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eureka-its-zico · 3 months ago

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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,

#Residuals #ongoing series #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #michael robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch #dr robby #dr robinavitch #dr robby x reader #dr michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x oc #michael robinavitch x oc #dr robby x you #michael robinavitch x you #noah wyle #saucy angsty babies

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pitlanepeach · 28 days ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Three

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, stress + anxiety, 2021 abu dhabi gp

Notes — Don't freak out too much. Or do. I don't mind!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The morning light over Yas Island was pale and peachy, slipping through the slats of the hotel balcony and falling in stripes across the rumpled bed and open sliding doors. The paddock below was just beginning to stir, the beep of forklifts, the low murmur of paddock crew setting up for the final race of the season.

Lando was sitting sideways on the balcony chair, legs folded beneath him, hair wild from sleep and one of Amelia’s sleep masks still tangled around his wrist. He had a half-drunk iced coffee balanced precariously on the railing, and he was tapping through a stream of TikToks on mute, occasionally muttering things like “how do people bend like that” and “okay I’m definitely trying that later.”

Amelia was curled beside him on the lounger, wearing his LN4 hoodie (too long in the sleeves, as always), scrolling through tire degradation data on her iPad, her stim ring rotating in fast loops over her thumb. She was quiet. Focused. Chewing gently on the inside of her cheek.

Then, completely out of nowhere, she said flatly, “I think we should get married.”

Lando paused. Finger hovering over the next video. “Wait. Huh?”

“I think we should get married,” she repeated, still not looking up.

He blinked once. Then twice. “Like… married married?”

“Yes.” She hummed.

His brain short-circuited. “Wait, right now?” he asked, full of alarm and awe. “Like you wanna elope? I mean, we could. Vegas is only, like, eight hours away—no, wait, you need a license. Shit, do I need a suit? Wait, do I need to propose first?!”

Amelia finally looked up at him, blinking slowly. “No. Not right now. I’m saying, I want that. With you. At some point. Soon.”

“Oh,” he said, visibly short-circuiting again, but this time in a much softer way. “Oh. Holy shit.” He scrambled to sit up straighter, hands moving frantically as if he needed to physically shake the surprise out of his body. “Like you want to marry me marry me?”

“Yes,” she said again, frowning at him now. “I’ve thought about it. You’re the person I feel safest with. I want to live with you forever. I want to do life with you. So yes. I think we should get married.” She made a face. “Also, I’d become your next of kin, which would be very useful. I hated having to wait outside for you to be conscious enough to give me permission to come into the medical room. Ridiculous.” She muttered.

Lando was staring at her like she’d just told him he’d won the lottery and a lifetime supply of Haribo. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Are we too young? Shouldn’t we be, like, old and boring first?”

“You’re already halfway there,” Amelia said dryly.

He barked out a laugh, then grabbed a throw pillow and bonked her gently on the head. “Oi! Rude.”

She caught it and didn’t even flinch. “I’m serious, Lando.”

His voice went gentler. “Yeah. Yeah, I know you are.”

He looked at her then — really looked. At the sleepy softness of her eyes, the curls pinned messily back, the stim ring she hadn’t let go of all week. He reached over, tugging lightly on the sleeve of his hoodie she was wearing.

“Honestly?” he said. “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

Amelia tilted her head. “So you don’t think we’re too young? My dad does. Told me so.”

“Baby,” Lando said, reaching up to brush a curl behind her ear, “I’m gonna be with you forever. Whether we’ve got a wedding band or a piece of paper or just… this. Us. You’re it for me.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched into a slow, private smile. The kind she didn’t give to many people. “Do you have a ring for me?” She knew he didn’t. He was shit at keeping secrets, would’ve told her about it already, but she couldn’t resist teasing him.

His eyes went wide. “Holy shit. I need to buy you a ring. Like right now. Do you like diamonds? Wait, no. You hate diamonds. That was—nope, that was sapphires I think—”

“I made a list,” she interrupted. “Five rings I like. They’re all titanium.”

“Of course you did.” He looked delighted. “You’re so organised. I love you so much it’s actually unreal.”

She looked at him plainly, with that strange and brilliant way she always had of cutting straight to the truth without frills. “I love you too,” she said. “I want you to know that. Before the race. In case… in case Max doesn’t come out on top. In case it all goes terribly wrong.”

Lando’s expression softened, but it was still there, in the background, that vibrating excitement, that adrenaline. (“I think we should get married,” she’d said, as if he wasn’t going to fixate on those words for the rest of his life.) He reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “Nothing’s going to go badly,” he said. “And even if it does, I’ll be there, alright?”

She leaned into his shoulder, pressed her eyes into it. Let them burn with the force of it until tiny white stars appeared in her vision.

Below them, the circuit roared to life.

—

The Red Bull garage was a hive of motion. Mechanics buzzed around the car like bees, laptops open, tire blankets coiled, engineers murmuring numbers in clipped, focused voices. The final race. The final showdown. Equal on points. Everything — everything — had come down to this.

Amelia stood just outside the strategy room, headset in hand, her other thumb flicking over her stim ring in rapid, tight rotations. The noise of the paddock was a low hum behind her, like white noise under pressure.

Max was already suited up, pacing lightly just a few feet away. Despite the stakes, world championship on the line, one shot at history, he was steady. Calm, like always. But she could see the tension in the tightness of his shoulders, the barely-there furrow of his brow.

He looked over and caught her eye. “You good?” He asked, voice low, private.

She nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she was.

Max took a step closer, pressing a hand gently to the small of her back. “Don’t get lost in your head. I need you today, Amelia.”

“I’m not in my head,” she lied, eyes flicking back to the screens. “I’m watching sector data.”

“Amelia.” His voice was firmer this time, and she finally turned toward him. Max softened again. “You’ve done everything right. I have everything I need.”

She blinked, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t feel like I’ve done enough…”

He cut her off. “You have. We did this together. You’ve changed the way I drive, do you understand how ridiculous that is? You’ve made me better, more precise. More… human, actually.”

“You were always human,” she muttered.

He laughed quietly, the tension breaking just a little. “I’m serious,” he added. “If I win this championship, it won’t be just for me. It’ll be for you too.”

She looked up at him, eyes dark and sharp and wide open. “You’re going to win it.” She told him.

Max didn’t reply right away, just looked at her like he wanted to remember her exactly like this: calm but blazing, logic and loyalty knotted so tightly together they were indistinguishable.

He reached up and tugged gently on her ear defenders. “Put these on. Let’s go make history.”

Amelia nodded, slipping them over her ears. The world narrowed to radio comms and telemetry readouts, and she let herself draw in one breath. Sharp, clean, grounded.

She would not let him fall.

—

Amelia threaded her way through the crowded pit-lane, ignoring the cameras and noise. Her MV33 polo was crisp, headset slung around her neck. But her attention wasn’t on the live telemetry or tire temp conversations. It was locked on the McLaren garage.

Lando stood just outside his car, leaning back against the halo, his helmet resting beside him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fingers fidgeting at the strap of his glove.

He saw her before she even said anything, and his face lit up. That same irrepressible smile, the one he never gave anyone else quite like that. “You came,” he said, voice soft, almost surprised.

She stopped in front of him, hands in the pockets of her team jacket. “Always. Good luck.”

His smile deepened. “You too. Big day for you.”

Her fingers curled slightly in her pockets. “It’s... a lot. The strategy’s solid, the setup’s right, but I keep checking things anyway.”

“You always do.” He agreed.

She gave a small nod, then looked up at him more directly. “You’ve been smooth through sector two all weekend. Stay clean into Turn 1 and you’ll be fine.”

Lando raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you’re giving me race notes now?”

“Just observations.” She hesitated, then added, “I want you to finish. In one piece.”

He reached out and took her hand, pulling it gently from her pocket. His grip was warm, grounding. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “No hero moves.”

She held his hand tighter than she meant to. “It’s just… everything’s riding on today. For Max. For Red Bull. For me.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But you’ve already done more than enough, baby. Everyone can see that. ”

She nodded, her expression unreadable; that usual mixture of intensity and quiet overwhelm. “I wish I could stay here,” she said finally. “Just… with you.”

Lando smiled, all softness and mischief. “Then marry me.”

She blinked. “I already told you I want to.”

He grinned. “I’m just making sure you didn’t change your mind.”

“I didn’t.” She told him flatly.

He bent forward slightly, brushing his forehead against hers, just for a second. “Okay. Good. Now go win your driver a championship, genius girl.”

She stepped back, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “Go fast. Be safe. I love you.”

He gave a little mock salute, but there was nothing teasing in the look he gave her.

She didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked back across the grid, her posture straight, her steps steady, even if her heart was pulling in two directions at once.

—

The world narrowed to three monitors, the roar of engines, and the rasp of radio comms in her ear.

Amelia sat at the Red Bull pit wall, headset on, back straight, gaze fixed ahead. The sun had dipped just below the horizon now, casting the track in a surreal twilight glow. The lights above the grid blinked on, one by one.

“Thirty seconds,” GP said into her headset. Amelia’s fingers hovered over her keyboard.

“Telemetry’s live. Temperatures look good. Max is calm. Holding revs,” she reported, voice clipped, focused.

Next to her, Christian leaned forward, arms crossed. Jos stood behind them, silent but tense, eyes locked on the feed. Everyone was still. The calm before the storm.

On her peripheral screen, she caught a flash of orange — Lando’s McLaren lining up in P6. Just behind Perez. Right there in the thick of it. Her chest tensed.

Please stay clean, both of you.

The five red lights came on.

Focus.

The lights blinked out.

The engines screamed to life.

Amelia’s screen exploded in movement. Max launched well. Into Turn 1, clean. Hamilton was ahead, but only just. She barely registered anything else until GP’s voice cut through the feed.

“Verstappen P2 into Turn 1. Lando holding P6. All clean.”

She exhaled.

Amelia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, eyes darting between the tire degradation model and the live GPS feed. The opening laps were everything. Settle. Get comfortable. Don’t overextend. Everything had to be perfect.

Her gaze flicked again to Lando on the live feed — to the tiny bubble of data they had on him. Still green across the board. Clean throttle trace. No lockups. He was driving smart.

“Max’s rears are starting to warm up. Give him space on corner exit,” she said into the mic, steady as steel.

Behind her, someone handed Christian an updated gap sheet. Jos hadn’t moved.

“Max looks smooth,” Christian muttered. “He’s in this.”

He has to be, Amelia thought. Her jaw tensed.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still feel Lando’s hand in hers. That soft look in his eyes. That little grin. You’ve already done more than enough.

But she couldn’t afford to think about it now.

—

Amelia stood stiffly beside GP and Christian. Her heart thudded in her chest, fast and out of sync with the soft hum of the garage.

Max in P2. Lewis in P1. Hardly any time. A complete and total lack of options.

Then… chaos.

“Latifi’s in the wall,” someone said, voice sharp in her ears.

She flinched. Her pulse spiked. Everything blurred. The Safety Car was deployed.

The paddock erupted into movement; engineers scrambling, radios buzzing, tire blankets being yanked off. Amelia didn’t move. She couldn’t. She stood frozen as her entire world narrowed to the math ticking through her head: the delta times, the tire degradation, the sector gaps. All of it churning like a storm, none of it solving anything.

“Box Max, box now!” GP called.

Max dived in. Lewis stayed out.

She closed her eyes. Please let there be time. Please clear the track.

Someone bumped her arm, but she barely registered it. Her stim toy was clenched tight in her hand, fingers white-knuckled, her breathing shallow. Her lips moved soundlessly as she recited the FIA regulations under her breath, not to anyone, not out loud, just for herself. A frantic, silent ritual. Something to cling to.

Article 48.12… Article 48.13…

Then: “Only five lapped cars may overtake.”

Her vision narrowed. That’s not right. That’s not how it works.

But the words didn’t come. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t breathe. Her throat had locked up, emotion swelling until she thought she might drown in it. Her ears rang. The cameras clicked. The radio screamed. The Safety Car came in.

One lap.

She didn’t even hear the lights go green, only felt the rumble in her bones as the cars launched back to their limit.

Max lunged at Turn 5.

Gasps echoed up and down the pit lane. Christian was shouting something beside her. Hands were on heads. People screaming. Mechanics leaping. Her knees trembled, but she didn’t move.

Time slowed. She couldn't see the monitors anymore through the blur in her eyes. The noise, the roar of engines, the yells, the chaos, melted into a dull throb.

And then, “MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE WORLD CHAMPION!”

The world cracked open.

The pit wall exploded in celebration, a wall of noise crashing over her. Mechanics surged forward. Christian jumped into GP’s arms. Jos was shouting, eyes wild. Someone was crying — maybe her. She couldn’t tell. Her legs gave a little, but she didn’t fall.

Instead, Amelia just stood there. Silent. Shaking.

Max had done it.

He had won.

Her vision cleared, just for a second. She looked at the screen. At the car. At his name at the top of the standings.

He had done it.

And the weight snapped loose.

She sobbed, one hard, breathless sound, and finally let herself collapse into the arms reaching for her.

—

Chaos.

Cameras flashed, mechanics hollared, fireworks boomed over Yas Marina — but all Amelia could feel was the ache in her chest as she stood just outside the Red Bull garage, eyes still glassy from the flood of it all. Her arms hung limply at her sides, adrenaline coursing, brain half-short-circuited.

Then—“Baby!”

She barely had time to turn before Lando crashed into her, sweeping her off her feet in a blur of orange and sweat-streaked Nomex. She yelped, half-laughed, and clung to him as he spun her around, both of them breathless and laughing now.

“You did it!” he cried against her cheek, peppering her face with wild, fluttering kisses — temple, nose, jaw, forehead. “You did it, baby, holy shit—you did it. I’m so proud of you, I’m so—Amelia, look at me—you were brilliant.”

“I didn’t drive the car—” she started, dazed.

He cut her off with another kiss, hard and grateful and full of awe. “Doesn’t matter.”

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, grounding herself in the strength of his hold. He was so warm, his hair damp, eyes alight like he’d never seen anything so beautiful as her in this moment. He smelt so bad, of burnt metal and sweat, but she couldn’t let him go.

“I was so scared,” she whispered into his collar. “I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You didn’t.” His voice cracked with emotion. “You held it together. You always do.”

A familiar voice behind them, hoarse with disbelief and joy and adrenaline. “Amelia!”

They both turned as Max stormed toward them, helmet off, his face still red from the heat and the scream he’d let out over the line. His grin was wild and gleaming, his eyes glassy, and before she could say a word, he stole her from Lando’s arms.

“You—!” Max shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and practically shaking her. “You fucking genius! You did it, we did it!”

“Max—!” she laughed, high-pitched and near-hysterical.

“No, no—shut up—Amelia,” he kept going, voice thick. “You gave me that car. You gave me that strategy. You gave me everything. You are—you are my champion.”

Then, without warning, he picked her up, arms locked around her waist, spinning her. She screamed through her laughter, tears pouring down her cheeks again. Overwhelmed in the best way.

Lando was grinning so wide it hurt, chest heaving as he watched them. And for a single moment, everything around them slowed.

The crowd. The chaos. The race. The history.

Amelia, who once thought she was built to exist only in the background, was now wrapped in the arms of a driver who loved her beyond measure, who saw her as a sister. And behind her, the man she loved, watching on, always there to catch her. One, her brother. The other, the man she was going to marry.

And for the first time in her life, she was at the centre of something unforgettable.

Something permanent.

A legacy.

—

The party roared on just outside the glass — music thumping, champagne flowing, Max somewhere on someone’s shoulders, drunk on victory and gin tonics.

Amelia was sitting on the bar, barefoot, her makeup smudged and her voice hoarse from all the laughing and crying. Her MV bomber jacket was draped over her shoulders, and her little black dress had ridden high on her thighs.

Lando stood between her knees, big hands resting on her thighs. He was grinning like he’d just remembered something ridiculous. “Okay, okay, wait—don’t move,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Amelia asked, blinking at him.

“Making something official.” He pulled out a crumpled little object — sticky from heat, slightly squashed. A red Haribo ring. He held it up between his fingers like it was the crown jewels. “Found it on the snack table in hospitality earlier. Fought two engineers for it. Nearly died.”

Amelia blinked again. “…That’s candy.”

“Engagement candy,” he corrected proudly, stepping closer. “Listen. You said you had a list of five rings you like. This isn’t one of them. It’s better. It’s from me. And it’s temporary. But it counts.”

“Lando—”

“No, shush. Let me be romantic.”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile as he carefully slid it onto her finger, a little sticky, a little too big, but it stayed.

“There.” He beamed. “Now everyone at this party knows you’re mine. Until I can get you the real thing.”

She stared down at it, the ridiculous red candy glinting under the flashing lights, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Lando said, stepping in to kiss her nose. “You’re it for me, Amelia. Ring or not. Win or not. It’s always been you.”

Amelia swallowed, throat tight, fingers curling around his shirt collar.

“…Can I eat it later?” she whispered.

He burst out laughing and pulled her into him so hard that she squeaked. “God, I love you.”

—

2 Months Later, Monaco

The sun hadn’t fully crested over the terracotta rooftops yet. Monaco was quiet in the mornings, or as quiet as it ever got, and Amelia liked it that way. Her walking trainers tapped gently on the pavement as she walked, one AirPods in, golf ball tucked into the sleeve of her jacket.

She liked the rhythm of this. Her early walks, the cool air, the scent of sea salt and espresso from the cafés opening up for the day. Her world had slowed since Abu Dhabi. Not stopped, never that, she wouldn’t let herself stagnate, but... it had softened.

She turned a corner by the marina, already heading back toward the apartment she and Lando shared.

“Amelia?”

She froze.

Roscoe trotted up first, tail wagging as he nosed at her leg like an old friend, and she crouched out of instinct, hand moving gently through his fur. And then Lewis appeared behind him, dressed in black, sunglasses perched high even in the shade.

They stared at each other for a beat too long. “Hi,” she said finally, standing, brushing her hands down her leggings.

“Hey,” Lewis said, and his voice was gentler than she remembered. A little guarded. Roscoe pressed his nose into her palm again, entirely unaware of the stiffness in the air. “I didn’t know you were in town,” Lewis added.

“I live here now.” She told him. “With Lando.”

His brow ticked slightly. “Oh.” Another pause. One that seemed to stretch wider than the marina below them. “I’m surprised,” he admitted.

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Why?”

He hesitated. “I guess... I didn’t realize you’d—”

“Have a life?” She asked, not unkindly.

He winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” She looked out over the harbour, then back at him. “You were always kind to me, you know. Back then. Before I started working for Max.”

Lewis looked like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, putting it as bluntly as she possibly could.

He smiled, small and a bit sad. “That’s a relief.” They stood there for a beat, Roscoe now sprawled at their feet like a mediator. “You seem happy,” Lewis said finally. His gaze drifted downward for just a moment. Not intrusive — just a flicker of observation, one he couldn’t quite suppress.

Amelia followed it. Her hand was resting lightly at her side, the sunlight catching on titanium on her ring finger.

Lewis didn’t say anything. But his expression shifted, just slightly.

“I am.” She told him.

“Good.” He took a breath, then nodded, like he was trying to comprehend it. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe,” she said, already turning back toward the road. “Roscoe’s always welcome to say hi.”

Lewis chuckled softly. “He’ll be thrilled.”

Back home, Lando would be waking up soon, hair wild, voice sleepy, probably asking where she’d hidden his favourite cereal to stop him from midnight snacking and finishing it all.

She smiled.

This was her life now.

And she was kind of in love with it.

NEXT CHAPTER

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