

“You know, we’re off the clock. You can just call me Michael.”

“Okay. Michael, but only if you don’t call me Fullerton.”

Your name sat sweet as honey on his tongue, and Robby savored the taste. He would say it with wonder and reverence because fuck he got to love you, every part of you, and you loved him back. You’d loved him back. 

The other memories included the first day he met Jake, both hesitant and unsure. Later, the coffees they’d come to share after work just because Jake “missed you, ya know?” His graduation from medical school with his grandmother in attendance. Jake’s first multiple three-pointer game and Robby’s and Jake’s first “man trip” with fishing, campfires, and hot cocoa. The first night you stayed over at his place was sporadic; the downpour of rain kept you trapped inside his two-story apartment. Robby laid beside you, his arm securing you to his chest, and traced the outline of how you snuggled against him. The soft snores that rose with each breath you’d later deny. 

The night he’d asked you to marry him. 

Robby wished he’d made the gesture more romantic - you deserve the whole walkway of trailed petals with dozens of roses and candles and him dressed up (or as dressed up as he got) bending down on one knee. A small speech prepared even though Robby hated them. 

No. He could never write a list accurate enough to explain how he knew you were his, and life just felt more complete with you in it. Robby didn’t know if he believed in God or fates or any of that bullshit but, with you, for brief moments he was willing to believe his life amounted to something good, that he deserved someone like you, if you were in it. 

Instead of romance, Robby asked you while you’d both been in the bathtub. Your back pressed against his chest, legs woven together under bubbles and scented soaps. It’d been a rough day for you and all Robby wanted was to make sure you decompressed. It wasn’t part of the plan for him to join you, but when you’d asked with pleading eyes for him to get in, Robby couldn’t deny you. 

You were - are still - his favorite person. He could never deny you anything. 

By the time he’d come around to ask you, he was sure you were both on the verge of becoming raisins, but he couldn’t bear the thought of moving you. Your back was stuck to his chest with your head resting on his shoulder. His fingers lazily ran up and down your arm because he needed to touch you; Robby was obsessed with feeling his hands on your skin in any form he could get. 

He’d been running his fingers over your shoulder and down your arm. Up and down, up and down. The last trail his fingers made came on your hand. Robby eyed your ring finger and considered what it would be like to have his ring worn there. How it would sound to say your name - your full name - with his last name attached. 

Robby wanted more nights like this. More nights and days and all the years spent with you until either the earth crumbled, or the years took you from old age. It was that moment he’d whispered out, “Marry me,” against your neck. He felt your body grow deathly still. His heart was hammering in his chest because stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course, he should’ve done flowers, dinner, and made it an evening to remember. Not sitting in a fucking bathtub after a long twelve-hour shift. 

He prepared himself for the worst when you turned to look at him. Dilated pupils are okay; that’s a good sign. He tried to calm himself, but waiting for you to answer was torturous. Your eyes roamed the outline of his face, searching for any hint of deception or trickery. You wouldn’t find any because Robby fucking meant it. He wanted you. Every inch of you for the rest of his life. No matter the time or space between. 

Your fingers laced into the hair of his beard and gently pulled. 

“No jokes, Robby.”

“I’m not joking. Marry me.”

“Only you would ask something like this in a bathtub.” You smiled, and Robby was sure he would combust. “Yes. My answer is yes.”

It’d taken hours for Robby and you to dry up all the water that sloshed out of the tub.

A fresher memory had joined the older ones, one that he didn’t want and was sure would become a nightmare stalking the halls of his mind. It was newer, barely minutes old, but enough to join the legion of others. Except this one hurt. This was one he wished his mind hadn’t catalogued for later. 

Robby knew he saw your hand twitch at the computer. The way you balled each hand into a fist to keep from reaching out and to stop yourself from touching him. The way a mist of concern sat just above the two of you, your eyes chasing any hint of a sign from him that the touch would be okay - being here was okay. 

It was at that moment that Robby wished you’d asked your questions; touched him without giving it a second thought. He’d been doing it most of the morning because even after all these years, you were still using the same shampoo and fuck he missed the smell of you on his sheets. 

The day he came home and found you gone. The house bare of any trinkets and clothes and essential items that made a home were silently exhumed and removed any traces you’d even lived there. Everything was just gone. One of the few things you’d left was your engagement ring sitting on top of a letter. 

Robby finally broke that night as his body collapsed against the wall. The fragments of himself he could no longer hold together came apart, and he’d never been able to pick them back up. 

Robby hated seeing you here, invading the space he’d made without you in it. Or maybe hate wasn’t the right word - bitter could be one. It caused him to feel bitter about the two years he missed loving you, sharing a life with you, and hearing you laugh at his bad jokes and the way your hand fit in his. The weight of your thighs around his hips and the soft moans of his name he tore from your pretty lips. 

Mostly, he was bitter towards himself because what option had you both left each other but this? 

So, Robby listened as Nick’s mother's soul exploded in a brilliant burst of pain. He took in the anguish of knowing what it felt like to have lost someone and could never get them back. He listened to her come undone and remembered when not that long ago, he’d sounded the same. His world caving in against the wall of an empty home. 

The first time anyone loses a patient is hard. The hardest part about it was gauging the effect the death would have on the med student, and by what you witnessed pushing open the curtain, Whitaker was not taking it well. But also - 

“Whitaker, you need to switch out with someone.”

CPR was tiring. Two minutes of continuous compressions - good, solid compressions - gave anyone the beginnings of fatigue. The longer someone stayed doing only compressions, the more likely it was that they weren’t getting to the adequate depth required to count. 

You came to stand beside Langdon, who considered you with a nod before turning back to watch Whitaker. Whitaker, who was obviously doing this too long; the collar of his shirt and hair both darkened in sweat. 

“We tried switching with him, Dr. Fullerton,” Donnie advised you. “He refused.”

“I’m fine,” Whitaker cut in with his objection. “I can keep going.”

Someone should say something - do something. It felt cruel to allow him to continue working on this patient for so long. There was a piece of the puzzle you were missing, and it was evident in the way Dr. King wouldn’t meet your gaze or Donnie, who looked tired of pushing round after round of Epi. 

Only one person was working for a miracle in this room. 

It didn’t feel like your place to correct him on his posture, to reprimand him for not switching out, or to call him to get him to finally let go. Luckily, someone who could was standing right next to you. 

Your elbow collided gently against Langdon’s side, jarring him out of whatever far away place his brain deposited him at. 

“I’m sorry, am I missing the reason why you’re assaulting me?”

You sent your eyes in the direction of Whitaker and back to Langdon. Back and forth, back and forth. You were sure he had to follow your lead, but you were rewarded with a shrug and raised brows. You felt your brow rise in frustration while you used your head to point in Whittaker’s direction. 

This time, Langdon followed your lead and glanced between Whitaker and you. Finally, he got it. 

“Right. Call me if there is a resurrection.”

You gave that man way too much credit. 

“What! Where are you going?”

You followed Langdon out from behind the curtain, one arm still holding it shut behind you so no other patients could see. 

“Langdon,” you hissed. “Where are you going? You can’t just leave the med students alone in there with the patient.”

“I’m not. You’re here.”

“Langdon! Langdon!” Did he just wave bye to you? “Get back here!”

He did, in fact, not come back and continued walking over to Perlah. You watched for a few seconds while he started up a whole conversation, one you obviously couldn’t hear, and wondered how unprofessional throwing something at him to get back over here would look. 

Taking a deep breath, you did your best to prepare to go back into the room. Unsurprisingly, nothing changed in the moment you’d chased after Langdon. Whitaker still refused to switch, continuing chest compressions. The faint sound of palm on flesh and his labored breathing filled up the small space. 

“How long has it been?”

Your question was open to whomever wanted to answer. You didn’t expect it to be Whitaker and found Dr. King eager to respond. 

“I’ve counted about eight minutes, and that’s not accounting for the possible thirty from downtime.” 

It felt like everyone was waiting to hear what you would suggest. Did you have a different course of action than what Robby had given? Would you call for them to try something else, anything else, besides what they’d been doing? 

Sadly, you could see it’s what Whitaker hoped for. He’d only glanced at you once since you walked from behind the curtain. A sharp inquisition over whether you would chastise him or help, help him heal what must have felt like a failure or force him to come to terms with the mortality of his patient. 

You came closer to the foot of the bed. Your eyes trained heavily on Whitaker and took note of each labored breath and each inch his palms didn’t dive deep enough to be beneficial. He was beyond exhaustion, but he wouldn’t relent - the regret, the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve had already taken hold and wouldn’t let go.

“Whitaker,” you said his name gently, trying to coax him out of the relentless trance of deliverance. “I think it’s time to stop now.”

For the first time, he looked at you, really looked, and all you found staring back at you was a young man defeated. The failure was evident in the deep creases of his face and the sagging of his shoulders. His eyes pleaded with you before he spoke. 

“Please. Dr. Robby said that we have one more Epi we can do. Please, just one more. This could be it.” 

“Hold compressions.”

There was a moment of hesitation before he stepped back. Dr. King and Donnie stood perfectly still with all eyes glued to the monitor. Every line that indicated life on the monitor ceased, and it proved without a shadow of a doubt that Mr. Milton was gone. 

Whitaker didn’t wait for any instructions on what to do. His cross-cross palms went back to the center of the patient's sternum and began to give the same shallow compressions. You wanted to tell him they weren’t deep enough, his shoulders weren’t vertical with his palms; you wanted to point out the improvements that needed to be made and the fact it was all being done in vain, but why? Whitaker was fighting a losing battle with denial, and eventually, he would have no choice but to admit his patient wasn’t coming back. This particular miracle wasn’t meant to be. 

You were ready to tell him it was time, as gently as you could, when another body entered the room. One of the other med students from this morning you hadn’t met observed the room with a calculated glance - eyes catalogued the scene to memory, and whatever she saw in those brief seconds didn’t seem to impress her. 

She turned to you and plastered on a half smile, eagerly extending out a hand in greeting. 

“We didn’t get a chance to meet earlier. I’m Dr. Trinity Santos.”

You reached out to take her hand and found her grip firm, commanding. You weren’t sure how to direct the conversation past here. This didn’t feel like an appropriate place for twenty questions. 

“Do you need to present a case, Dr. Santos?”

It was the only alternative you could think of for her presence in the room. 

“No. I was wanting to ask Dr. Robby if I could perform a procedure.” 

“What procedure?”

You wondered if he had sonar hearing. Or if saying his name called him like a spirit to a ouija board. 

“Is the third Epi on board?”

“Three minutes ago,” Donnie replied. 

With his arms crossed, Robby came to stand directly beside you. To be fair, there wasn’t much available space to begin with in any of the ED rooms. At times, a full team performing a code would be jammed arm-in-arm, moving around one another like a giant living organism. Except it wasn’t a room full of bodies. There was room - there was fucking room - and it didn’t make sense why Robby stood arm and arm beside you. 

“How long has he been going at it?”

“10 minutes in here, 30 minutes or more of prior downtime.” 

Robby took in Dr. King’s words while looking at Whitaker. You could see the worry building and took comfort in the idea he would call it. He would do the right thing and end this. 

“Don’t suppose you’d let me try a pericardiocentesis?”

“For what?”

“For practice. In case it’s tamponade.”

“None seen on ultrasound.”

“Dr. Santos,” you cut in, “Did you read up on this case?”

You hadn’t meant to cut in, but you didn’t like where this was going. You could sense it as a sixth sense. You’d gone to school with plenty of potential med students like Dr. Santos. They were smart, capable, and always wanted the chance to perform - to learn. In that pursuit for greatness, however, they tended to forget to have some humility. Patients and death went hand in hand, and it was a delicate thing. 

“No, I hadn’t gone over the chart.”

“Then why are you thinking tamponade? Are we assuming a spontaneous collection of fluid occurred?”

“It’s possible. He had a chief complaint of chest pain.”

“Whitaker explained that this was not seen on ultrasound. Chest pain occurs in different types of cases, Dr. Santos. These are patients, not guinea pigs.” 

“This is a teaching hospital.”

“It’s not a cadaver lab.”

It was Robby’s turn to cut in and bring you screeching back to the present. The look he gave you was a testament to you overstepping.  

“What do you call this?”

You had to give it to Santos, she was persistent. She also had a point. Robby’s gaze was still on you, watching you for what you weren’t too sure of. At Santos’s words, you tilted your head in the direction of Whitaker, driving her point forward. She had a point. He needed to end this. 

“Do you need a break?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Dr. King was the only one able to call it like she saw it.  Whitaker didn’t look fine. He looked brow-beaten and exhausted, on the verge of collapse from whatever the voice in his head was shouting. 

You could practically feel the annoyance rolling off Robby as he looked between you and Santos. It traveled through to his words, making each one sound like it’d been dragged through gravel. 

“Hold compressions.”

Everyone knew what would be shown on the monitor. The only person in the room unable to grasp the reality of the moment was Whitaker. The alarm on the monitor sounded, and without waiting, his palms fell back on top of Mr. Milton’s sternum. 

“Still no rhythm.”

Donnie confirmed Whitaker’s worst fears. All the effort he was putting in, everything he was trying to do, was turning up with no results. You wanted to ask if he believed in God. If he was praying to someone in particular or to anyone who was listening. Maybe he wasn’t doing either of those things and simply listening to his thoughts grow steadily louder until all he could hear were demands and pleading. Bargaining with death just not to take this patient. Anyone else but this one.

“Whitaker.” Your tone was soft. The way mothers comforted their children soft. The way only death can make everything loud and quiet all at once. “Whitaker, it’s time.”

He didn’t respond to you. His vision laser focused on the task at hand. 

“Ok, Whitaker. I think that’s enough.”

This time when Robby spoke, it jarred him out of his trance. A panic washed over him that sent his head whirling to take in every nurse and doctor that stood in the room with him. 

“It’s been four minutes since the last Epi. One more minute. Please.”

The answer should’ve been a resounding no. It’d been over ten minutes of life-saving measures on a patient; no one knew the exact amount of time since he’d coded. It could’ve been seconds, minutes, or over half an hour ago. Regardless of the time, no life-saving measures were proving successful. It was cruel to allow him to continue. Robby should say no - would say no. 

He didn’t. You watched as Robby simply nodded his head in resignation and looked down at his watch, giving Whitaker the minute he’d pleaded for. 

“Can I speak with you for a minute?”

The words were out before you could stop them. Robby glanced up from his watch, his eyes scanning over your face. A part of you wondered if he could tell what was coming the way you both used to be able to know the change in each other's moods. The cusp of a storm rolling in your eyes only highlighted the flashes of irritation in the lines of your face.

“Sure. We’ll be right outside.”

It was a hard balance to find when searching for privacy in a hospital. What was the right distance between the room where Whitaker and team were working on Mr. Milton and the nurse's station and other patient rooms? The truth was, unless you were both quiet, there was no way someone wouldn’t possibly overhear. 

“What are you doing?”

Robby’s hands slammed into the pockets of his hoodie. His eyes flickered over you for a sign of where this conversation was headed. 

“You’re going to need to give more specifics.”

“Fine. Whitaker. Why aren’t you calling it? Why allow him to keep going?”

“I’ve given him one more minute.”

“Yes, one more minute on top of the 10 minutes or more that he’s been doing this. We all know the patient is gone.”

A hand moved out from its place in the hoodie’s pocket and attached itself to the back of his neck. Oh, you were really, really irritating him. A tight smile formed his lips into a line.

“No, what I’m giving him is time to come to terms with losing his first patient. You and I both know it never gets easier, and the first one is always the hardest.”

“You’re right, Robby, it won’t ever get easier. Every day, stepping into work, we know it won’t be easy. This isn’t teaching him about loss. It’s teaching him to run from it to delay the inevitable.”

Like you? How long have you been running?

The unspoken question sat like molasses in your throat. You couldn’t swallow past the formulated thought that converged into words. You kept trying to swallow them down, down, but Robby knew they were there. It was the quicksand of your relationship - him knowing what you wanted to spit out and equally knowing he could fling that same question right back. 

“Let’s not forget something here.” Robby moved in, whispering the words and your name in warning. “You are down here for your own reasons with Gloria, but I am still attending.” Not for long. The thought came violent and sharp as it lashed across your mind. “Shouldn’t you be seeing patients?”

Again, you were dismissed. Again, he was letting you know your place when you overstepped. 

“Robby, I’m just trying to help.”

Why did you say that? Why? Because you fucking meant it. He didn’t know about Gloria and the administration's offer, whether you took it or not. It didn’t matter the dozens of years he’d spent in this hospital learning, teaching, growing. And Robby? He’d egg them on until they finally did it and would act like it was their loss, but it would be his. 

No matter how much he bitched, Robby was driven to help people, to save them. His compassion and empathy were a testament to his character and what solidified your love for him. If he was no longer here, lost in the chaos of the moment, you knew it would break him. 

“You want to help? Go back to cleaning the board and some beds while you’re at it. I have to get back in there.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He moved around you to head back into the room, dismissing you completely. A flash of agitation flared white hot behind your eyes. You could chase after him, but what would be the point? You cut one last look back at the room, at Robby, before turning tail back out into the chaos of the pitt. 

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to wait long for a distraction. An officer walked through the ambulance bay, hand wrapped firmly on the arm of a suspect who had an obvious head wound. Blood had run down the man’s forehead, down past his cheek, and was staining the collar of his shirt. As you got closer, you could see it was dry, and no new blood appeared to be flowing from the wound. He was, however, shouting. A lot. 

Your eyes skimmed to the officer and noticed a deep wound, possibly a laceration from some sharp object, across his opposite forearm. 

“Can I get a little help here?”

For a brief second, your feet halted. Did you just hear an accent? An Irish accent? You weren’t the only one who needed a moment. Princess was walking up to meet you when you watched her feet halt for a second. Her eyes turned to you as if to explain what she’d just heard. 

“What’s going on?” 

That’s right. Take initiative. You were a doctor, and you were at work. You weren’t here to ogle men with or without accents. No matter how handsome they were.

“Got a call from his mother for a wellness check. He has schizophrenia and hasn’t been taking his medication.”

Oh, boy, the accent was heavy. Thick. It drenched every word to the point your eyes were homing in on his lips, which were surrounded by a full beard, to watch for consonants. He was about Robby’s height, scruffier, but the same dark eyes you’d grown to love were housed inside an unfamiliar face. Close-cropped hair with shaved sides completed where the familiarities ended, and when you found him staring back at you, you fought the urge to squirm. 

Clearing your throat, you asked, “If it’s a wellness check, why is he bleeding?”

“He didn’t take too kindly to the wellness check.”

“Please, you gotta help me! They want to place a chip behind my ear. They want to listen in - to find me so they can hurt me - please! Please! Help me!”

“Do you know where you are right now?”

“He took me to a fucking lab like a rat! Oh, God, don’t cut me open! No! No! Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Jessie walked over to try and assist the officer and immediately sent the patient into a frenzy. He was scared; all he saw was his mind's worst fears. A sterile white place, patients in gowns with tubes, and the rest of you covered in medical scrubs. You glanced over your shoulder. Eyes scanning over the nursing station for Dana, who came into view. A hand removing her glasses as no doubt the shouting was reaching further back. You did not need Robby coming over to wonder what was going on. 

“Dana,” you called. “Do we have a room open for…”

“Mr. James Schauffer,” the officer called over your shoulder. 

“Central 3 is open for now. Do you need me to get Robby?”

“No. I got this, Dana.” You brought your attention back to the screaming man and took notice of the way his wrists tugged violently at the cuffs. They would only tighten the more he struggled, which ran the risk of him causing more harm that went well past superficial. “Let’s get him into central 3 and Princess, get me 1 milligram of Haldol, please.”

“On it.”

You moved forward towards the room with the officer at your back. The closer Mr. Schauffer came to the room, the more agitated he became. His feet planted into the linoleum just before he let out a shriek that rattled your eardrums.

“Jessie! A little help!”

It was a reflex that sent your body barreling forward to try and calm him. You were trying to gently help the officer unlock Mr. Schauffer’s legs and edge Mr. schauffer towards the door when he bucked back. The back of his head collided hard with the officer’s face. 

“Motherfucker,” he muttered.

The word was somehow more charming with an accent. His hand released for a split second to check for blood on his nose, but the second was enough for the patient to gain more footing. He kicked a leg out against the door frame and pushed back. His shoulder colliding against your chest and knocking the air from your lungs. 

Fuck. It was going to bruise. It may or may not bloom in color but you’d definitely be feeling it later. You would’ve fallen back if it hadn’t been for Jessie and Matteo running up behind you. Matteo gently moved you out of the way so the two of them could assist the officer in getting Mr. Schauffer inside the room. As soon as the officer finished handcuffing him to the bed, Princess arrived with the medicine.

“Observe him after you’ve given him the medication. If he’s still agitated, give another 1 milligram, and once he’s calmed down, come find me. We won’t be able to assess him until he’s relaxed - or asleep.”

“Sure thing.”

You walked over to the counter. Your hands moved to tug at your undershirt, while your other hand softly touched around the area where his elbow had struck. 

“You alright?”

You hadn’t heard Dana walk up, but you weren’t surprised. She was always considered a ninja. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I need one more room to work on the officer that came in.”

“The one with the Irish brogue.”

Did she just wink at you? 

“Ugh, yeah.” Unsure of what she was getting at, the words came out in a stuttered laugh. “That would be the one bleeding. Hey, how do you know he’s Irish?”

“Tommy took me to Ireland for my birthday one year.”

“Wow. Fancy.”

“Yeah, it was pretty nice. He’s kind of cute.”

“Who? Your husband? I’d hope you’d find him cute-”

“No! The Irish cop.”

She had to be kidding. She just had to be, and you were sure with the Cheshire Cat grin that was eating up the sides of her cheeks, Dana most definitely was. 

“Dana - no.”

“He keeps looking at you -“

“How about that room, please?”

“And now he’s walking over here.”

“Dana,” you warned, just as the said officer in question walked over to the nursing station. His wounded forearm was raised as if to remind everyone he was also in need of treatment. 

“D’ya think I could get a bit of assistance?”

“Dr. Fullerton was just about to take you to North 8. Don’t worry, Officer -“

“Donnelly.”

“Officer Donnelly. She’ll get you patched up, good as new.”

You wondered if this was the type of embarrassment daughters felt from overbearing mothers who claimed they meant well. You were hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt, but worried your smile was more tight and less friendly than you’d tried for. 

“8 North is down this way, Officer Donnelly. I’ll take you there now.”

“That’d be great, and please, call me Finan.”

You could feel the beam of joy radiating off Dana like she was the damn sun. There would be no living with her after this. With a wave of your hand to indicate which direction to move, you pushed away from the nursing station. No, you would not look back to see if Dana was watching like the hawk she was because you knew, without a doubt, she was. 

You were about to enter the hallway when Princess stopped you. 

“Mr. Schauffer is responding to the Haldol.”

“Great. Thank you, Princess. If you can, keep an eye on the head wound. I’ll be there shortly, and could you please bring me a sutures, negative, and lidocaine to 8 North? Unless, you’re allergic to any of that?”

Your head whipped to glance at Officer Donnelly and practically wanted to kick yourself. You should’ve been asking about allergies to medications and the small amount of patient history you could and yet…

Officer Donnelly gave you a bright spine-tingling smile and you fought the urge not to blush.

“No, Doc. I’m fit as a whistle.”

“Dr. Fullerton,” Princess cut in. “I’ll grab everything now and head that way.”

“Thanks, Princess.”

Officer Donnelly, or Finan, was waiting for you by the door. Thankfully, if what Dana said had been at all true, he was not looking at you. He would be scanning the hallways full of gurneys with patients and staff walking back and forth between rooms. You were only a few feet from him when Collins walked in tandem beside you. 

“Is this the Irish officer I’ve heard about?”

Damn. News traveled incredibly fast down here. Your money was on Perlah. Or Princess. 

“Wow, word travels fast. That would indeed be him.”

“He’s pretty cute.”

Maybe she’d been talking to Dana. Cautiously, you glanced over at her and were greeted with a soft smile that brightened her eyes. Her expression was teasing while she looked between you and the officer who was now looking dead at you both. 

“So I’ve been told,” you replied carefully. “Did you come to talk to him?”

“No, no. I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

Her words made you stop and turn to face her. It was strange to think Dr. Collins would need anything from you, especially with how brilliant she was. You could imagine the couple years you hadn’t been here, she’d only improved further. 

“A favor?”

Was there an echo in the room, or was it just you? 

“I’m not all too sure if you’ve heard about there being…rats in the workplace.” 

Dr. Collins visibly gave a shiver as if just mentioning them left a rotted taste in her mouth. Her eyes roamed around the both of you to make sure your current location was safe. 

“I’ve heard and, unfortunately, had one on my foot.”

“Oh, hell no.” 

The soft outburst of disgust caused a huff of laughter to push through your nose. A genuine smile lifting the corners of your mouth. 

“I need you to help me make sure Robby stays on top of taking care of them. They’re a health hazard. Imagine what could happen if one of them bit us? This is why I have a strict no vermin in the workplace policy.”

“Sounds like a very reasonable kind of policy to have.”

“You would think that, but Robby is treating this like a joke.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you mumbled to yourself before you replied, “I’ll talk to him about it the next time I run into him, Dr. Collins.”

“Thank you,” she sighed with relief. Her gaze turned to look at Officer Donnelly’s position at the doorway, and her gratitude turned mischievous. “He really is cute.”

The two of you parted ways, and you found yourself stepping inside 8 North. Officer Donnelly sat without being prompted on the gurney and planted his arm down on the rolling tray as soon as you motioned for him to do it. Princess came in with everything you asked and with a few things you’d forgotten. 

You quickly set to work cleaning up the area briefly before numbing the area with lidocaine. The entire time you worked, you could feel his eyes watching you, committing your face to memory like it would later be important. 

God, if you didn’t at least attempt to make polite conversation, did that make you a poor doctor? You could hear your patient satisfaction dipping and Gloria speeding down to discuss it. It wasn’t mandatory to talk to everyone, but it was found to create connections with patients, so it didn’t feel so sterile and clinical. It made them feel like their doctor cared. So, why couldn’t you even ask about the weather with Officer Donnelly? 

One of the reasons you couldn’t talk about the weather was how you’d noticed how tight his uniform was around his biceps. Or the scars that littered his arms as engraved memories of stories. Or, maybe, the fact that Dana was begrudgingly right; he was kind of cute. 

Oh, this was ridiculous. You were a grown woman. 

"So, Officer Donnelly -“

“Finan. Please.”

“Okay. Finan. I wonder if you’re aware you have the staff in an uproar."

"It's the accent, right?"

You took the chance to peek at him after tying off one of the sutures. His gaze was fixed on watching your hands as they worked, but the minute Finan felt your eyes shift up, his rose to greet yours with a wink. 

"Uh-huh," you replied. "So, the real question is: Is it real?"

Finan sent his hand clashing over his chest. His mouth is in a wide O in mock shock. 

“You wound me, love. I’m 100% an Irishman, through and through."

He was getting too comfortable flirting with you. You should say something to deter this kind of behavior. You were at work. You were a professional - a professional who was constantly within 10 feet of their ex and still held a heavy lingering feeling for said ex. 

Flirting with Finan could be fun. He was good-looking and obviously very, very charming, albeit it wasn't just the accent. At the end of the day, the possibility that the relationship could become more - him desiring what you couldn’t give - kept you from straying too far into giving in to the thought. You’d tried this before, and it ended disastrously. It would always be this way as long as your heart belonged to him. 

Although, Finan was pretty to look at. 

"And how does an Irishman end up in Pittsburgh?"

"Ah, you see, that is indeed an interestin’ story; interestin’ stories are better shared over dinner."

You tried to hide your smile by looking back at your work. Focused on pulling the needle carefully through the skin and to the other side.

"Smooth," you quipped.

"I'd like to think so."

He sounded pleased with himself. You weren't brave enough to check on that assumption. You focused on each new pull and tug of the needle. The tight butterfly knots to gently pull the skin together and keep it closed. If you’d had it your way, you’d never look up again. Unfortunately, the universe didn’t listen. 

With one last knot the wound was officially closed. You’d just placed the instruments down when Finan’s voice drew you back to him. 

“So, about that dinner?”

“How’s it going in here?”

Losing a patient was never easy. Losing a patient this early in the morning could have repercussions in fucking up your entire day. 

Robby knew this.

Hell, it’s happened to him more times than he’d like to count. Death, no matter the form, was a part of his day. It was the second most natural thing besides birth, but unlike birth, death was filled with emotions that counteracted celebratory feelings of joy. It was heartbreak and agony with a mountain of never-ending attempts at finding some semblance of normalcy of who he was before and after the grief constricted every part of his being. 

You knew what that was like. The constant struggle to save everyone that came through those hospital doors and send them home whole to families that cherished them. You knew what it was like and the burden of failure if you weren’t able to perform miracles. 

Robby just couldn’t grasp why you didn’t understand what he was trying to give Whitaker. The time for the weight of failure to creep in was within seconds after the realization the patient was gone.  No matter what was tried, it wasn’t enough - it never was. This could be a dark cloud following the kid around all day, making him hesitant to jump back in and take cases he could learn from. Robby just wanted to keep that from happening. 

He should’ve been off to find Mohan. She’d been waiting to present her case when he’d paused in the middle of hearing details about the patient and treatment plan. Instead, here he was trying to find you to what, exactly? 

Robby should be worried about other things. He has an entire department to manage and maintain on top of overseeing patients. His plate was full. He didn’t need this. He really didn’t fucking need this and yet…

Robby was searching for you anyway. 

Dana was at the center of all the chaos, as usual. The closer Robby got to the nursing station he could see a cop talking to her, notepad out and jotting down information. Cops were a normal thing inside the Pitt. Hell, he’d already seen a few since the beginning of his shift. The only unusual thing, this one in particular, seemed to be taking a statement from Dana. What the hell had he missed? 

“Everything alright here?”

“Officer Martinez, this is Dr. Michael Robinavitch. He’s in charge of the emergency department.”

Officer Martinez took a couple of steps forward, his hand outstretched in greeting. Robby met him halfway to quickly shake his hand. 

“Everything’s fine,” Dana continued. “He’s waiting on Dr. Fullerton to assess the patient they brought in before he can take’em to central booking. Princess said it looks like a small laceration on the left temporal region.”

“And this was obtained -“

Robby looked between Dana and Martinez, waiting for one of them to answer. 

“During a wellness check given by the mother,” Martinez offered up. “He became combative and assaulted my partner with a pocket knife.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, Donnelly wasn’t too much of a fan either.”

“I sent them to North 8 for Fullerton to patch him up.”

If Robby hadn’t spent the last twenty years working with her, he might’ve missed it. The slight uptick of her mouth was a hint to the smile she was trying to conceal. He could feel his head tilt; his curiosity peaked, and his eyes asking the question ahead of his lips. 

“Am I missing something here? Does she need help?”

“No, no, she’s got it. Just, ugh, Officer Donnelly seemed to take a real likin’ to her, is all.” 

And there it was. 

Now that Dana had it out in the open, her smile was full blown in all its glory. It was a warning. He should ignore it and stay focused on the cop waiting at his counter. He should offer to go check on your other waiting patient so they could leave and take up one less bed he didn’t have. Unsurprisingly, it isn’t what he did. Not even close. 

Robby forgot to even respond. To ask questions or take a fucking interest in anything else past hearing Dana’s words. His feet were already moving him back towards the hallway - away from Mohan, away from being a responsible fucking attending - all because the idea of some cop flirting with you filled his vision with dark spots. 

What the fuck was it with cops flirting with his exes today?

First, Collins, and now you. He’d tried to ask her about the cop who’d given her his card. Robby simply wanted to know how it went - that friendly ex who was supportive, but Collins shut it down. For good reason. Maybe he’d been overstepping. It was possible. He’d been trying to be friendly, and instead it could’ve come off like infatuation, in a nosy way. Possessive in a bad way. It’s not what he’d wanted. 

But with you…he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t be able to hide the possessive way he’d want to tear you from that room. 

“Where are you going?” 

His skin prickled, and when Robby glanced back at Dana, he knew she could see it. Her grin only grew wider as she continued to watch his retreat. 

“You’re trouble,” Robby’s words were a soft declaration; Dana knew what she was doing. His eyes pointed the accusation in her direction that she accepted with a soft laugh and a shrug. 

“I’m simply informing you where one of your doctors is.”

“Can I get some information on how my partner is doing?” Officer Martinez cut in. 

“Heading that way right now,” Robby shot back.

And he was headed that way. His feet carried past the nursing station, past Dana, in a way he knew he would pay for later. The rational side of his mind was shouting very sane reminders that you weren’t his anymore. He shouldn’t fucking care if some asshole was flirting with you. He was a professional. You weren't his anymore. You weren’t his anymore, you weren’t his anymore- 

“So, about that dinner?”

Robby wished he had never heard those four words. His knuckles collided with too much force on the door - thundering through metal and causing you and, who he could only assume was Officer Donnelly, to look at him like you’d just got caught doing something you shouldn’t. 

“How’s it going in here?”

God, he hoped he sounded calm. Cool. He was fucking cool. His gaze flicked between you and the cop and felt the cool, calm, and fucking collected wall he tried to barricade himself behind begin to crumble. You were looking at Robby, but the cop - the cop was looking at you. Looking at you with a look Robby knew all too well. 

His teeth ground together as his eyes zeroed in on where he sat. You must have read him before Robby knew what was happening. You were up, gloves removed by the wrist, expertly flipping them inside out and into a ball that you threw in the trash next to him. 

“It went good,” you answered beside him. His eyes tick to your mouth and back up. “Finan, I mean, Officer Donnelly’s stitches should heal just fine without minimum scarring.”

Finan? In that short amount of time, you’d been learning his name. 

“That’s good. Dana sent me here to check for his partner. He’s worried about you,” Robby directed over your shoulder to Finan. 

“He’s a good friend,” he replied coolly. He collected himself from the exam chair. “He worries like a mother hen.”

“I bet.”

Robby’s words came out clipped, harsher than he meant. He crossed his arms over his chest to try and stop a hand from itching the back of his head. Anything to keep you from clocking every noticeable tick of annoyance. 

“Take care of yourself out there,” he mumbled to try and soothe his earlier words before turning to you. “Dr. Fullerton, mind if I speak to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure thing. Take care, Officer Donnelly.”

Robby waited for you to pass by him at the door and out into the hall. It gave him enough time to look at the cop - Finan - one last time. An unhappy smile tightening his face into a scowl. Robby didn’t flinch when the other man rose to his full height, eyes rising up to meet the challenge. 

Mine. 

The word lashed through his mind and darkened his eyes in a silent message he knew Officer Donnelly would receive loud and clear. He shouldn’t be possessive. It’s what his common sense was telling him, but his emotions were drowning out all reason when it came to you. 

Robby gave him one last glance before he turned to walk to where you waited for him. His hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie to stop himself from touching you. Fuck, he just wanted to touch you. To know if you were somehow, somehow, still fucking his. 

“You needed to talk to me?”

Yes. He wanted to talk to you about a lot of things. He needed to ask questions, to hear answers and explanations on why you left. To ask what he did that finally made it impossible for you to stay. He wanted to shout at you, hold you, keep you away, and bring you all back again. Robby wanted to just fucking touch you, really touch you, how he used too and kiss the air from your lungs. 

“We’re going to do a debrief with Whitaker and the other med students. I’d like it if you’d attend.”

“You finally called it?”

“Yeah, it was time.”

“It was time after the third push of Epi.”

Robby pressed his hands deeper into his pockets. He focused on the way the fabric stretched out against his hands and not at the flare of agitation. 

“I wanted to give the kid time to process. Is that really so bad-“

He spoke your name the way priests spoke of saints; Robby couldn’t keep the blind devotion from seeping into his tone. It threaded through his vocal cords and coated each syllable with worship and relished the way it affected you. Suddenly, the first question he wanted to ask was if you missed the way he’d groan your name like his favorite sin as he pushed inside you. 

He wondered if the sound of his voice saying your name elicited the same kind of memories. To stroke his ego, Robby liked to think so. 

“No. It’s not. Adamson would’ve done the same if he’d—” you cut yourself short before you could finish. 

The realization of where the conversation was headed tearing your eyes away from him to the safety of the floor. Robby’s spine went rigid at the mention of Adamson. A sore spot for how long? How long would the mention of his name send him reeling, struggling to find safety anywhere that wasn’t his own mind? 

Quickly, you cleared your throat and tried to shove past the conversation. Robby wasn’t sure if you were doing it for yourself or for him. 

“Well, he’d do the same exact thing. You’re looking out for your med students. You’re doing good, Robby.”

He would’ve given anything to hold this moment right here with you. Freeze it in time with you fucking looking at him like this. The way you used too. Robby could be stubborn and delusional at times when he needed to escape, but this? He wasn’t making what he was seeing up. The way you were looking at him now, it gave him hope. 

Or hell maybe he was deluding himself. 

“I’m going to go check on the guy they brought in,” you pointed over your shoulder. “I’ll try my best to not be late.”

“I would appreciate it. Hey,” don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t fucking say it, “So…Finan, huh?”

You’d been mid-turn when Robby called you back. His hand was already grabbing at the base of his neck as if to brace for impact for not controlling his damn mouth. Your response came in a raised brow, a smile you tried to keep hidden by a failing grimace, as you pointed an accusing finger at him. 

“Don’t you dare start.” 

“It’s a harmless question. I thought I overheard him asking about dinner.”

“Robby,” you warned. 

He threw his hands up in mock surrender before he shoved them back into the safety of his pockets. 

“Oh,” you snapped your fingers and spun to fully face him. He braced himself for you to yell at him about boundaries and overstepping and instead was surprised with: “Where are you at with the rat thing?”

Robby’s brow furrowed as he leaned his shoulders in towards you. 

“You've been talking to Gloria?”

“Nope. I can’t just inquire about the current rat issue and where you’re at with that?”

“I’m currently dealing with patients. I haven’t had time to make a collect call for the nearest pest control company.”

“You should probably get on it before said patients write about it online. Then Gloria will really be on your ass.”

God, you had a point. An annoying point. First Collins, then Gloria, and now you. What the fuck was it with everyone riding his ass about the rats?

“You should go back to worrying about your patient and let me worry about the rats.”

“You don’t seem that worried.”

“Are you still talking?”

“Uhm, yeah. That’s usually what happens when you direct words at someone - they talk back.”

Robby shook his head to try and cover the smile that was forming on his face. It shouldn’t have been so easy to slip back into old habits, like nothing ever happened, but it was. It wasn’t just you that needed to get back to the safety of work; Robby did too. Without thinking, he reached out and took hold of your shoulders and gently directed you to turn around to face your way back to Central. 

“Go. I expect you to not be late to the debrief.”

“Yes, sir.”

Your tone was playful; bright and airy. You gave him a wave goodbye, your back turned from him, and he wondered if you were trying to hide a smile too. Robby was so busy watching you walk away, when he shouldn’t have, that he didn’t notice Officer Donnelly come up beside him. 

“D’ya think you could do me a favor, big man?”

Robby bristled at the nickname, causing his earlier irritation to return as he stepped to the side giving him a perfect view of Officer Donnelly. His hands were tucked inside his police vest with his head turned in your direction. 

Mine. 

“What can I do for you, Officer Donnelly.”

Robby knew he didn’t sound friendly and he could fucking care less. Officer Donnelly sized him up before a smirk cracked his lips. Robby watched his fingers dig in his shirt pocket until he produced a folded piece of paper. He extended the paper out between his fingers towards Robby and waited for him to take it. 

“Can you make sure Dr. Fullerton gets this? We never did get to finish our conversation about dinner.” 

He shouldn’t react. He was at work and it wasn’t like Robby never heard a nurse or another attending say something about you, but this…this was different. Back then, Robby knew without a doubt you were his. He was secure in that fact. Now you’d walked away from your life together, from him, and all that certainty was gone. The idea of anyone else having you - loving you the way he had, the way he still wanted too - was too much. 

He plucked the paper from between Officer Donnelly’s fingers and rolled it into a tiny ball. His eyes darted down to his hand to make sure the stupid piece of paper was nearly ground to dust. 

“Sure. But I wouldn’t expect a call.” 

“Oh? And why’s that?” 

“You're not her type,” Robby shrugged, hating himself for how the lie felt in his mouth.

“You keep tellin’ yourself that, big man,” Officer Donnelly smirked.

He patted Robby on the arm and winked at him before he moved past him to head back towards the central rooms. Where his partner waited and where you’d just gone. Robby’s fist tightened around the paper that no doubt held Officer Donnelly’s phone number one last time before he tossed it in the trash where it belonged. 

By the time you’d finished assessing Mr. Schauffer’s head wound and sealing it with medical glue, you were late to the debrief when you’d told Robby you wouldn’t be. Not in a cute fashionably late kind of way, either. It was more the awkward first day of school kind where the class gawks openly at the new kid kind.  

You stepped from behind the curtain and saw everyone had their head down and eyes closed. A moment of reflection and quiet not only meant for the loss of the patient, but also the doctor. It’s what Adamson had taught all of his med students - Robby and you included. 

Adamson was a big believer in healing. A believer that doctors who shared in the grief with their patients were better for it, comforted and consoled families better. It made us all more human and empathetic - to never forget that’s what you’d all gone into medicine for - to save the lives you can, be the guard to ward off death when you could, and the beginning of acceptance when you couldn’t. 

He’d been the one who taught you all about ho’oponopono - the importance of healing others along with yourself. 

“Please. I’m not asking you to do this to try and hurt you. It’s to help you heal. Remember Ho’oponopono - I love you. Thank you. I forgive you. Please forgive me. Please. Please just try. For me.”

Instinctively, your eyes clamped shut against the surge of emotions that swelled beneath your chest. They pushed and burned behind your eyes threatening to break you all over again from flashes of memories of the tiniest fingers you’d ever seen - got to hold - and the shaking of Robby’s chest as he kissed his sadness against your hair. 

The mornings where Robby tried to get you to recite the shema his grandmother shared with him when he’d lived with her. He tried to teach you the meaning and it mattered to you, because it mattered to him. Learning the things that shaped him; molded him into the man he was, was as much a part of your being as breathing. 

But grief, the agony it brings, is a force of nature no one can fathom until they’re in it. The way smells and sounds can sprout unwanted memories to flood to the forefront. Touching and seeing objects creating a visceral response so violent it almost feels like you’ve been gutted. In the beginning stages, you couldn’t see past all of it and wondered how you’d ever be, well, you again. That it was natural to seek answers and okay to realize that sometimes, in life, we didn’t always get them.

Ho’oponopono. 

It taught you the forgiveness you needed for yourself and those around you. Robby was just continuing the tradition here in this room with all of his students in his own way. 

“Okay. That’s it. Let’s go save some lives.” 

And just like that, quiet reflection was over. Robby ushered his arms forward to move everyone out of the room. You were about to turn tail and run in the opposite direction, in case he came barreling towards you asking questions on why you were late, when Kiara stepped in front of you. Her arms open wide for an incoming hug. 

“Dr. Fullerton! Wow, it’s such a pleasure to see you again. Did you transfer back to the emergency department?”

You embraced her quickly and tried to politely take a step back. Robby was making his way towards where the two of you stood. You took the chance to slowly move out of the room knowing Kiara would follow for the answer to her question. She seemed so genuinely happy to see you - truly the only one so far - that it just felt nice to have your presence appreciated instead of despised. 

“No, I’m just here to help for the day,” you offered in response. 

“Well, whether it’s for a day or however long: I am happy to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Kiara,” and it was good to see her. 

Kiara was an instrumental part of what kept the Pitt running and not turning into a madhouse. Well, more than it actually was. You spared a glance back over your shoulder to see if Robby was coming towards you, and found he was talking to Whitaker. 

He was checking in with the kid, like Adamson would’ve, because Robby knew better than most how a death could follow a doctor around the rest of their shift. Make them hesitate to step forward and help the next patient or dwell too much on their failures. 

A warm hand on your arm brought you back from your thoughts. Your head whipping back to Kiara because, fuck, of course you need to worry about your friend in front of you and not your ex who was behind you. What had you missed? Did she ask a question or was talking about something specific or a topic in her own life? 

God, you really need to stop hyper focusing on Robby. It was making you appear dumbstruck in a very unflattering way. 

“How are you doing with everything?”

You knew what she was asking without verbally doing so. Her kind eyes felt like they were performing an archaeological dig on your past that you’d buried inside these very walls. She’d been here through it all. The beginning and the end. The day you should’ve been home instead of here at work. 

A tight smile creased your lips. How should you answer? Realistically, Kiara knew you wouldn’t answer honestly. It was something Robby and you had in common; running from your problems and refusing to speak on them. If you ignored it enough maybe everyone would stop asking. 

“I’m great.” You dragged out the M, turning the word into a chant. 

From the look on Kiara’s face you’d done a terrible job convincing her. No real surprise there.

“You sure? I’m always available to talk.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, Kiara. I have patients I need to see, but it was great seeing you.”

You stepped around her and moved back towards the central nursing station. Where the board would be with its never ending list of patients, which would be safer than opening up about your feelings. Shit, there were a lot of them and some that would never see the light of day. They were your secrets to hold onto because the person that needed to hear them first probably never would. 

You were almost back to the board when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned to see who it was, you found Whitaker, still covered in a light sweat taking a step back from you to give you a shy wave. 

“Yes, Whitaker?”

“I just wanted to ugh, to say thank you. You were right about visually checking in with patients. Maybe if I’d done it sooner…I…I don’t know maybe we'd have been able to get him back.”

God. You didn’t want to admit it but Robby…Robby had been right. The kid was devastated and you weren’t sure if there was anything either you, Robby, or anyone else could say at this exact moment to make him feel otherwise. Whitaker was ready to be scolded; made to feel small for something no doctor would’ve caught until the inevitable happened. 

“Whitaker.”

“Yeah?”

Man, if anyone was in line for the crown of puppy dog eyes, it’d be Whitaker. Hell, maybe he’d be the actual puppy. 

“What did Dr. Robby say to you?”

Your question threw him off. His brow hunched down to shadow over his eyes as he glanced uneasily behind him. 

“He gave me a speech about it being Mr. Milton’s time to leave this mortal coil. What happened today wasn’t my fault because no doctor would’ve caught what was wrong with him in time.”

“Do you think he’s wrong?”

“Who? Dr. Robby?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Do you think he’s wrong?”

Whitaker wrung his hands together before he found a safer place to put them in his pockets. 

“No. I don’t think he’s wrong. I just can’t help but think of what you told me earlier.”

“Whitaker, no matter how many times we peek in on our patients it will never be enough. Say you had gone to him sooner and he was fine and came back later and found him like you did, would it change anything?”

“I might’ve been able to establish a baseline for him or - or caught him just after he coded.”

“Or you might check on him a dozen times and still not have caught it in time,” you sighed. “You have a lot of potential to be a great emergency medicine doctor, Whitaker and part of that is learning that no matter how hard we try we don’t always get to save the day.” You gently patted his shoulder and hoped it didn’t feel as awkward as you felt giving it. “Don’t let this keep you from helping others today. Okay?”

Slowly, Whitaker shook his head. You weren’t too sure if anything you said helped. Usually, Robby was the one people ran too for a pep talk or Abbot. Although, Abbot could be a little…dicey. And by dicey, you mean his responses were a lot of tough love and less coddling - in a good way. You’d been going for a mixture of both and were tempted to ask Whitaker if you’d pulled it off. 

“I’ll see you out there, Whitaker.”

“Hey, Crash!”

Javadi really did hate that stupid nickname Trinity. 

Trinity thought it was funny, but for her, it was a constant reminder of everything she felt like she wouldn’t be. 

Yeah, she was incredibly smart; a kid genius. It’s how she was referred to constantly. Yes, she had the academics to back up the claim but on one hand Javadi could count how many dates she’d ever been on. How many sleepovers she’d been allowed to attend. Hell, she didn’t really have a social life worth mentioning if she was being honest.

She’d been excited to come and be amongst peers and show them what she was capable of and what did she do? Fucking fainted. Now she was the punchline to another joke. Again. 

Not only the joke but now someone Trinity wanted to use to get close to pimp out her mom for a recommendation.

“Do you think Dr. Robby and Dr. Fullerton were a thing?”

“I - I - I’m not sure. Why is that your question?”

“Oh, come on. Seriously? The way he looked this morning when she walked in? They’ve either dated or were fucking on the down low and it went bad.” 

“I don’t think this is appropriate to talk about our attending and a senior doctor—“

Javadi could hear the eye roll in Trinity’s voice before she seen it. 

“Oh, come on, Crash. Live a little.” 

“I’ve lived plenty.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Trinity snickered, walking ahead of her. 

“I’m sorry, does this conversation have a point?”

“I’m just trying to figure out whose good side to get on. You know, whose recommendation is going to carry more weight in the long run.”

Trinity was unbelievable. Javadi wanted to act surprised by this, but found it hard to muster up any actual shock. Even just to pretend. So, she didn’t say anything. She found an opening to break away and took it. Her feet carried her right into Matteo who was holding up a man who had a nail sticking out of chest. 

“What happened?”

You abandoned the board idea after your brief talk with Whitaker and went back out to help McKay in triage. There was a broken finger that needed a stent and a man who came in for a toothache. TGloria would be wildly impressed with your bed clearing skills. 

While you took care of these, you heard of the man with the nail in his chest and the call for a code STEMI. While a part of you was starting to miss the action the Pitt held, you knew it was safer to be out in triage. Triage meant no Robby. Triage meant that you could safely keep your thoughts in check and focus on patients and getting through the day with your sanity in check. 

You knew Robby was dealing with the parents of the fentanyl overdose. An elderly patient and his children who Dr. Collins expressly told you he’d intubated against his own DNR and Robby’s express advice that doing so would hurt him further than help. You would take the toothaches, the weird sex fetish, and whatever else triage had in store for you.

Except…

You hadn’t forgotten you were meeting Dana during her smoke break. It’d been your idea to talk because you were positive if you didn’t, the day was going to be a nightmare. Anything you could do to decrease the likelihood of that happening should’ve felt like a win. 

It fucking didn’t. 

There was too much history between Dana and you for the talk to be a simple discussion of grievances. She was going to ask questions, questions you weren’t ready to answer. After she asked her questions she’d want to discuss them, because that’s what people who weren’t trying to bury shit did. 

You’d rather a lot of it stayed buried. 

Glancing at your watch it was closer to that time than you liked. You tried to think of some meditations to try as you headed in Dana’s direction and realized in rapid clarity it wasn’t going to work. Were your palms starting to sweat? The short answer: yes, yes they were. 

"Dr. Fullerton!"

The voice was feminine, soft. Your best guess was that it belonged to one of Robby's new med students. You were surprised to see Dr. Mohan coming up beside you. You’d been focused on dealing with Dana, you'd completely forgotten that she’d requested to speak with you. You’d told her you would come and find her three patients ago. 

“Dr. Mohan, I apologize. I got wrapped up in dealing with triage and forgot to come find you.”

You prayed that the sincerity you felt carried into your words. Dr. Mohan responded with a small smile of her own.

“No need to apologize, Dr. Fullerton. I understand. Is now a good time to talk?” 

Yes, you wanted to say. It’s the perfect time to talk because the one of the two people I’m scared to death to talk to is waiting for me. 

Lucky for you, your brain hadn’t run away with the controls of your mouth just yet. 

"Is there something I could help you with, Dr. Mohan?"

There was no denying that you weren't curious. She was as experienced as they came - still learning but highly perceptive and thoroughly educated from what you'd seen. So, her need to talk to you could only mean one thing. Your fears were made real as soon as she spoke.

"I was wondering if you could speak to Dr. Robby on my behalf?" That sentence was enough to make you start walking. "He's been hounding me the last few weeks about my patient-per-hour ratio and claims I work too slowly. I'm just trying to make sure my patients feel seen and are heard."

"Dr. Mohan -"

"You have the highest patient satisfaction scores to date for the hospital. That alone proves that taking time with patients isn’t a bad thing -“

“Dr. Mohan,” you interjected again. “Patient satisfaction is an admirable goal to have. To care about your patients and fight for their care; it’s important.”

“Why do I feel a but coming,” she mumbled. 

“But,” you continued, “Robby isn’t wrong. My numbers are high because I’m upstairs in family medicine. It allows for longer patient one-on-one visits. This is the emergency department where time is limited as well as information.”

“And I’m well aware of that.”

“Are you?” You questioned. 

You could see the earlier friendlier demeanor she held turn guarded. A part of you hated it. You didn’t want her to build a wall or be worried about asking you for help later, if it was warranted. You also couldn’t allow her to take where Robby was coming from in a bad light because all hospital administrators worried about metrics. They thrived on it to keep the flow of income for a hospital. 

Doctors worried about patients and fought insurance companies for lifesaving procedures and administrative staff when their focus didn’t align. Unfortunately, hospitals were a business. 

“Dr. Mohan, I don’t mean to come off as a hard ass. I’ll still talk with him about it. Emergency medicine is a rough place to be with, what I believe, higher expectations than most. We can either cut it down here or we can find somewhere else more of our speed.” 

“Like you did.” 

Ouch. But a fair ouch. 

“More or less.” 

You waited for her to gather her thoughts. She hadn’t walked away from you yet, which was a good thing. Maybe you hadn’t burned whatever bridge you had built with her too severely for you to try and cross later. 

She took a deep breathe, reading herself to continue the conversation when you both heard it. The shouting of a man and the yell of Dana right after. 

“Mr. Bradley! Mr. Bradley, you can’t be back here! Security!” 

You weren’t security. You were far from it, but the national average of assaults against medical staff was high and it was Dana. The thought of something happening to her spurred you blindly forward. Your feet weaving you through beds and staff who’d stopped to wait and stare until Olson or another security guard arrived. It was frowned upon for hospital staff to engage, but when you saw his hands flail and almost tag Dana, you didn’t hesitate to move in. 

Without thinking, you moved Dana behind you and put yourself in front of her. Your arms outstretched to ward off any blows but to also try and keep him calm. 

“Hey! This is a hospital! You don’t have any right to enter a patient's room -“

“She fucking killed my son!” Mr. Bradley turned to the girl to rage his grief. “You killed my son! And you’re a fucking liar!” 

You had only seen Nick Bradley’s parents from afar the first time Robby spoke to them. After that he’d moved them to a private room while Robby offered them two final tests to give them time to come to a harsh reality. By the way his words broke around every syllable, he was beginning to realize his son wasn’t going to be coming home with them. Not today. Not ever. 

Ahmad came up from beside you and grabbed a hold of Mr. Bradley with Olson assisting on the other side. Together they began to pull him back towards his son’s room. 

“Dana, get Robby.”

“Already on it kid,” she called as she moved around you, jogging back to her station. 

You followed Ahmad and Olson as they walked with Mr. Bradley until they secured him back in the room. You watched the way his body collided into the chair, hands grasping to every remaining hair follicle as grief tore through his body in a sob. 

You weren’t prepared for him to look up at you. His eyes beseeching to tell him what he wanted to hear before he’d even spoken the words. 

“My son is gone. Isn’t he?”

All you wanted was to collapse into the chair beside him. Tell him how you understood the immense pain of losing a child. Of coming home to a room that became a tomb. The life that was real fading into a mind where memories will slowly begin to fade and smells that were distinctly theirs haunt you in the worst way. 

You wanted to tell him that, over time, the pain of loss begins to ache just a little bit less but it never really does. It doesn’t ache as strongly, but it still aches. You still missed, still loved, and still asked why, why, why on repeat expecting someone to fucking answer. 

Instead, you copped out. You swallowed past compacted words and struggled just to say a few. 

“Dr. Robby will be with you shortly. Please, stay in your son’s room.” 

Enjoy him while he’s here, was the undertone of what you couldn’t say without breaking. You hoped before you turned to leave Mr. Bradley could see in your eyes you understood his grief - a shared pain that never went away. 

Mr. Spencer’s children finally agreed to let their father die with grace. It should’ve been a relief, but Robby was finding it hard to locate any. He’d just sat with a family of an 18-year-old kid and broke apart their faith to tell them to prepare for the worst, was struggling to comprehend how to help a mother with a son who was pissed off at the world, and just shared in the private grief of a sister forced to come to terms with a brothers death.

It was barely going on 10 AM, and Robby couldn’t explain the level of exhaustion his body felt. 

The whole time after he’d placed the intubation tube, Robby asked himself why he hadn’t fought harder against the children’s decision to do it. It was his job to do what was right for the patient and yet, he’d seen two people, much like Mr. And Mrs. Bradley who were struggling with the idea of letting go. 

If someone had given Robby that option with Adamson, with you, he would’ve taken those few extra minutes and treasured them for what they were. Instead, Robby’s loss had been sudden and all at once. There was no band-aid gently ripped off, but a fucking avalanche he never made it through. He just wanted to give them the chance to prepare for goodbye.

But why this room? 

Robby knew he couldn’t say anything about it. He’d noticed the looks everyone had been giving him all day. The way they tiptoed around asking the question (except Dana and Collins, apparently) if it would be too much to work today. 

Robby was fucking here wasn’t he? That’s what counted. He was here to continue the work Adamson left behind and the memory of the way he’d trained him to save lives. That doctors had the possibility to heal more than just the body with those in a deeper kind of pain medicine couldn’t fix. 

It’s why he’d told Mr. Spencer’s children about Ho’oponopono. It’s what Adamson would’ve done and it’s what Robby knew they needed to begin to get over the hill of loss. 

As he recited the words to them, standing there in a room he never wanted to see again, he thought of you. It was the last thing Robby possibly could want to happen. To add in your presence in a room that was sure to send him crumbling like a house of cards. 

“I love you. Thank you. I forgive you. Please forgive me.”

Simple. That’s what he told the son. They were a set of simple words that helped at the beginning stages of loss. It was all meant to be simple. Simple and yet, he’d been unable to get you to do it. 

He’d failed you just like he’d failed Adamson. 

Robby moved away from the bed to allow Mr. Spencer’s children to come closer to him. His eyes scanned the animal mosaic he’d learned to hate and just wanted to run. He still needed to take a piss so…Robby could probably get away with it. 

He’d just notified Princess to come find him with any changes when he finally noticed you leaning against the wall outside the room. Robby wasn’t sure he could handle you here outside this fucking room after he’d just shared Ho’oponopono. It felt like some sort of fucked up cosmic joke. 

On instinct, he shoved his hands inside his pockets before he stepped outside the room. His palms balling into fists in a weak attempt to drive away the havoc of being stuck between you and this fucking room. 

“It is I,” you motioned towards yourself as you pushed off the wall, “your arch nemesis.” 

Fuck, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Robby hated himself just a little bit for it. 

“God, what is it now?”

“Relax, I'm not the harbinger of bad news. Unless, you know, it depends on what your idea of bad news is.”

“Cute.”

Robby felt like he had to be going crazy because did you - did you just wink at him? 

“Thanks. But I came to talk to you about a few things.” 

Robby couldn’t deny his interest had peaked. However, not in the way he would’ve liked. His earlier concern that you were here to cause him more of a headache than he already had was becoming a stark reality. He tried to fight the urge to run a hand over his face and lost. 

“Okay - shoot. What is this about?”

“First: Dr. Mohan came to speak with me about how you’ve been talking to her about her patient to bed ratio.”

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, shaking his head towards the floor. “Of course she did. She saw you and immediately went crying to the newest doctor about how I ride her for not working at the pace I know she can.” 

“You aren’t always the easiest person to talk to, Robby, especially on days like today.”

“No. Don’t you start too,” he warned. 

“I’m not going to repeat what’s already been said, but this is exactly my point. You’re fucking prickly and I’m trying to help you, you grumpy bastard.”

“You just can’t help yourself can you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Injecting yourself where you’re not needed. Dr. Mohan is well-aware of a resident's hour to bed ratio that needs to be met. She came running to you, to be coddled, and you gave in. We don’t coddle down here.”

“I am not coddling her, Robby,” you snapped.

No longer were your hips casually leaning against the wall. You were up and facing him and the earlier mirth at bringing up Mohan turned the air to ice. 

“Then what do you call this?” He gestured between the two of you. His hands shoving violently into his sweater. “Dr. Mohan limits herself with what I know she’s capable of. The emergency department isn’t someplace where we can take our time with patients, you know this -.”

“Yes, and I informed Dr. Mohan of the exact same thing. I didn’t try to contradict what you’ve told her, only that maybe your delivery of the pep talk you’re going for is maybe too harsh. Jesus, Robby, since when did you become Gloria?”

“I’m not Gloria -“

“If not Gloria then you sound an awful lot like her.”

“Maybe because every single day its the same bullshit message about metrics and data and fucking patient satisfaction instead of worrying about the safety of our staff or the lack of staff.”

“Speaking of safety—” you interjected.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what?! What now?”

“First of all, don’t raise your voice with me,” you snapped back. “McKay told me her patient earlier who made herself sick, her son, David, has a list of girls he’s talking about having eliminated? Why haven’t you called the cops?”

“Here we fucking go,” he groaned into his hands. A dry laugh pushing past his lips. 

“Yes, here we go because this is fucking serious, Michael.”

He felt his eyes narrow in on your position at the use of his first name like a damn mother chastising her child. A wife patronizing her husband for not noticing something he fucking should’ve. 

“You don’t think I don’t know that? I also don’t want to ruin some kid's life because he’s had a few bad thoughts like the rest of us all have experienced. And what the fuck are you doing here? You’ve been here less than three hours and you’ve already given me a migraine. Nobody asked for you to be here.”

Too far, his brain warned but it was too late. He couldn’t take the words back. There wasn’t a way for him to bridge the gap he’d torn further between you. 

“Fine, Dr. Robby,” you spat. “But when something happens with that kid and he hurts someone just remember you could’ve gotten him the help he needed. Before those girls, young girls needed protecting and given all of them a chance. Demanding that boy to speak to someone isn’t ruining his life - it’s fucking saving it.” 

Robby fought against the urge to reach out to grab you. To keep you from walking away like this because this isn’t what he wanted but he was tired of hearing everyone run to you to fix things. You weren't attending - he was. Robby would be lying if he couldn’t admit it was getting under his skin that everyone seemed to want to come to you, like you could change his mind. 

Robby was positive that if either of you had the ability to change each other’s minds, it would’ve happened a long time ago and the ashes of your relationship wouldn’t exist. 

It had to be the room. It’s what you tried telling yourself. It was a mixture of that room and hearing Robby speak about that fucking ritual that sent your blood roaring in your veins. Your eyes blinked rapidly to surpress the tears that threatened to consume you as Robby’s soft pleas echoed through your mind. 

“Please, baby. Just try. For me. We can do it together.”

You told yourself it didn’t matter anymore. It’s been two years. Two years of attempting to move forward and telling yourself the life you had before with Robby was dead. You weren’t the same people anymore. How could you be? 

Two years and still he was a stain you couldn’t wash clean.

The talk started okay but just like a majority of them near the end, it turned heated. Both of you forgetting you weren’t at war with one another. You told yourself repeatedly it was the room he’d walked out of. You told yourself it was hearing his voice recite the words Adamson shared with you both in different times in your life. 

You should’ve walked away and tried to have the conversation somewhere else. The should haves were going to eat you alive, as they always did when it came to Robby, but it wouldn’t matter if it was a different day, time, or place. You both had forgotten how to speak to the other with your walls down. 

You’d gone back to triage to try and work through your own emotions this fucking place was stirring up. You didn’t need this. You didn’t fucking need this. You should be upstairs at Dr. Nave’s practice, continuing to pretend that Robby didn’t exist five floors beneath your feet. Pretending you were different people and your old love didn’t have room in the new person you tried to become. 

You truly did fight to not let Robby’s words fesĆter in your veins until they turned corrosive. It didn’t matter how he spoke to you; let it go. But like so many things that dealt with Robby, you just couldn’t. 

With Dana’s break pushed back, you used the excuse of waiting for her to go out to stay around the nursing station. Your eyes roaming the surrounding rooms and halls for Robby to make his entrance. The minute he walked into view, you were going to grab him and tell him how you felt about him dismissing you; talking to you like you were just anyone else. 

Whether either of you liked it, you were both here to work. Personal baggage should never keep the two of you from being professional. No matter the personal feelings, you deserved to have the respect of a colleague and he was going to give it to you. 

It was getting closer to Dana’s break and you thought you’d never see him when you finally spotted him. Robby bolted out of the pediatric room that held Mr. Spencer. He must have received an urgent call was your first thought, until you realized the reason for his swift departure had him speeding towards the private disability bathroom. 

Your common sense told you chasing someone into a private area, a fucking bathroom at that, could get you labeled as crazy and bordering on harassment. But in complete and total honesty, you weren’t thinking clearly. You thought this plan through for all of a solid minute before you rounded the nursing station, your eyes looking out to see if anyone had noticed him speeding inside and you no doubt about to follow behind. 

Fuck. What if he’d locked the door? 

With one last pass around the room, you reached out and grabbed the handle and, to your very deep surprise, found it unlocked. You checked to see if anyone was looking before you opened the door and stepped inside. This time you did make sure it was locked. 

“Look, Robby -“

“Jesus fucking Christ what are you doing in here?”

You used your hand to shield your eyes in case he was using the restroom. Because that’s what they were fucking used for not cornering your ex to yell at them. But Robby was huddled in a corner. His arms high above on the wall with his head tucked close to his chest. You hadn’t noticed before but the sound of erratic breathing was filling up the small space. 

Fuck, he was having a panic attack. 

Instantly, all your earlier desire to tell him how much of an asshole he was evaporated. Your feet were carrying you forward to grab a hold of his sweater, tugging at the pocket in an attempt to get him to turn to look at you. 

“I was coming to give you a piece of my mind but that can wait. Robby. Look at me. Hey. Eyes on me.” You placed your hands on his waist and gently pulled him away from the wall, guiding him to turn to look at you. 

When the panic attacks started, Robby told you the only thing that used to pull him out was reciting the shema. He’d shared it with you a few times and at this moment, you were struggling to remember how it went. The declaration fell clumsy and mumbled from your lips. 

You heard him begin to recite it along with you and you watched as the panic began to slowly subside. When you were sure he was okay you allowed your hands to release their hold on his hoodie. It wasn’t until you went to take a step back from him that you noticed the panic had been replaced with a look you knew all too well. 

You were an idiot for coming in here.

"Robby."

You gave life to his name - praising, cursing, and loving him all in one breath. You wanted that one single use of his name to tell him everything you could never say. I'm sorry. I should never have left, but I was scared of who we were becoming. I miss you. I hate you but I also love you beyond reason. We can't do this, but I can’t imagine being anywhere else but here, collapsing into the ether with you.

That single word was a warning that this was a mistake. You never should have followed him into the bathroom to air out grievances like a sixteen-year-old girl fuming at her first and only love. There were so many smarter options than cornering yourself inside such a small, cramped space with the man you'd left.

You hadn't expected to see him in the trenches of his panic attack. The overwhelming urge to take care of him surging you forward, hands fisting in the hoodie to tug him around.

"Eyes on me."

That's how you directed him - spoke him into following you until you were his center.

It shouldn't be a surprise when the panic fed him a half-truth. You used to be the home he found shelter in when the storms became rough. You'd been so much for one another that it was idiotic to think it could just stop, because you first needed to not care for all feelings to wither and die. The problem was you did care - would always care - for Robby because you never stopped loving him.

You watched him do exactly as you instructed - eyes on me, and saw the realization that you were here, right here, with him dawn behind the hood of his lashes. The two of you were alone for the first time since you'd both laid eyes on one another that morning. It was the one chance for privacy and he wasn't going to waste it.

Robby encroached on the space between you, long legs eating up every available inch until there was none left. You either allowed him to be close or you didn't. Your own panic rose up because, no, no you couldn't do this but while your feet backed away your heart begged you to stay where you were. It didn't matter in the end. Robby's focus was trained on you, and when you tried to create more space he continued to follow until your back collided against the wall.

The next breath you took sent Robby's cologne invading your senses. The front of his chest pressed close enough you felt every inhale and exhale he made while his hands moved to gently cup your face in his palms. You couldn't stop the involuntary reflex of pressing your check into his palm.

Fuck, fuck, fuuuck you missed him. The ache of missing him never went away and never truly lessened. This, whatever the fuck this was, would not end well. You had an obligation to stop this. To be the sane one in this situation, but you couldn’t deny that deep down, you didn’t want it to stop.

Robby's eyes traced over every inch of your face. How many times had he seen you? He'd woken up to you in every state imaginable. He should know every line, old and new, blemish, and everything in between. Yet, he seemed to be etching this new version of you freshly into memory.

His head dipped down, and you had to stop from tilting your head back like you always did. Like you used to. This wasn't like then. You weren't together. You were not together.

Robby used the tip of his nose to gently glide across yours.

"Robby." It came out as a whisper. A plea. This shouldn't happen. This wasn't smart for either of you, but you fucking craved him in a way only Robby could sate. In a way that proved you were still his. "Don't."

He traced his nose one last time over yours before he pulled back enough to look you in the eye. Whatever he saw was confirmation for his hands to tip your head back to that perfect angle. The one he knew gave him just the right depth to kiss the air from your lungs. 

Robby traced his thumb along your lower lip and when a soft whimper escaped through the part he created, Robby’s lips came crashing down on top of yours like a man starved. 

As always, thank you for reading. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

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[dre6ming]

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘰. 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+ 𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 14.5𝘬 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

𝘚𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴: 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦

𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦

[dre6ming]

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘧𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘪𝘯 𝘔𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘤𝘰. 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴, 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘱𝘴. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘢𝘶𝘳𝘢, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘕𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘦𝘴.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.1𝘬

𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Logan was always a mystery to you. His brooding nature and gruff voice reminded you of an old tomcat that used to live in the bushes of the school.

You remember the first time you met him, he had been smoking a cigar in his room unknowingly letting the smoke waft into your room across the hall. You had told him off, telling him he was a bad influence for the kids around him and he had shrugged you off and dismissed your worries for the youth.

"I don't see any kids around here right now."

"They're all over the place, Logan. This is a school."

Most of your relationship had been like that, friendly banter, the occasional fight over something stupid, but at the end of the day friends who could trust one another.

At some point, you had grown tired of your life at the school. Tired of teaching kids Geometry and running missions that grew staler each year. Eventually, you left, packed up your junky Chevy, and bid farewell to the aging Professor with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug.

Logan hadn't said much to you that day. Only that you ought to stay, something about the team still needing you.

"Thought you hated being an X-Man, Logan."

"I'll hate it a lot less if you stick around."

You drove south and found yourself in rural Pennsylvania. Perhaps it wasn't entirely legal, taking up residence in some old cabin that time had forgotten. Not that it mattered much since three years after leaving the school, Logan showed up at your door, pounding on the wood of your front door like the world was ending. All it took was one look at the unconscious professor in the backseat of some car Logan must've stolen for you to start packing your bags.

Now, you were sitting in Mexico, sweating your ass off daily, hoping that Charles would be alright and not kill you and Caliban while Logan was at work.

"He's late."

"Yes, Caliban, I can read the clock you know." You sigh

Logan was getting slower by the day. When he had showed up at your door four years ago you had barely recognized him. Sure, he was has muscle-filled and imposing as ever, but his face and hair had changed so much. Wrinkles and scars filled his handsome face and there was more grey than brown hair on his face and head.

"I need you."

His words echoed in your mind even now, a year later.

"What if he-"

"He's fine. He's just slow." You sigh trying to focus on the book in your lap. Caliban was such a worry wart.

"He's not. And neither are you. Both of you, there's something wrong." Caliban said, motioning to your exposed arms where your veins were purple and swollen, making your skin look hideous, "We should go to a doctor. They can-"

"Can we not have twenty minutes of peace?! If Charles isn't driving me insane with his babbling about Taco Bell, it's you with all your questions." You groan, slamming the book in your lap shut, "I am fine."

Logan's grumpy attitude had rubbed off on you it seemed. You left Caliban and locked yourself in the little bathroom you all shared.

The pale-skinned mutant was right. Something was wrong. With you, with Logan. Logan's seemingly invincible healing was failing him. As for you, your entire body had been crisis-crossed with your veins appearing like horrible bruises on your skin. In some places, like your hands they were even raised, pulsing painfully at times. Your face had been spared so far. You guessed that was due to the slow aging process you had been given as a part of your mutation. It was only a matter of time before your face suffered though, you were sure of it.

Not that it mattered though. You had given up looking pretty months ago. After you got settled in Mexico, you found yourself plagued with thoughts of Logan. Never in your life had you found yourself attracted to him, sure you were aware that he was good-looking, everyone was. The older teen girls at the school in particular would often giggle and whisper when he'd enter the room, then again he was always wearing those boot-cut jeans that made his legs look fabulous. Yet you had always been immune to that pretty face, content with simple friendship.

The first month after you finally fell into a groove with Logan, Charles, and Caliban had been tough, but after that? It was like you were losing your mind. Logan was consuming your thoughts. Even when you were at work, cleaning some shitty local motel, you thought of him. Anything would remind you of him, from empty booze bottles in the motel trash cans to a forgotten leather jacket a guest left in the closet.

Even at night, you weren't safe from him invading your thoughts. Some nights you'd wish for him to be holding you close, big arms cuddling you, keeping you safe. Some nights were less family-friendly and you'd picture him on top of you, wringing multiple orgasms out of you while he grunted about how good you felt.

The result of those thoughts? Each day when he'd return from driving that damn limo, you'd wait at the door like a trained dog, happy and excited to see him. You'd try to get him to talk about his night, what clients he drove, which were the craziest, who was loudest. Other times you'd cook a nice meal for him with whatever was sitting in the janky fridge Caliban had gotten up and running. Every once in a while, he'd even lay his head in your lap on the couch and let you weave your hands through his graying hair.

It had gone like that for about three months until one day he snapped.

"Don't you ever shut your damn mouth? Fuck all you do is talk! Can't you see I'm tired!? I don't need you interrogating me every time I come back here!"

You had taken his words harder than you expected and before you knew it, your veins were bruising and rising. Your own powers were turning on you, just like his were.

You hadn't bothered trying to pursue anything more from Logan since that day. You didn't bother with your appearance in front of him, why should you? He wasn't interested in you after all. Not to mention if he wasn't interested in you before, why would be be when your own veins were making you look like Grimace from McDonald's.

Now, you primarily had short conversations with him. Usually, they were about Charles and what meds he needed, and how much they were going to cost. Occasionally, the two of you'd sit with a bottle of booze and reminiscence over what your lives once were, as X-Men.

The sound of tires screeching had you exiting the bathroom. He might've been an asshole but you still cared about him.

Logan slowly walked in, a bit of a limp in his step from some fight he had gotten in the other day. He went right for the fridge where cold beers sat, ignoring Caliban's squawking.

"Goin' away for a bit." He said as he slumped into a kitchen chair, looking at you

"Where?' You asked curiously

"Booked a long ride. When I get back we're buying the Sunseeker." Logan said

"Who's the ride for?" You asked, curious as to who would book the world's grumpiest driver for a cross-country road trip

"Some rich lady," Logan replied, sipping on his beer.

He was definitely lying. You wanted to get out of Mexico, perhaps it was better like this. Logan would get the remaining cash and you'd finally get out of here.

"Here." Logan said, tossing the pills for Charles on the table, "Don't let him miss any doses."

Logan shuffles towards you and stops when you look up at him. Tired eyes meet your own.

"I'll be gone a few days, just a few. Then we're leavin', bub" He whispers

You nod and decide to indulge yourself by gently resting your ugly-looking hands on his chest that's covered with a white dress shirt.

Your heart skips a beat when he presses a quick kiss to your forehead before walking off to put Charles to bed. Logan's never done that before, usually, he'd reject any physical contact from you, even back in the day he was never into physical touches.

You watch as the limo disappears down the road, carrying Logan off to whatever mystery client he had, if he even had one.

"He'll be back." Caliban's voice calls, trying to assure you

"I know." You sigh

"Don't you have work?" He asked as you lay down on the couch.

"Day off. My bitch of a boss doesn't want to pay to have more than one housekeeper at the motel each day." You say

"Cheap bastard," Caliban says, shaking his head

You let out a snort of laughter.

"You're telling me. The other day he told me to reuse the garbage bags in the rooms, just to dump the trash into the outside dumpster."

"They'll be roaches everywhere." Caliban laughs

"Can't wait to clean those up too." You sigh closing your eyes

The screeching of metal wakes you up from your dreamless sleep. You slowly sit up, groaning when your arm begins to tingle, it must've fallen asleep somehow.

"It's her, she's here!"

"Professor, back to the tank." You groan at the old man, not wanting to listen to his blabbing. The dementia got worse each day.

"It's Laura!" He exclaims

You huff and slump backward into the couch. You loved the Professor but he was exhausting sometimes.

You quickly stand up and stop him from wheeling himself outside. The sound of a car door slamming has a cold sweat running down your back. Logan was gone, who could be outside? Whoever it was you prayed they were weak, you weren't even sure that you could use your powers, let alone fight someone with them.

"Stay, put. If something goes wrong, get back to the tank and lock the door." You command

"Laura," Charles says again, listening to you and remaining still

You step out into the hot sun, not expecting Caliban to be standing next to Logan. A blonde man with a metal hand and aviator glasses stands and asks about Charles. You look at the newcomer, trying to figure out what his deal was. He was human, even with failing powers, you and Logan were stronger, did he have a death wish?

"Whoo, look at that. Not one X-Man but two? The Wolverine and....I'm sorry sweetie what was your name again?" The man suddenly smiles, looking at you.

"Get out of here, asshole," Logan says, placing a hand on the blonde man's chest, preventing him from taking another step towards you

"Tell me, sweetie, do you know where the girl is? Wolverine here seems to have misplaced her." He asks

"There's no girl here." You answer

A loud shout startles you and a metal pipe whizzes past you and Logan to strike the intruder on the head.

Laura is an interesting character. You watch from afar as she shoves cereal in her mouth.

"What the fuck is this?" You ask Logan who doesn't have an answer for you.

The rumble of the train goes by and Charles calms the girl who jumps from her seat.

"Look, we're leaving. That guy who she knocked out, he knows everything about us. Get your stuff together." Logan says, handing a bag to you

You groan but listen and scamper off to your room. Your "room" was really just a small double bed surrounded by sheets Logan had strung up on strings after you said you needed more privacy from him and Caliban.

You shove clothes into the bag along with a couple of dusty books to keep you busy on the road. As much as you'd like to, you doubted Logan was going to let you drive at all.

Logan's deep voice shouts your name and you dash out to the kitchen to see Laura eating her food, unbothered. Her eyes glance at the outside world where you can see Logan shoving Charles' wheelchair into the trunk.

"What's happening?" You ask frantically, dropping your bag into the dirt, forgetting its importance.

"Get in." Logan commands

You quickly jump into the passenger seat, shoving the empty bottles of Jack Daniels aside. You'll have to yell at Logan for that later on. Drinking himself into a hole wasn't going to help whatever was happening to him.

The blonde man must have to do with the amount of trucks that are surrounding you all. Logan curses as he tries to maneuver the limo out of the smelting plant. Much to your dismay, you're quickly surrounded with nowhere to go. Charles murmurs about Laura again as Logan tells him to shut up.

If it were twenty years ago, you'd be able to make a path. Your powers had never been pretty but they were effective. If only you were able to use them now on all these men who were exiting these vehicles, they'd be nothing but blood stains in the dirt. Head popping was never pretty but it was efficient.

The blonde man is back and shouting in Spanish. You wonder what has become of Caliban as you glance at Logan whose mind is certainly racing, trying to create an escape for you all.

"Hey there, Sweetie." The blonde says leaning his elbow on the windowsill and leaning into the car, "Charles Xavier, America's most wanted octogenarian."

"I'm a nonagenarian actually." Charles quips back, proud of his old age.

"Logan." You whisper looking at him.

You're certain you can still use some bit of your powers. If Logan could cut just one of these men open, you'd be able to carve a way out of this situation. It'd be painful but you could do it. Maybe.

Logan lets out a growl and shoves his door open into one brute who steps too close to the limo. You jump out of your own door, hot on his heels as the blonde man keeps his men from gunning you both down.

You let out a loud shout of Logan's name when the men begin to beat him. One man comes up from behind you and pins you arms behind your back, he's stronger than your weak body and slams you face-first onto the hood of the limo.

"Find the girl."

The men spread out as you struggle in his hold. Logan's pinned down by the threat of at least 6 guns aimed at his face.

"Careful, Williams. You're gonna break her nose." The blonde man says looking at the way your face is harshly pushed into the metal of the car

"She deserves it. Mutant freak." The man above you, Williams, scoffs spitting down at you

"This mutant freak controls blood, you idiot. I don't wanna find out what she can do with it, do you?"

Williams looks down at you and you feel his spit trickle down your temple. He loosens his hold and lets you stand up, keeping his gun pointed at you.

The sound of gunfire breaks the tense stare-down you were having and your jaw nearly drops when you see Laura approach, a man's head in her arms.

Your jaw does drop when two silver claws appear and she begins to cut down the men. Logan tackles you to the ground and keeps you safe from the rain of bullets two men send at you.

"Get in the back with Charles, stay down." He orders, gritting his teeth as you hear the bullets pushing their way out of his skin.

Laura's feral screaming fills your ears along with the sound of flesh being cut through. The metallic scent of blood fills your nose as Logan pushes you into the limo.

"Logan I can help!" You shout

His only response is slamming the door in your face.

The limo is surely a sight as Logan speeds down the road. Charles' voice fills the silence as he talks to Laura about the X-Men. You look at Logan who looks, if it's even possible, angrier than he normally does.

"If you want me to apologize, I'm not going to. So stop pouting like a kid." You say, looking down at your blood-stained hands.

"M' not pouting. And what you did was dangerous." Logan says

"And what you did wasn't? I'm not a delicate flower, Logan. I don't need you hovering to keep me safe." You huff

"Yeah well when your brain blows up from that blood manipulation of yours, don't come crying to me," Logan grumbles

"Please, when that happens I'll die. No way for me to complain then." You scoff

Logan shakes his head and keeps his gaze on the road.

You want to slap him for his attitude. That or kiss him, you really can't tell. The angry protector vibe he had going on was as aggravating as it was attractive.

He was mad for what? You had saved him from getting an AR-15 getting unloaded into his chest. Sure, now your head was throbbing from the effort it had taken to use your powers. It wasn't even your own blood you had used, just some from a man on the ground, fashioning it into a simple tendril and impaling Logan's assailant through the chest.

"They're not normally like this." Charles whispers to Laura, "They work very well together. Good friends, sometimes I think they're more than that.

You groan at Charles' words. Something tells you you and Logan were going to be fighting a lot more now that you were trapped in a beat-up limo together.

"Don't tell her that." Logan chastizes

"Tell her what?" Charles asks innocently

"Made up fantasy shit," Logan replies

The casino Logan picks is a buzz with noise. You haven't been around this many people in years. It had a cold sweat breaking out on your skin. You wondered what was going through Charles' mind as he suddenly reached for your hand for assurance.

"You'll be alright. " You whisper to the old man who nods

A mannequin catches Laura's eye and Charles points out their lack of clothes.

You can't quite tell what's going through Logan's mind as he sits beside you on a soft sofa, waiting for Laura to come out of the dressing room. You can tell he's still upset from earlier when you used your powers to help him. You decide to throw him a bone as he taps his right foot with impatience.

"Sorry." You mumble

"What?" He asks

"I'm sorry." You say again quietly

"I can't hear you," Logan says turning your face to look at his, most likely so he can read your lips. What an old man.

"I said I was sorry. For earlier." You say, louder this time.

Behind Logan, you can see Charles inch his chair closer, hoping to eavesdrop on you and Logan.

Logan lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head. Your heart leaps to your throat when you hear the next words

"Don't worry bout' it, bub."

His big hand drops to your thigh and gently pats it assuringly.

"I would've done the same for you."

You place your own hand onto his and gently squeeze. His eyes meet yours and you swear they jump to your lips for a split second. You watch mesmerized as his tongue quickly appears to wet his lips before disappearing back into his mouth.

"Listen-"

Laura emerging from the dressing room breaks the trance he has on you and you jump up, fully flustered.

"Oh very nice." Charles coos at the little girl who is now in a unicorn shirt.

"Let's go." Logan gruffly says, brushing past you and towards the cash register.

You follow on Logan's heels as he limps to stand in line behind a little old lady. Laura and Charles are attempting to win at a claw machine that sits in the store a few feet behind you. Did Charles not see that the prize was poker chips? Laura wouldn't be able to do anything with the prize if they won. Whispers distract you from stopping the old man as he inserts money into the machine. Where did he even get the cash?

You glance to your right where three women stand. They're stylish, sleek, and vixenish with their tall heels, bodycon dresses, and sharp-winged eyeliner. You follow their pointed gaze to your own body and realize what they're giggling at. Your bruised arms, something you hadn't worried too much about before were drawing attention.

It wasn't just the women either, an older couple on your left are whispering as well.

"Oh my, what's happened to her?"

You feel a scowl pulling on your face, chasing away the good feeling Logan had left you with back in the dressing room.

You stomp over to a clothing rack filled with oversized hoodies. You snatch one off the hangers and walk back to Logan and shove it in his arms. He stumbles back a bit, not expecting you to be so harsh.

"I want this too." You demand before spinning on your heel to go find the nearest restroom.

Splashing cold water on your face is a luxury you had forgotten. Back in Mexico, the water in the pipes was always just a bit warm. Great for showers, but shitty for everything else.

You emerge from the bathroom to find your companions waiting for you. Logan tosses you your sweatshirt that stupidly says " I survived Oklahoma City Casino!".

If only you had picked out a plain one.

Logan hands you a key card to one room and then goes to open his own.

"Got a conjoining bathroom." He explains, "You and Laura can share that one."

You push the door open and are welcomed by the sight of an oversized king bed.

Laura immediately goes to the bathroom to open the doors that connect you to the Professor and Logan.

"Sit. Watch TV."

You hear Logan's stern voice speak to her. You can imagine his face as he says it. Stern, unmoving.

Logan limps into your room, shutting the bathroom door and sitting on the bed you're to share with the slightly feral child you've picked up.

Silence falls over you as you pretend to observe the ugly painting on the wall. You strained your ears trying to hear the TV next door. They'd done a good job soundproofing the rooms.

"What's wrong?" He huffs

"Nothing." You say, crossing the room to flop down on the big bed

"You've had a pissy look on your face since we left the dressing room." He points out, "More pissy than usual."

You roll your eyes but he can't see it since you've buried your face in the soft pillows.

You can tell Logan is still there, waiting for you to speak. You've got the feeling he's not going to leave you alone either, stubbornness was always a strong suit of his.

You flip yourself around and prop your head up on a pillow to look at him.

"Those women in the dresses and heels, they pissed me off." You admit

"What women?" Logan asks his face screwing up as he tries to recall who you were talking about, "There weren't any women."

"The one's in the tight dresses and heels." You say looking at him, not believing he hadn't noticed

Logan shakes his head again.

"It's my arms." You sigh, "I got comfortable in Mexico, you and Caliban never said anything about them. Not to mention Charles doesn't seem to care either."

You fiddle with a stray string that sticks out of the sleeve of your new sweatshirt. Machine-made stitching was always poor quality.

"I don't know what women you were seeing," Logan says, suddenly scooting up the bed and laying down beside you, "But I don't give a shit about what your arms look like."

"It's not just my arms, Logan." You softly breathe, thinking of the rest of you, marked with ugly bruises.

"Doesn't matter to me." He sighs with a wave of his hand

You feel tears pricking at your waterline and you willed them away. There wasn't even a reason to cry. He was just being nice, being a good friend.

"Are you crying?" Logan asks

"No." You lie

A warm tear slips down the side of your face and then all of a sudden they won't stop. You turn on your side and curl up into a fetal position. Maybe Logan will leave you alone now, he never liked dealing with his own feelings, let alone another person.

"Hey." He says, "Quit blubbering like some baby."

You're surprised when he suddenly scoops you up and places you in his lap. Big hands wipe at your tears and he hands you a tissue from the nightstand for your nose.

"Sorry." You sigh taking a deep breath to calm your nerves

Logan lets out a deep grunt and he lets his actions do his talking. One big hand rubs up and down your back to soothe you while the other is drawing circles on your knee.

"You shouldn't get so worked up about random people. Before you know it we'll be out on the Sunseeker, fishing and eating crab for dinner." Logan says

"Promise?" You ask

"Promise."

Part Two

[dre6ming]

too deep into the dilf verse it’s affecting my social life (my mother is afraid i am going to date an old man and tbh i can’t blame her)

[dre6ming]

From In Luv With Hugh on FB.

[dre6ming]

A Break I Can Give You

Old Man Logan x You - 3.4k words (nsfw 18+ mdni; shower handjob male receiving with yearning, feelings and angst, established relationship, some fluff, w/plot, mentions of Laura)

Summary: You, Logan & Charles have just escaped reavers at the smelting plant after meeting Laura. You’re all at a Hotel to take a rest break, and you know exactly what kind of break Logan needs. (Logan - 2017)

About You: One of your mutant powers is to travel the multiverse. You were in the X-Men in your world, where the Westchester incident happened to you too. You lost everyone, including your best friend Logan.

<<<<............................................................................................................>>>>

Logan’s mind reeled with the information he learned about Laura not too long ago. After a century of living, he gave up believing in the possibility of ever having a child, let alone living a life where he could settle down like that. Having the words “She is your child” thrown in his face unexpectedly by Charles and the nurse that brought Laura to you all in the first place, made him feel like the world was laughing at him—giving him something to care for after decades and decades of proving that caring for something just gets them killed—after he finally accepted so long ago that starting a family would never work for someone like him. 

If this were another life, in another world, maybe he would have been angrier. More lost. Hopeless.

But he looked over at you. At the way you looked at him like you knew exactly where his mind had gone. He was well aware of the fact that you understood him better than anyone else—after all, you had known another version of him in your other universe—and he had tried and tried to tamp down the feelings he had for you because of that fact, but he couldn’t.

And now you were here, standing before him in the hotel room the four of you had decided to get some rest at, placing a hand over his burning fuse of a temper as if it were a mere candle. He had no idea how you managed to keep doing that. It was far from your mutant power anyway. But whenever he was in your presence, all he had to do was look at you, and everything, including him, knelt at your feet. 

“You need to get some rest,” you pressed, keeping his eyes on yours. 

 “What I need is a goddamn shower,” he growled, stubborn, looking everywhere but at you.

But you placed your hand on his cheek and it was over. He looked at the way you tilted your head, at the tiny smile that quirked up on your lips, and deep into the eyes that he had secretly grown to love. 

“Then we’ll take a shower,” you told him, whispering. The rest of his fuse diminished in an instant. 

And when the doors of the bathroom closed, and the steam of the shower filled the space, it was like the rest of the world fell away. It was just him and you in a pocket of the universe, with him looking at you like you were made of pure poetry. 

“What?” you whispered to him, a shy smile tugging on your lips. 

He shook his head, opening his mouth to say something, but he breathed out instead, growing a smile. If he were to say anything right now, it would be dangerously close to the words that doomed every single person he felt that way about. And he couldn’t lose you like that. So instead, he approached you, admiring the way your jaw fit perfectly in the curve of his palm—like it was made for him. 

“Nothin’,” he whispered, holding the sweetness in his stare. 

You ran your hands up his blazer, then tucked your fingers under the collar.  

“Come on,” you invited, jutting your head towards the shower. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

He exhaled slowly, almost as if he had forgotten how to breathe, and when he shrugged off his blazer and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, you stepped into the warmth of the shower, awaiting his arrival. He joined you not too long after, letting the water soak into the tufts of his hair. 

You placed your hands on his neck, smiling up at him. “Are you okay?” you asked him, seeming to notice his turmoil even more under this light. 

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “I don’t know how I used to do it,” he muttered, placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. “It’s like my patience is runnin’ on empty.”

“Your patience always runs on empty,” you teased, running your thumbs down his neck and applying pressure on his shoulders. 

“I- ohhh,” he breathed out, his eyes fluttering closed at your motion, his argument dying on his tongue. 

“That good?” you asked, repeating it. 

“Mhmm,” he mumbled, leaning into your touch. “It’s nice, bub.” 

You continued to perform that same action a few more times, moving upward into his hair. 

“Storm used to say my hands were made of magic,” you shared as his eyes once again opened to settle on yours. 

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm.” You nodded. “There were days when each member of the team would plop down next to me and give me the biggest puppy dog eyes—well, a pout for Scott,” you giggled, “and I would sigh and tell them to get the massage oil. Then a line would form as I worked out the kinks in their necks and shoulders.” You grabbed the complimentary shampoo, taking a pause from your motions to lather it into your hands. When you started to knead his scalp, he seemed to enter a whole other level of tranquility. 

“Sounds like daggers and the multiverse weren’t your only useful gifts,” he muttered with a smile. 

“I’m made of many talents,” you beamed and a chuckle resounded from his throat. 

He looked at you then—really looked at you—at the way your smile dimmed at the mention of your old team, and how your throat bobbed as you swallowed past an expression he knew all too well. It was the grief. The same grief that followed the both of you every time the incident at Westchester snuck past your walls and seeped into your thoughts. He wanted more than anything to take that grief away from you. To siphon it all out of your head and into his so he could carry it instead. Someone like you didn’t deserve all that pain, but he knew there was nothing he could really do about that. All he could do was be there with you in the grief. 

“Can…I get you?” he asked rather shyly, his sentence breaking as if he had no idea how to ask. He still looked down at you with that profound, heartfelt gaze, knowing he could do this. He could at the very least do this. 

You nodded with a smile—he loved seeing your smile—and you handed him the shampoo, inching him under the water and watching as he fumbled with the tube. 

It occurred to him then, that he had absolutely no idea how to take care of someone in the way you took care of him. The thought alone made him fumble with the shampoo tube, but you caught it in time before it clattered to the ground, stifling a laugh. 

“I’m…not really good at this,” he admitted, hiding a smile as he lathered the shampoo in his hands. 

“That’s okay,” you replied with a giggle, brushing away a clump of bubbles by his brow. 

“No, I mean…” A frown appeared on his face as he started to gently massage your head, “taking care of someone. Like this.” A swallow moved his throat as the pressure and movement of his fingers nearly lulled you straight to sleep. “I mean I’ve…been with people, but,” he shrugged, “never long enough to learn how to do any of this.”

But then you smiled again, and he nearly quoted Shakespeare, somehow making him feel like he was giving you castles of riches rather than a mere head massage. 

“Hate to break it to you, but…you’re doing it,” you whispered, resting your hands against his waist. “And you’re a lot better at it than you know.” 

Something seemed to break in him and he paused, a flicker of a strong emotion in his eyes. His entire life, he had been poked, prodded, programmed and enhanced to be the epitome of a world-class soldier, being expected time and time again to give over his indestructible body to a larger cause. But now that he was here, barely healing and no longer indestructible, there you were, still telling him he was enough. Even if he wasn’t what he used to be, or doing what he was made for, you were telling him you liked it…it was enough. 

He averted his eyes, clearing his throat and carefully rotating the two of you again until it was your hair under the flow. He hoped that the action would deter you from seeing the turmoil in his eyes, but goddamnit, you were good. You always saw right through him as if he were made of glass. 

“You say you’ve been with people,” you stated, repeating after him. “Have they…ever taken care of you? In the way you need?” you asked, bracing yourself for a deflection. 

He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I…” He hesitated, shaking his head—the question so foreign to him that he was rendered speechless. “I don’t- umm. I…”

“You know that I’m trying to…right?” you confessed, hearing your voice grow small as you lay yourself bare. 

His eyes searched yours, unsure of a correct response and desperately trying to find it in the depths of your stare—but then you reached up again, running your thumb across his brow to wipe away the water droplets that crowded his frown. 

“I know I’m not a perfect person. I also know you’re tired,” you whispered, “not just from the drive, but…from other stuff too.” Your thumb followed the line of his brow, down his face, all the way down to his bearded jaw, and his heart hammered in his chest, suddenly feeling drunk on your touch and subdued by your words. “I want you to know that I’m trying, okay? That I want to try for you. That I’m doing my best to make this work, because…you deserve someone who will.” 

He whispered your name, but it stopped at that—he still couldn’t find the words to say. He wanted desperately to protest, but you ran your hands up his chest again, rejoining the tips of your fingers to the tension in his shoulders. Just like that, his forehead fell to yours. The atmosphere shifted then, his lips hovering centimeters from yours, turning the air around the two of you hot and heavy. A sudden need to have you closer tore through him, his beating heart ramming against his chest as if his pulse alone couldn’t keep him alive. He needed yours.

“Logan,” you whispered, and he nearly fell to his knees the moment you said his name. It always did something to him when you said his name. 

And when you leaned forward, capturing his mouth with yours, all defenses fell away. He took the kiss deeper, breathing into you, palming his hand against your neck and slanting his mouth over yours as if he alone claimed it. Heat diffused into your chest, raising goosebumps on your skin as you pressed your body closer, feeling the steady rise of something hard between his legs. This excited you in a way it hadn’t before. You became drunk on the way his body was responding to your touch—like he craved the feeling of your skin against his skin, and was mesmerized by the sensation of your fingernails across the top of his back. 

He reveled in the feel of you. If he could melt into you and fuse his skin to yours, he would do so in a heartbeat. He had shoved you against the wall of the kitchen at the smelting plant not too long ago, and he wished he could have kept up his energy for so much longer, like he used to when he was younger and indestructible. He made you cum like you hadn’t been properly fucked in ages (probably because you hadn’t been until he did that for you), but he wanted more than anything to satisfy you for longer. Just like you deserved. 

As he dipped his tongue into your mouth, coating himself with the taste of sweet mint and the remnants of your chapstick, he made it his mission to do so for you tonight. 

But you had other plans. You weren’t sure what it was that drew the word from your lips, but it left your mouth before I could stop it. 

“Baby,” you whispered in between his kisses, and he crumbled, the wildness and desperation in his breath amplifying as the response made his initial desire freeze in his veins. “I got you, okay?” you told him, then very gently slid your hand down his body, knowing exactly what kind of break you wanted to give him.  

His breathing hitched, his brow furrowing the moment your hand moved past his hips and towards his center of gravity. 

Wait, he thought to himself. Because he wanted to give himself over to you—make you feel good after all you’d done for him, and because he knew it was what you deserved. 

But your hand reached lower. He shuddered out your name, but you shushed him gently, using your other hand to run your thumb across his jaw. 

“They’re gonna hear you.” Then very slowly, you closed your hand around the hard length of his cock. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, his eyes screwing shut as you tightened your grip, then dragged your hand down the length of his shaft. He buckled forward slightly, catching himself on the shower wall directly behind you and he rested his head against your shoulder as you continued the motion, slow and steady, building pressure. 

His mind was reeling. Everything within him was screaming at him to turn the tables, to grab you by the wrist and get on his knees before you instead. But the pleasure for him was astounding. You made him weak. Your lips met the skin of his shoulder, then his neck, then the alcove of his jaw, right under his ear, and he couldn’t help the suppressed moan that shuddered his frame. 

I don’t deserve this, he told himself, trying desperately to pull himself together so he could serve you. But he couldn’t deny how lovely your hand felt wrapped around his cock—how sweet and bewitching it was for someone, for once, to let the focus be entirely on him. It’s what made him inch forward into your hand, just so he could just this once allow himself the pleasure of being the center of your world. 

You quickened your pace at his movement. “Like that?” you whispered, just below his ear, then ran your tongue across that same spot, tasting the tangy mixture of water and musk as you gently nibbled on his wet skin. 

He only responded in a ragged moan, barely audible to anyone but you—an intimate confession hidden under the sound of water hitting tile. You continued to pump and twist your hand, paying close attention to his bodily responses—faster when he pushed into you, slower when his hand gripped tighter on your waist—and you listened to how badly he wanted to fall apart for you, his staggered breathing matching the rapid beating of your heart. 

He lifted his head from your shoulder, closing his free hand around your neck and slanting his mouth over yours, sliding his tongue into you and driving you to quicken your pace. A low grumble emerged from his throat, the vibration dancing across your allied kiss, and he pulled away slightly, enough for him to get a word in. 

“I want you,” he whispered, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and coating it with the taste of him—because he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted to make you feel as good as you were making him feel, and he couldn’t handle all the focus being on him. “God, I want you.”

But then a smile appeared on your lips as you twisted my hand downward, causing him to shudder once more. 

“And I want to do this,” you whispered back, continuing the stroke of your hand, “for you.”

You wanted this. The only reason he could ever let himself submit to someone like this was if they wanted it, and you wanted it. He saw it plain as day in the gleam of your eyes, in the shudder of your breath, and in the quirk of your smile. 

Once again, like many times before, he surrendered to you like a catholic in a church. You had a tendency to bring that out of him, whether that was a mere request in passing or moments like these. He felt it in the way you played with the rhythm of your movements and the way you lightly grazed your thumb across the head of his member whenever you issued a stroke up. His moans so desperately wanted to push past his lips, but they only emerged as quiet, strangled gasps. Slowly, but surely, the guilt of indulging in his most private fantasies involving you, fell away. Acceptance settled in his bones through every stifled moan, and his breathing only quickened as his forehead returned to yours. 

He whispered your name like a prayer in quiet pews, his body twitching as his oncoming climax pulsated with need. 

“Yeah?” you whispered to him, brushing your thumb against his bearded cheek. 

“I’m gonna…” His eyes screwed shut again, a deprived, quiet moan stealing his words. 

“I got you,” you said gently, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “You can let you. I got you.”

His breath hitched once, twice, then his body tensed, shuddering as a warm, slick liquid coated the top of your hand. He couldn’t hold much of the mangled grunt as he came, but still managed to keep it contained as you slowed the movement of your hand, drawing out every last drop before finally sliding off. 

A heavy, relieved sigh left his lungs as you smiled up at him, letting your sinful hand rinse off under the flow of water. 

“You feeling okay?” you asked shyly, still feeling flushed under his gaze. 

He nodded largely. “Yeah, bub,” he replied, cupping your jaw and pulling your mouth to his once more. “You felt,” he slipped his tongue into your mouth, pulling a blissful sigh from your throat, “amazing.”

You giggled softly and wrapped your arms around him as he continued to pepper kisses on your lips, across your cheeks and down your neck.

“Now let me return the favor,” he offered enthusiastically, snaking his hands down your body, still feeling the need to give you just as much as you had given him.

“Oh no,” you chuckled breathily into his shoulder, “I am not as restrained as you, babe. I will make noise.”

“So what?” he challenged with a shrug, nuzzling his nose against yours. 

“We have a child in the other room. And Charles. I would rather not scar them,” you said through a soft laugh. 

“Say the word, I’ll go downstairs right now and get us a whole separate room,” he mumbled huskily, lightly nipping on the skin of your neck. 

Though your breath hitched at the temptation, you thought about how late it was and how he had been driving for so long. As much as you wanted to take advantage of his offer, you couldn’t deny the growing exhaustion the both of you kept trying to fight past. 

“Logan,” you sang quietly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, “we need to get some sleep. I mean it. Especially you. If we get a whole other room now, I don’t think I’ll be able to make you stop.” 

He let out a groan and removed himself from the crook of your neck, faking disappointment. 

“You’re killin’ me,” he joked, but very quickly turned sincere. “Offer doesn’t ever expire,” he said, growing a smile.

“I’ll cash in as soon as you're at full physical and mental capacity,” you murmured, sealing that promise with a kiss. 

“If I was at full capacity, you’d have been against that wall for so much longer the other day,” he said against your mouth. 

You huffed out a laugh. “Down, boy, how are you still so eager?”

“So you do want me down?” he continued to tease, lowering himself as if he were going to take a knee. 

You only laughed harder and pulled him back up, finally breaking your sound restraints with your giggles. 

“Get the damn soap so I can get your back,” you ordered with a light slap to his bicep, to which he jokingly rolled his eyes. 

“Fine,” he replied warmly, before finally grabbing the soap. He handed it to you, but his touch lingered, his gaze turning achingly soft. Letting out a breath, he cupped his hand against your cheek with a smile. “I want you to know,” he paused, his throat working as he tried to find the words, “I want this to work too.”

Your throat tightened with emotion as you placed your hand on top of his and nuzzled into his touch. 

“I know,” you whispered, planting a kiss into his palm.

___

Hi <3 this is part of a longer Old Man Logan fanfic I have on AO3 called "Logan & the Badger". If you would like to meet my OC, I would love nothing more than to yap about it with you. Thank you for reading. -Kai

[dre6ming]

Sooo good my God 😩😭

Serenity

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!doctor!reader

Summary: Robby has had a really shitty day, maybe he just needs his girlfriend to comfort him

Follows the pacing of the show so minor spoilers if you’re still not caught up

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, oral (fem receiving), he talks her through it (yes he does and yall can’t tell me otherwise), age gap (reader is 35 and Robby is 50) (ik he’s probably Noah’s age but just bare with me here), established relationship, just vanilla sex really

WC: 6.3k no I’m not sorry

A/N: bahahah nobody look at meeeee. I think I outdid myself with this, I’m never beating the daddy issues allegations. This man just makes me so feral I couldn’t help myself. I’m hoping some of yall have been down bad too otherwise just ignore me (if this flops I’ll cry). Also tagging my bestie bc she has experienced my madness in real time🩷 @wittyjasontodd

You knew today would be an absolutely abhorrent day. You could feel it, the second that dumb clock hit six a.m, you knew. You knew it when you texted him if he wanted to eat dinner at your place after your shift, and he told you that he didn’t know when exactly he would get off his. He was working today and that made you sick to your stomach, a deep sense of anxiety and worry settling in. And you couldn’t shake that feeling all fucking day. 

You didn’t want to worry about him, coddle him and suffocate him like he was a teenager, he surpassed you by quite a few years for you to be doing that. Still, you couldn’t not worry about him down there. His day was normally absolutely draining as it was, but having to deal with that today out of all days, it concerned you just how well he could compartmentalize his own issues and the issues of dozens and dozens of other people. 

You were tempted to come downstairs yourself and check in on him under the excuse of bringing him coffee and something to eat. But then that would be weird. Then people would know. Well, you had a suspicion people did know by now, it was a bit hard to hide a relationship after two years. Though it was a bit easier considering you were all the way up in the pediatrics ICU and not in the Pitt. Still, you definitely noticed the knowing glances of Perla and Princess whenever you came down for a consultation or if they saw you sneak into the doctor’s lounge.

Dana knew, though you never told her. You didn’t think Robby told her either. You thought it took her maybe a month to figure it out. You prided yourself on how discrete you were about it, and still are. You walk together whenever your shifts align, hands locked and headphones in as you both enjoyed the short time you had in each other's calming presence before you didn’t see each other for twelve-plus hours. And then you went your separate ways, a quick kiss and a hushed ‘love you’ before going through completely different entrances to be extra cautious. You have been doing this since day-one. How Dana figured it out was beyond your extensive knowledge. 

You both would like to think other than Dana’s superhuman ability to read people, you had managed to keep things private. It was better that way, doctors were such odd creatures, you almost positively knew that ‘favoritism’ would end up circulating around sooner or later, since, once upon a time where you were a bright-eyed and still a had will to live first-year resident, Robby was your attending. Albeit he was married at the time and you were engaged, you knew someone would find a way to turn it into something it wasn’t. 

Today, however, you weren’t quite such how reserved you could be when you knew he was struggling. 

You sat on your desk, a long exhale of exhaustion leaving your lips as you ran your hands over your face, enjoying the few minutes of peace and quiet you had managed to find. And then you heard a ping. You sat up, eyes shooting open as you reached for your phone with annoyance. You thought it was the hospital, but when you unlocked your phone you saw it was a message from Dana.

Well, fuck. 

Dana: can you check on Robby? The overdose kid is hitting him pretty hard 

A long sigh left your lips as you read over the message, heaviness settling in your chest. You had been keeping up with it since earlier this morning, you had hoped maybe the kid would respond to treatment. You guessed things hadn���t been so easy down there. 

Me: you don’t think the kid is gonna make it?

Dana: Robby doesn’t think so. Come check on him please. He was gone for a while earlier

Another heavy sigh left your lips. Today was not the day for this. 

Me: he doesn’t like it when I make him talk about his feelings 

You weren’t entirely exaggerating. Robby wasn’t emotionally unavailable, the opposite, if anything, he was painfully aware of his feelings. He just didn’t like talking about them, especially when they were ER related. He would send you into a psych ward if he told you everything he experienced on a daily basis, he told you. And you respected it, your year in the Pitt definitely wasn’t the highlight of your life, and you admired him for choosing to stay there for so long. 

Dana: you’re not. You’re just being a supportive girlfriend. Come, now. 

You didn’t have to be in front of her to know she was being serious. You figured if you didn’t come down at some point she would physically come get you herself if that’s what it took. So best not to test the universe today. You had some time before your next appointment anyway. And Dana was right, you wanted him to know you were there, even if he didn’t always want it. 

It came as a shock to no one that you ultimately found your way downstairs. It was always loud on your floor, but nowhere near as bad as the pitt. You tried your best to not draw attention to yourself, though with everything going on down here and all the people that came and went, you figured you would blend in for the most part. You hoped to find Dana at her desk, preferably alone, as to avoid awkward small talk and questionable looks since nobody actually called you down here for any medical reasons. You internally thanked the universe when you spotted Dana on her computer. 

“Hey.” You spoke quietly, hands shoved into your pockets a bit sheepishly as you glanced around before looking back at her. She gave you a warm smile of gratitude and nodded at you. 

“Don’t make that face, it’s not that bad down here.” She teased, calling out your hypervigilant mannerisms and the uncomfortable look on your face. You didn’t mind being here, but only when you had a reason to be, you definitely didn’t want to have to explain you came down here to check in on your boyfriend. 

“I know.. But you know..” you gave her a look. But you didn’t have to say anything, she knew what you meant, she just liked teasing you about it. 

“South 16 is empty. I’ll tell him I need him for something. Just be quick, we might need the room.” She told you in a hush, resuming her typing away at her computer. You quietly nodded, briefly reaching to lightly squeeze her shoulder as a silent thank you. 

You waited a bit anxiously, shooting a glance at your watch. Shit, you had to be back upstairs in ten minutes to check up on a patient. But you didn't want to leave without at least making sure he was okay. Even if he was just going to brush you off and tell you that everything was fine, you at least wanted to see him. You waited another minute, and with a sigh you turned to pull the curtains out, but someone beat you to it. You jumped back a bit, eyes wide for a second before you realized. 

He wasn't quite looking at you, or maybe he just wasn't paying that much attention, he thought he was in the wrong room at first.

“Sorry—oh.” Robby glanced behind him for a second, bit confused as he closed the curtain behind him. You smiled lightly as he looked at you both with confusion and relief to see you. Now matter how hectic or chaotic his day had been, how many times he had to chase down his residents, or many patients were a pain in his ass, seeing you always brought him a sense of calmness. He was ashamed to admit he was completely infatuated with you. His racing mind ultimately landed back on you, and he realized; he didn't remember calling you down. Maybe one of the residents did? But they didn't check with him first. “Hey, what uh.. What are you doing down here?”

“Just wanted to check in, I heard you’ve had a rough day.” You said quietly, lightly nibbling on your bottom lip as you stepped closer to him. He looked down at you, a heavy sigh leaving his lips and his jaw clicked lightly as he reminded himself to curse Dana out later. He didn’t want you to worry. He said nothing, so you continued, “The college kid, you don’t think he's gonna make it?”

He tried to hold back another sigh, but he couldn't help it, he squeezed his eyes shut and scratched the back of his head with exasperation. He considered not going into details, giving you the same bullshit answer he gave the parents. He never wanted to burden you with his issues, with the baggage that came with the ER. He always wanted to keep out of the relationship, though he found that to be quite the challenge. When he opened his eyes again and found your pretty eyes looking back at him, with that warmth and kindness that made him want you in the first place. Maybe he should open up, to you at least.

“Uh, no. He’s braindead so there’s nothing we can do.” The words left him like a ton of bricks, heavy and sharp. Your face immediately fell and your lips parted open lightly. You tilted your head at him, but said nothing. He wasn’t quite looking at you as he continued, “I keep ordering all these tests for the parents, but I know. And I don’t know if giving them false hope will make things worse for them.”

You nodded softly and rested your hands on his chest, you felt him exhale unevenly. You gave him a warm smile as you lightly rubbed his chest.

“Maybe they just need more time to make peace with it. Maybe they just need to know you did everything you could to help their son.” You knew how he felt, there had been so many times where nothing you did was enough to help someone’s child, and you had to tell them that. But you knew he did his best, he always did. Though you weren't sure if he knew that. 

“Yeah.. yeah, maybe.” You felt him slightly tense under your touch and he avoided your eyes. He slightly angled his head to look behind him, like he was getting ready to sneak his way away from you and get lost in the chaos of the ER. you would let him, in a minute.

“Michael.” Your voice was a warning, quiet, stern. He snapped his head in your direction and looked at you with concern and confusion. You almost mever called him that. Only sometimes, when you were annoyed with him. With that scolding tone of yours. He didn't like it much.

“I don't like that. Why’d you do that?” He tilted his head at you, and you had to hold back a smile at the way he looked at you.

“‘Cause, you’re being difficult. There’s bad days and there’s worse days. Today is a shitty day, and that’s fine. You're doing your best, don’t be so harsh on yourself.” You sighed, running your fingers through his beard and he almost instantly leaned into your touch.

“How come you didn't go into psychiatry?” He commented and you snorted, leaning your forehead into his chest. You felt a slight chuckle rumble in his chest, and with that your deed was done for now.

“Well, I did a minor in psychology in undergrad, did I ever tell you that?” You leaned back, a small smile on your lips, and he had the little wrinkles around his eyes that you found to be so cute. 

“Once or twice.”

You shrugged playfully, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek, but he turned his head and caught your lips instead. You were definitely okay with that. A groan of annoyance rumbled in your chest when you felt your phone buzz, alerting you that it was time for your next appointment. You pulled back, much to your dismay and took a glance at your phone, you were definitely going to be late.

“I mean it Robby, I’ll know.” You shot him a playful warning look and he nodded, a tiny grin pulling at the corner of his lips. You leaned up, actually leaving a kiss to his cheek this time. “Love you.”

“Love you too hun.” He called after you as you disappeared behind the curtain. A long sigh left his lips as he ran a hand over his face. If he wasn't the attending he would go after you and would purposely get locked inside an exam room with you for a little while. But alas. He waited a minute, making sure it didn’t look too suspicious before he came out too, back to the madness he went.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was just the gift that kept on giving. You eventually came down for the walk of honor. You knew you wouldn’t really talk to Robby, but you wanted him to know you were there. You truly hated to see him like this. Hours on end only for the answer to have been what he knew from the beginning. It was hard to look at the brightside. And then you heard Dana got assaulted and you were absolutely freaking out. You hadn’t been able to come down until the end of your shift, when you were on your way to head home. Robby still had another hour left of his so you were just going to your apartment alone, he almost never got off on time, anyway.

You damn near ran off the elevator and a sense of relief washed over you when you saw Dana sitting at her desk. A long sigh left your lips as you approached her and you nearly gasped when you saw the bruising on her face. 

“Dana.” You said quietly, your eyes big. She shook her head at you dismissively, but it was hard not to worry. “They told me a patient hit you?”

“Yeah. Don't worry, I don't have any fractures, just a little sore.” She half smiled at you, but the look on your face never changed, you frowned even deeper.

“It's unbelievable. With all the patient satisfaction bullshit Gloria shoves down our throats you’d think they would invest a little more in making sure the staff is protected. Are you sure you’re okay? It bruised a lot.” You leaned down to inspect her closer and she rolled her eyes at you, but you couldn’t help it. 

“Yes I’m sure, Robby made me get a CT and made me take a break, I’m fine.” She waved you off and you nodded. 

“Oh, speaking of that pain in my ass, where is he? I’ve been texting him since the walk but I haven’t heard from him.” You frowned softly, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. Dana gave you a look, one that you definitely did not like.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t wait on him too much. Just go home, okay? While you still can.” Now that worried you even more. You knew today had been rough but you didn’t think it had been that bad. It took a lot for Robby to lose it, though you were unsure what exactly happened if that was the case. 

“Yeah, okay. I’m glad you’re okay. I was very worried.” You offered her a tiny smile, which she returned and you exchanged goodbyes for the night.

Dana’s words lingered in your mind, and you were definitely more concerned for Robby than you were earlier today. Usually he would text you back, even if it was an hour or two later, but it had been hours and nothing. With a sigh, you started to head for the exit, and as you walked you saw Robby walking out of one of the exam rooms. You debated whether to pretend you didn't see him and to just go home. But that really wasn't the type of person you were.

“Robby, hey.” You called out to him as quietly as you could as you walked up to him. He visibly tensed at the sight of you and he looked like a fucking mess. You narrowed your eyes, your lips pursing at him but you continued. “I uh.. I’m going home. I don’t know if.. If you wanted to come over when, well whenever you get out. I’m picking up food on the way so..”

He was silent for a while, too long for your liking and you were starting to feel a little tense as well. He clicked his tongue, scratching the back of his head like you had picked up he did when he was stressed. You probably should have listened to Dana.

“Yeah, uh, I don’t know. I don’t really know what time I’m getting off, and truly I think maybe I should go to my place tonight.” He said with exasperation, his tone harsh and laced with tension. It almost took you aback how he was talking to you. 

You blinked at him, mouth slightly agape. It took you a couple seconds to process what he was saying. You counted to five in your head, took a deep breath in and just nodded. “Uhm, okay. Yeah, cool, I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I went home.”

“Yes, yes I’m okay, why does everyone keep fucking asking me that.” He raised his voice before quickly realizing what he did and his lips fell in a flat line. You stared at him in shock, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. It was almost like it dawned on him that you were the last person in this hospital he should be snapping at. And he did just that. He reached to grab your arm and you backed up.

“No, it’s fine. I got it. Sorry. I’m gonna go home now.” You forced a smile, you could tell Robby wanted to say something, he opened his mouth but you just shook your head at him. “It’s fine, you need space and I get that. Text me when you can talk to me like a fucking adult, yeah?”

You didn’t even give him a chance to reply, you were turning around and hurrying to the exit before he could get a word in. Was that the most mature response you could have given him? No, not really, but you didn't particularly enjoy being yelled at by your boyfriend in the middle of the ER. You knew something else must’ve happened to him, but you didn’t really want to find out when he was that upset. You hadn't seen Robby angry often, stressed? Sure, all the time. But he looked pissed and you didn’t like that whatsoever. He was always so calm, so patient and so collected, it was unsettling to see him so easily ticked off. You tried not to think about it too much, he knew where to find you if he wanted to talk, calmly. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robby couldn’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the night. He felt horrible for yelling at you, when his problems were not your fault and all you wanted to do was be the loving girlfriend that you were. He always loved how attentive and caring you were, when you asked him about his day and when you would listen so attentively to the little he would tell you. You were the last person on this earth he should’ve snapped at today, and now he had to go home feeling guilty when all he wanted was your comfort. He debated about just going to his place and calling you tomorrow, maybe he would get you some flowers to apologize. But then thought that would be too long. It was so late, he definitely didn’t get off when he was supposed to, but maybe you’d still be awake. You usually waited up for him anyway. 

Without much thought, he ended up at your apartment. He had a key to your place, he slept there most nights to be completely honest. He was rehearsing in his head the apology he would give you when the door got stuck. 

“What the fuck..” he muttered to himself as he tried to force the door open, thinking maybe it got caught on the rug or something. But no, he looked down to find that the latch was on. You put the latch on. He took a deep breath and clicked his tongue, trying to look into the apartment to see if he could see inside. This was definitely going to be his last straw. 

You weren’t asleep, it wasn’t quite midnight yet, but even if it was, you weren’t sure if you could get much sleep tonight. You heard the sound of your front door unlocking along with muffled shuffling. You sat up, confused. You suspiciously came out of your bedroom, only to find Robby’s awkwardly tall frame trying to reach inside to undo the latch. You almost wanted to laugh, you would have, if you hadn’t still been a bit upset from earlier. 

“Really?” You called out to him, arms crossed over your chest as you padded along the wooden floors, the floorboards creaking under your bare feet. Robby looked to find you, in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of cozy pants. He always found it endearing how cozy and comfortable you looked outside of the hospital. 

“You put the latch on? Really?” He huffed quietly, annoyed that he got stuck outside your apartment, he definitely was not amused by you trying not to laugh. You shrugged.

“You said you weren’t coming over. I put the latch on when you’re not here.” You said like it was obvious, taking your sweet time in walking to the door. It served him right. He would’ve rolled his eyes if he didn’t know you were right. 

You stood for a few seconds and made direct eye contact with him as you shut the door in his face, just to make a point, before you unlatched the door and opened it. You took a step back, crossing your arms over your chest again as he quietly stepped into your apartment, closing the door behind him. He dropped his backpack like it had offended him, and he crowded your space. His nose brushed over yours, and you could hear his breath. You were holding yours.

“I’m sorry.” He offered so quietly, so much so that you wouldn’t have heard him if he hadn't been so close. You inhaled sharply, slightly nodding. You threw your arms over his shoulders and he breathed out a sigh of relief. “Yeah? You forgive me?” 

You nodded again, as you leaned up to meet his lips. “Yes, now shut up.” 

“Yes ma’am.” He chuckled softly, his large hand squeezed your waist as he leaned down to meet your eager mouth. He definitely said nothing after that. God, he had been wanting to do this all fucking day. It probably would have made his day a whole lot less shitty. But he was here now, and he had you all to himself.

You weren't sure when you ended up being carried to your bedroom, or when your back was laid flat on your soft covers. All you could focus on was his lips claiming yours, his lips trailing kisses all over your jaw, down to your neck, and anywhere he could find, really. He wasn't normally this messy, perhaps the stresses of today had finally worn on him.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he muttered against your skin as he half-assed shrugged his hoodie off his shoulders and tossed it somewhere he would be scrambling for in the morning. You hummed along, only half listening. “Let me make it up to you.”

Confused, you sat up on your elbows as he settled between your thighs. You watched him with big eyes and a heavy chest as he silently pulled your pj’s down your thighs. You held your breath as you instinctively closed your legs. He shot you a pointed look as he pried your thighs open, fingers digging into your plush thighs as he settled between them. You gasped softly at the delicious burn his beard left on your thighs. You loved that you could always feel the tingle of where his mouth had been, even the day after.

He took his time with you, he always did. You never understood how he could stay so calm, so patient. You had no patience, and you knew that he knew. Maybe he enjoyed seeing you desperate. His tongue lapped at your pussy with such calculated movements. From your hole to your clit, circling and sucking before diving back into your walls. Squirming, you were chasing his mouth with your hips, body overcome with pleasure as he worked your walls with his tongue. You felt like such a whore for asking like this, but you couldn’t help it. 

“That feels so—ugh—feels so good—please.” You didn’t know what you were pleading for. Mercy? Sweet release? You didn’t know. Robby raised an amused eyebrow at you, wet lips curled up the slightest bit as he moved his tongue back to your clit and he slipped two fingers inside your cunt. He licked and sucked to match each delicious drag of his fingers. The sounds leaving him were just as filthy as the things he was doing to you, groaning and grunting.

It was no surprise that he had you shaking and sobbing, overcome with pleasure, eyes blurry with tears of pleasure, your release rapidly approaching. You latched on to his hair, tugging and pulling at the strands as your pathetic sounds filled the room. You chased his mouth, and he let you, always so amused by how quickly you would fall apart.

“That’s it, just breathe through it.” he hushed, his own breath heavy as he replaced his tongue with his thumb and he crooked his fingers just the right way, knowing each and every one of your tells, each twitch of your body, he had memorized all of it. 

Your release was hard and sudden, your loud sounds were almost as overwhelming as the feeling of his fingers scissoring you wide open. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. He dug his fingers into your thigh, his tongue slipping into your hole when his fingers left you. 

“Shit Robby.” You gasped, your thighs shaking as you weakly reached to grab his face. You ran your fingers along his face, threading through his beard and you silently ushered him up. He complied, in an instant settling between your open legs to find your mouth again. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue, it was all so much for your clouded mind.

“You’re okay, just breathe for me.” He said against your lips, brushing your hair away from your face softly. You breathed out a laugh.

“You should yell at me more often,” you snorted, and Robby shot you a pointed look. “So you can make it up to me.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not done, so.” He pressed another kiss to your lips, leaving the lingering taste of yourself on your tongue before he flipped you over on your stomach. You bit your lip softly, pulling your t-shirt over your head and tossed it somewhere. You heard him shuffling behind you for a bit. You turned your head to look back at him, and with a smile he leaned over your back, leaving a kiss to your bare shoulder. “Hi sweetheart.”

“Hmm hi.” you hummed softly as you braced yourself with your arms in front of you. He pressed his lips to the back of your head, inhaling your sweet scent as he slowly sank into you. 

You gasped, your eyes rolling back into your head he sank into you until his hips rutted against your ass. The side of your face was flat on the mattress when he sneaked his hand into your hair and held you there. His pace was slow at first, slow strokes that allowed you to revel in the feeling of his cock in and out of your walls. But as you both began to grow desperate, pathetic sounds leaving your lips and groans of pleasure leaving him, his pace picked up.

“Thought about this all day baby. With the fucking day I’ve had.” His words left him with a groan, and he gave you a particularly sharp thrust that had you sliding up the mattress. “Just wanted this. You're the only thing that isn’t wrong in my life.” 

His raspy words in your ear made you moan, and you blindly reached behind you to touch him, any part of him. He leaned down, his chest flat against your back and his lips found yours, pulling you into a messy kiss. 

“Mhm, should’ve called me down for a quickie then.” You teased him and he chuckled, his cheek pressed against your jaw, the new angle making him sit so deep you could feel him in your fucking guts. God, you didn’t fucking care that he was so much older than you, the way he fucked you, so passionately and so gently at the same time, you didnt care for anyone younger. 

“I don't care for quickies.” he replied with an edge to his voice, despite the sass of your mouth, he could feel the way you squeezed the life out of him everytime he hit that perfect spot, getting you closer and closer to your release.

“You’re such an old man.” you managed to reply, but your witty remarks quickly left you when he slipped his free hand to find your swollen clit, which made you painfully aware of how close you were. But Robby could tell.

“Uh-huh, and this old man is gonna make you come,” There was a bit of amusement in his voice at the way your body twitched under him and the way your face twisted with pleasure. You were so close. “Yeah, thought so.” 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” you choked out, followed by a silent sob when he hit that one spot and you saw white. You were gasping for air as your whole body shuddered. Robby shushed you softly, slowly fucking you through your orgasm. He left wet kisses along your jaw as he whispered sweet words in your ear.

“Atta girl, you did so good.” He hummed as he left a kiss to the side of your head as you dropped your face flat on your blankets, your breath heavy as your body twitched in aftershock. You gasped softly when he slipped out of you, leaving you empty. You wanted to whine, but he gently grabbed your arm and flipped you on your back, and he settled between your legs with ease.

“Alright, lemme look at you. Just want to see how pretty you look.” He ran his fingers over your face, brushing your hair away from your forehead. It was always such a intoxicating feeling to have him on top of you, his pretty brown eyes watching your every move, his chain a reminder that you were about to get fucked (again). You fucking loved this feeling. You couldn’t even make a sound when he slid into you again, your eyes simply fluttering shut and your body twitching with pleasure.

“O-oh my god—!” The way you sounded so utterly fucked out, cock-drunk, it made him feel lightheaded as he fucked into you. He felt a little bad, with how exhausted you both always were, you never fucked this long, or so intensely. So he knew you were going to be so sore for your morning shift tomorrow. But fuck, with the way you squeezed your eyes shut, lips parted, he didn’t want to stop until you were both spent with exhaustion because you just felt so fucking tight and so goddamn heavenly.

“Mhmm I know, I know hun. Feels good hm?” He panted above you, his chain dangling above your face like a mockery of your current position with each thrust he gave you. You nodded harshly, a string of uh-uh-uh’s leaving your pathetic mouth as your nails dragged down his back.

“Feels so good baby.” You squeezed your eyes shut, his voice shooting straight to your pulsing walls, making you whimper.

He gritted his teeth as he felt your walls squeeze the life out of him, a grunt leaving his chest as he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You squeezed his hand so tight as he pinned your hand above your head, and he planted his other arm beside your hand, attempting to ground himself. 

“There you go sweetheart. That’s it.” His raspy voice grounded you as you spasmed around his cock for a second time. Your sounds were so pathetic, the way you sobbed his name was enough to make him completely lose the very little self-control he was holding on to. He fucked you through your orgasm, gave you two, three more sharp thrusts before he fell into his own release, a breathy fuck falling from his lips

Sounds of exhaustion filled the room, drowning out the still on TV you had in the background, your show being completely forgotten the second Robby was at your door. A thin layer of sweat covered his skin as he ran a hand through his hair. Your eyes were screwed shut, your forearm thrown over your face as your racing heart matched your shuddering breath. He sneaked under your arm and left a kiss to the side of your forehead. You giggled a bit and opened your eyes to find his soft brown eyes staring back, there was a smile there, too.

“You want pizza? I bought some earlier from the place you like.” You spoke eventually, your chest now rising and falling in a steady rhythm as you rested your head on Robby’s arm. He turned his head to look at you and smiled in that way that made the corners of his eyes wrinkle a bit. 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll take some.” 

Much to the protest of your legs, you threw yourself on your feet, ignoring the way Robby was chuckling at your struggle. You managed to find a t-shirt, you didn’t know whose it was, probably Robby’s but it was yours now. After making a stop to the bathroom, you were in the kitchen for a bit. Getting fucked made you hungry, so you heated up some pizza for yourself. 

“Here’s your delivery, and I do require a tip.” You announced as you came back into your bedroom. Robby looked up from his phone, and he had managed to find his black framed glasses that you loved to tease him about. And a playful smirk formed on your lips. “I definitely want a tip.”

He looked at you confused for a few seconds then he realized and he blew out a laugh, shaking his head with disappointment. “You know, after a certain age one just gets really tired, can’t keep up with people your age. Not that I would know about that.” 

You snorted as you flopped down on your bed, handing him his pizza and a can of coke because that was all you had in your fridge. “It’s okay, you’re my favorite old man.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek, bumping his glasses with your nose. He gave you a look out of the corner of his eye that was anything but amused. Which made you laugh even more as you took a bite out of your pizza. 

“I hope I’m your only old man.” He chuckled, squinting his eyes the slightest bit as he typed a text on his phone. God he wished he could turn this fucking thing off. He couldn't even be out of the hospital for an hour before he got bombarded with messages. He caught the way you shot him a glare and he gave you a quick ‘sorry’ before he set his phone down. 

“I dunno, the chief of peds is quite the catch.” You couldn’t help but snort at the look he gave you, and you just shot him a smile. “Jokes. Totally joking babe.” 

You ate in silence for a while, you kew you had to be up again at six in the fucking morning, but you just wanted to enjoy having him all to yourself for just a little longer. There was still a lingering thought in your mind, you’ve had it all night. It never left your mind. Robby was watching whatever you decided to play on the TV when you turned to look at him.

“Robby,” you said softly, he hummed as he turned his head to look at you. “Do you want to talk about today? It's okay if you don’t… I just think you should talk to someone, and I want to listen.” 

You saw the hesitation in his warm eyes, the tension and dread from such a shitty day coming back to him. His lips fell in a flat line, and his jaw locked the slightest bit. You offered him a soft smile as you sat closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder with a soft shake of your head.

“Not tonight, okay? We can talk about it tomorrow.” He sighed out, leaning to leave a kiss to the side of your head. And you nodded with a reassuring smile. 

You didn’t know how he was prior to the pandemic, maybe he was worse, or maybe he had gotten better since. But you didn’t mind putting in a little work to break down his walls and help him open. You would do anything, and you were okay with waiting.

[dre6ming]

The delicate beginning rush - imagine

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Pairing: Austin Butler x singer/actress fem reader

Plot: waking up next to Austin when he comes to visit you and helping him shave

Warning: age gap(10 years), mentions of razors and cuts, fluff

Word count: 1000

The soft light coming through the window, tickles my face and I try to fall back asleep, but it doesn't matter how much I snuggle my face into Austin's chest, I'm wide awake. I haven't slept this good in forever, the warmth his body is providing so comforting, I wish I could bottle it and have it forever. Opening my eyes slowly, I lean my head back, looking up at Austin. His plum lips are slightly parted and soft breaths pass them. He looks so peaceful and his lips look so appetizing I can't help myself. I prompt myself on my hands and put my lips over his.

Sighing, I rest like this for a short moment and as I move to pull back, his lips stretch into a smile under mine and his strong arms circle my waist keeping me flush to him. I pull back breathing heavily, to look at him, combing one of my hands through his golden hair. "Morning, baby!" Austin speaks in a deep voice, sleep lingering on his tongue. "Morning, Austin." I smile at him, licking my lips. My hand that's tangled in his hair, scratches his scalp and he closes his eyes, leaning into my touch. "I'm going to take a shower, can you feed Simba and William?" I ask, brushing my nose against his cheek.

Austin's arms tighten around me and he turns his head, catching my lips in a wet sloppy kiss. Butterflies come alive in the pit of my stomach and his hands run up and down my back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. " 'Course I'll feed them, those cats rule everything around here, I must serve them as they deserve." Austin jokes, making me snarl. "Want me to make some breakfast and then we can go on a walk on the beach?" Austin shouts from the kitchen, as I turn the shower on, answering him before getting under the hot stream of water. "Yeah, Aus, I'd love that, it snowed last night too, I've never seen the beach in the winter time." I say back, washing myself with my favorite peach scented body wash.

After a few minutes in the shower, I turn the water off and reach for the towel, only to find there's none. "Austin, can you bring me a towel please? They should be in the bottom right drawer of the closet?" I'm already shivering from the chilly air, no matter how high I turn the heating on, Canada is still very cold, even in March. "Coming!" I hear Austin say, then I hear the door open and he brings in a wave of cold air with him, causing me to tremble. "Here you go, (y/n)." Austin extends the towel through the shower curtain and I take it, immediately wrapping the soft fabric around my form. I pull the curtain back and get stuck for a second, because I didn't expect Austin to still be in the bathroom.

"Sorry, honey, want me to go?" He asks, turning in the faucet. "N-no, it's ok, I don't mind." I've never had a boy see me naked before, but I'm not sure this even counts as being naked since I'm covered by the towel. "Here, hold my hand." Austin comes over and helps me get out of the tub, so I don't slip. The only downside of this rental apartment is that it has a tub, instead of a shower. "Thanks." I blush, letting go of his warm hand and going into the bedroom to change.

When I'm dressed, I go back into the bathroom to put the towel back, finding Austin in the midst of shaving. I look at his reflection in the mirror, the way his muscles flex with his every move, has me hypnotized. Austin notices me looking at him and he smirks at me in the mirror. "Can I do it?" I ask, stepping closer to him and wrapping my arms around his waist, standing on my tippy toes to rest my chin on his shoulder. Austin raises a brow at me, caught a bit off guard. "Shave me? Have you ever done this before?" He asks.

I simply shrug my shoulders, smirking. "No, but you could teach me." He chuckles, putting the razor down and turning in my arms to face me. His fingers tease the back of my arms and I feel shivers dance down my spine. "I'd do anything for you, come on!" Austin's hands quickly land on my waist and he spins around, placing me on the counter. He sits in between my legs, brushing my hair back with his hands, cupping my face and gluing our foreheads together, holding his lower part of the face away from mine, careful not to get shaving cream on me.

"Ok now you watch me do it and then you can try." I bite my lip and concentrate of the move of his hand holding the razor, sliding slowly down his cheek. After he makes a clean path through the shaving cream, he turns the water on and rinses the razor. "Ready? You think you got it?" He holds the razor up and I take it with a shaky hand, suddenly feeling like I'm in way over my head. "What if I cut you?" I ask concerned, realizing just now, what a bad idea this is.

"That's ok, I've cut myself by accident many times. I trust you, (y/n)" he says moving my hand close to his face and angling his head so I can shave him. I draw my brows together, focusing on the task at hand, softly running the razor down his cheek, rinsing it after. "Keep going, you're doing amazing." I hold his face with one hand turning his head so I could see better, carefully shaving him.

When I'm done Austin rinses his face and dries it with a towel, applying lotion. Coming back to sit between my legs, his hands rest on my hips, his thumbs rubbing circles into my sides. "Perfect, you did amazing baby." Austin kisses my cheek, peppering kisses until he reaches my lips, connecting his plush lips to mine. Heat furling in me, as my hands slowly creep up, reaching to tangle in his hair. I whimper in surprise when he pulls back suddenly, looking at me with a wicked smile. "Can I paint your nails next?" I giggle, shaking my head in disbelief. "Have you ever done that before?" He shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear. "You could teach me" he repeats my words from earlier, making me laugh at just how silly we both are.

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