Chapter Text
"Ouch."
You refrain from rolling your eyes at the man. Not because of his injury, no. Riding a bike and being hit by a car isn't the best way to start your morning. Even if he got lucky with no internal damage and no fractures, only scrapes along his legs and hands, and a suit torn to shreds.
But he can't feel it, not right now.
It will without a doubt throb in pain later, but you'd given him enough lidocaine to properly numb the irritated skin for you to clean the wound and wrap it up.
"I'm sorry," you apologise, softening your tone to ease the frustrated furrow he stares at his leg with, even if you wanted to call out his hissy-fit.
His attention switches to you. Thankfully, the annoyance melts from his body as he sighs.
"Yeah, thanks, I guess… for the patchwork." He waves aimlessly with his bandaged hand. You decide to only smile and nod as you stand from your rolling seat.
As you step towards the trash can, you dispose of the sterilisation pad and your gloves. The typical blue rubber tinted, more so smudged, somewhat red. It's considerably less than what you're used to.
"You did well, so my work was easy," you smile at the man as you walk over to the computer in the corner. You notice how his back straightens after your comment.
It was surprising how much a little compliment could do with some patients. However, it wasn't surprising that it worked wonders in stroking that man's ego, considering he'd complained more about his newly tailored suit than his health when he first arrived.
"I've prescribed you an antibiotic ointment to help against infection," you inform him, typing in some extra notes in his journal before looking at him. "You'll have to change the dressing once a day after dabbing it clean with some water and applying the cream."
His face twists. "Every day?"
There's almost a petulant whine to his question, one you brush off with a cock of your head, smile still on your face. Although you're starting to struggle to make it appear genuine.
"It may ruin your tanning abilities, but at least it will help the healing process and minimise scarring."
"Whatever, then," he huffs.
"In case you get unsure, just read the instructions I sent with you as you collect your meds. Any other questions?" He shrugs, and you take that as a no.
You log out of the computer, turning to face him fully.
"I suggest you call your workplace and say you'll be unavailable today and for the next three days. If you think they need it, head to the nurse station outside before you go home and collect a doctor's note. Other than that, you're free to leave."
He mutters a thank you, and you nod before slipping out of the room.
The second you step into the hallway, your smile drops. If the door hadn't been open behind you and there was a risk he would hear you, you might just have sighed. Now, you simply head straight to the nurse station with a clenched jaw to hold off your annoyance. Which did little to fend off what felt like a growing headache.
Your elbow finds the flat surface of the chest-high counter, as you reach for an iPad beside you. With the same hand you lean on, you massage your temple, adding the final details to the patient's chart to close the case.
"Guy in Exam 6 not treating you well?" You glance sideways at the voice, watching as Robby stops to join you. He eyes you for a second, attention soon moving to the patience board overhead. The entertained smile on his face tells you he knew what must have transpired.
"Can't say a man-baby is my choice of poison." Robby rocks on his feet, huffing out a laugh without his eyes falling from the screen.
"How about beer, then?"
You almost groan. "God, I could definitely have one right about now." In your periphery, you see how Robby glances at you when you abandon the tablet on the counter and use both hands to massage your temples.
"We're going to the park after, don't think I have to invite you for you to come."
You look at him, keeping the pressure against your temples with your index fingers, but without any movement now. "Are you sure we can't go now?"
Brown eyes meet yours, his mouth tugging at the edges. It looks like he wants to say something, but rather than answer, Robby steps towards you.
Two big hands plant themselves on your upper arms, curving to gently grip your biceps. With a slight tug, he turns your body around, your hands falling alongside your body as he does. You feel his smugness radiate behind you as he forces you to walk once he steps forward himself.
"I was charting," you protest as Robby leads you away from central, but make no move to actually shrug out of his grip.
"You were complaining." His voice is light, brushing on entertained, not stern as when he actually stepped into his attending role to lecture you. "You've got time to see at least three more patients before your shift ends."
You throw a look back and up over your shoulder, met with the upwards tug of his mouth and his eyebrows arched as he looks down at you. "You love torturing me."
"That's my job as an attending and for residents to endure."
"Can't wait until I'm not a resident any longer, hopefully you'll be retired then."
Robby cocks his head sideways, grimacing for effect. "Mm, don't think so, probably still be chief attending by then," he makes a sound with the edge of his mouth like saying 'tough luck'. "So you'll not escape me."
You roll your eyes, muttering. "Lucky me."
"Lucky you indeed, because you're here to help Dr. Mohan." You face forwards again, seeing how Samira turns upon catching her name.
Her eyes find yours, then they flicker up above you together with a quick rise of her eyebrows, only to lock with yours again.
"You'll be in good hands," Robby pats your shoulders after you both come to a stop in front of Samira, quickly turning on his heel to be on his way.
"Always so eloquent with his residents," she mutters. You chuckle in agreement while turning to glance back at his retreating figure, catching the thumbs-up he shot over his shoulder as if he knew you would look.
When you turn back to face Samira, she's already watching you with an entertained look. "I take it he's in one of his moods, since I didn't see him lecturing you."
You release a soft scoff, "Yeah, whatever you can call that mood, he's in it." She shakes her head before taking a clipboard with her.
"At least you're getting a good educational opportunity," she nods sideways to urge you along. While you walk side-by-side, she continues, "We got a finger fracture, possibly an open avulsion. If that's the case, what do we have to do?"
"Even if it's an open fracture, we could always treat it like a closed one if the bone fragment is small enough and not significantly displaced. A conservative RICE treatment, together with a splint or cast, could be enough in that case?"
Samira nods. "And if not?"
"If the bone is misaligned and needs internal stabilisation to heal properly, we probably need to call Ortho for on ORIF?"
"Good diagnostic hypotheses, let's see if either is correct," she says with a smile before pushing the door to the exam room open.
***
It's late. Much later than when Robby found you by the nurse station a few hours ago. Hours you've filled with meeting patience and reaching that quota your attending had dangled before you like a carrot, not the revenue maximisation Gloria kept reminding him about.
The man with a finger fracture you'd helped Samira with ended up being a case for ortho. You didn't manage to follow more than a few minutes of the meticulous work of hand surgery before you were pulled into one of the two trauma rooms to aid in a sternal fracture case due to blunt force trauma. Then it was an elderly woman's failed pacemaker. After that, a teenage boy who attempted some stupid TikTok trend and blacked out.
In other words, you'd been busy. Like always. Only finding time to scarf down a protein bar in between cases, one bite between each.
While the snack did little to replenish your long-term energy reserves, it was enough to stave off hunger and the headache you'd been fighting since midday. Unfortunately, you felt it creeping right back the longer you stared at the screen in front of you.
Since... you don't know how long, but it's been a long time in ER standards, you've been stuck at your station, finalising your charting of the patients you've seen over the last few hours.
All but one are done; the final journal is open and waiting in front of you. But you find yourself unable to finish it, simply staring at the blinking marker in the blank square you were supposed to fill out.
You close your eyes, running your hands over your face as you slump forward.
A stinging sensation rises behind your eyelids; your eyes dry after sitting in front of a screen for too long. In an attempt to rub away the burn, you press the heels of your palms against your eye-sockets. It does little to actually relieve you from it, even if it feels good to block out the fluorescent lights.
With a soft groan, you open your eyes once more, blinking away the tears that have gathered beneath your lids.
A shift in your upper vision prompts you to crane your neck, your attention moving upwards with a flicker of your gaze once it has focused.
Robby is standing on the other side of the desk, his backpack slung over his right shoulder. Ah, you really lost track of time, it seems.
"Call it a day," he says, settling his elbows on the countertop behind your computer, clasping his hands together.
"I'll finish this because I'd rather not have Gloria on my ass, thank you."
"You know it's me who's going to be on your ass for that and not her."
Your brows raise, head cocking as you give Robby a look. He mirrors it right back at you, which makes you lean back in your chair, arms crossing.
"You pushed me to see my daily quota of patients, which also means finishing their charts, as far as I'm concerned." You say, not really able to hold off on letting a smile tug at your lips. "So I didn't think you'd complain?"
"It's me who has to deal with you in the mornings and-" he tips his head in that emphasising fashion of his as his brows scrunched together, eyes narrowing as he watches you, "-throughout the day when you mope around, complaining about your coffee not helping because you couldn't sleep."
Robby was probably right. Scratch that. He is right. You always felt like caffeine did jack shit if you hadn't slept at least a few hours.
"I'll be fine," you huff out amusedly because Robby had clocked that character trait of yours, going back to watch your screen. "Worry about yourself instead."
In the upper part of your periphery, you see his mouth drop open as an oh preceded his question, "Calling me old?"
"Only one of us doesn't wake up with a back-pain because they slept badly." Your eyes flicker to him momentarily, meeting his as he looks down at you.
Robby huffs lightly, doing that minimal side-ways jerk of his head as he stands straight, tapping his palms against the flat surface he previously rested his weight on.
"Don't forget beers," he reminds you, pointing a finger in your direction as he pushes away from the desk. "We won't save one for you if you run too late!"
"What you don't know is that I've bribed Donny to!" You don't see Robby's reaction, eyes focused on the screen as you begin writing, but you catch his chuckle.
You smile. the kind that is slow to grow and remains far longer than it should. One of those you would never admit to having if someone pointed it out, and certainly never would let slip if face-to-face with Robby.
It's complicated, your relationship with Robby. Or, really, it isn't. He's your attending, has always been, even if your title has changed.
You met him during your final rotation in med-school. Back then, emergency medicine had already called your name.
The fast pace and adrenaline rush were something that equally excited and intimidated you. Not because you were afraid of the work itself, but because you were aware of the importance of knowledge and experience. Both of which you knew only got greater with time.
Choosing a speciality-focused rotation when it was offered by your school was therefore a no-brainer. That's why, when your fellow med-students continued their rotations, you stayed for a whole year in the ER.
During those twelve months, you grew comfortable with the work you'd previously only read about in course literature and medical journals. Likewise with those you worked with. The nurses, residents and, of course, your attendings.
You met both Robby and Jack —still Dr. Robinavitch and Dr. Abbot back then— within your first two months. Doing one whole rotation with the day and night shifts to familiarise yourself with the ER as soon as possible.
With Jack and the other night-shifters, you experienced the versatility of the injuries the department had to handle and the severity of some of them. You learned to stay calm, push yourself despite the discomfort of being thrown out of your natural circadian rhythm.
Despite Jack's stoic and straightforward approach to teaching, you found that you performed even better under Robby's supervision when you switched to the day-shift. Not because he didn't share some traits with his fellow attending. He didn't hesitate to give you a stern look and equally clipped comments if you made an entirely avoidable mistake. But he was... friendlier, felt more approachable than the retired combat medic.
Even if you now know Jack wasn't as hard-shelled or unapproachable as he seemed, actually opting for more positive reinforcement than his fellow attending. Robby always took the time to share his experiences with you, most often on the go, as you briefly joined him during his usual rounds between patients and residents. He'd answered your questions with anecdotes and recommendations of journals, all of which you soaked up like a sponge.
Robby made it easy for the med-student you'd been to feel like you weren't simply in the way, but a doctor in training. And it was during the day-shift that you grew the most, learning how to put your knowledge to use.
When looking back at it, the most memorable parts of your rotation were instances when Robby's knowledge impressed you. When he presented different pictures of a case because he thought that something had been forgotten or overlooked. Always with the sort of understated confidence that only came after decades of experience.
God, you remember the first time he supervised a case you participated in.
You'd presented your preliminary hypothesis, your eyes, which had been fixed on the patient up until then, switching to him, waiting for some sort of confirmation from your attending. You'd been correct, yet listened avidly as he elaborated on possibilities you still should consider.
But that memory was only second to when you'd witnessed Robby in action for the first time. When he was the one dictating the room and not solely surveyed someone else doing it.
If not for the rush and focus on following orders as he calls out only lateral sounds upon inspecting the lungs, you would've marvelled at Robby. He didn't hesitate even though the chest X-ray and CT scan hadn't returned to confirm his suspicion of tension pneumothorax. The low blood pressure, high BPM, and mediastinal shift were enough to confirm his call and rule out hemopneumothorax simultaneously.
You probably fucking did watch him with wide, glittering eyes if the smile he broke into was anything to go by once he looked at you after the chest tube was in place. He'd offered his fist for you to bump, making you laugh with his comment of 'Your first chest tube', to which you replied 'I think you should say that when I actually did it myself.'
The line between the work and the man had been clear in the beginning. Although as time passed, you realised that the more you worked with the man, the more you looked up to Robby. Not only as a doctor, but as a person.
You knew it wasn't unheard of. Med-students gravitating towards their attendings, that was. They were someone reliable, steady, in an unfamiliar surrounding.
You'd thought nothing of it, as it made itself known so late into your rotation. But it was a whole different story when you returned for your residency.
After your time at PTMC during med-school and your school's connection to the hospital —and that you worked your ass off to get it— you were granted a spot in their residency program.
You'd thought some of the people you'd gotten to know would be happy to see you again, but hadn't quite expected Dana to meet you with a hug, Samira beeline to you rather than the lockers when she arrived, Donny to clap you on the shoulders from nowhere with a big grin, or Princess and Perlah smiling and waving from where they stood huddled together.
You'd certainly not expected Robby to halt in the middle of a step and move towards you with a smile as you hung out by the nurse station, waiting for the same man's welcome-to-your-first-day huddle you'd already experienced once. He'd welcomed you back personally and spoken to you for a few minutes before he patted your shoulder and excused himself to dump his stuff in his locker.
No, you hadn't anticipated receiving such a warm welcome back. Nonetheless, it had made you carry a big smile throughout your whole first day as a student-doctor and reignited… whatever it was you'd felt as a medical student towards Robby.
It had been both exhilarating and infuriating. You'd strived just the tiniest bit harder to earn his praise, compared to the 'good jobs' or 'great calls' from senior residents or other attendings. It shouldn't mean more, but the back-straightening excitement which ran down your spine had argued it did. In fact, you'd preened inside if he sent you a thumbs-up and a smile, or you caught one of his low hums and nods to agree with your examination.
Your childhood dream of becoming a doctor, a good one, was equal parts blessing and a curse.
You had the work ethic; you wouldn't have even made it into med-school otherwise. But because you focused so much on always doing better —for yourself and your career, mainly, but also a teeny-tiny part for him— Robby had noticed. And when he'd noticed, he'd kept you closer by, followed your progress with attentive eyes, no matter if you performed an incision, stitch-up or IV, or aided a senior resident or him with an emergency.
You didn't get distracted by it in the moment, remaining single-mindedly focused on stabilising the patient, regardless of the injury's severity. But after your twelve hours were up and you returned home, you had a hard time forgetting the things that happened. Mind lingering on your shift for more reasons than the patients you'd succeeded or failed to help.
The way Robby moved past you, big hands settling on your back or hips to alert you of his presence so you didn't stumble into him in the hectic Trauma rooms.
When he gestures for you to take over from him, your fingers brushing as he provides you with the tools, offering instructions in a direct, step-by-step manner. Of course, he stayed to supervise you, always doing so from behind and over your shoulder to not be in your way but also able to step in quickly if things went awry.
Then, of course, there's that one time that you still couldn't help but think back on today.
It was almost a hilarious repeat of fate, the déjà vu heavy from your med-school rotation. Low blood pressure, high BPM, and mediastinal shift: a tension pneumothorax. Only this time, Robby turns to you with the chest tub, leaving you to perform the insertion. He'd reassured you he would guide you, and you'd nodded.
That's how Robby ended up behind you, crouched to get closer to your level and hands on yours as he coached you through your —actual— first chest tube. You remember how close his face hovered beside yours as the two of you watched the screen, following the white tube slip down the patient's throat. Low-spoken pointers were given here and there, brushing over the shell off your ear, until it was properly in place.
It was a wonder Robby hadn't felt your hands shake in his that day.
You can't pinpoint the day and time, but whatever it was that made your heart beat faster when you spotted Robby slowly faded as you progressed through your first year of residency. Without a breakdown. Just quietly. Probably because Robby never seemed phased by your proximity and never really did things that could be considered more than friendly-colleague-ish, even to your overthinking mind. And, like most things that never progressed, they fizzle out.
Entering your second year of residency, the once starry-eyed picture of Robby you had as a medical student shifted into something more anchored in respect. Respect for how he kept himself afloat after every gruesome thing he'd seen, or handled family situations you would've found yourself stumbling for words to manage.
Now, you considered Robby... friends were a stretch, but colleagues were too little, just like with everyone else in the Pitt. Most of you didn't see each other outside of work, but with he shit you experience each day, you weren't just coworkers either.
Then it was the fact that you and Robby just seemed to levitate towards each other more than you did with others.
Whatever you shared was something to keep the spirits up in a place that otherwise could swallow you. Trading quips by the nurse station and supporting each other during an emergency. It was easy to be around him and work with him. Too easy, sometimes.
Fine, you had to rationalise yourself into accepting what Robby should be to you rather than entirely abandoning the fantasy where you wished for something more.
That's why, in the same breath as you could admit he's handsome and that you had definitely thought about him in more than friendly ways, he is still your attending and old enough... anything between the two of you outside of work would have people doing a double take.
You would never admit to any of it, because it would be such a disgusting cliché thing. And, you guess you've hidden it well enough as you never caught a whisper going around or felt the curious glances from the nurses, who you knew were always the first to know about these things.
But if Robby didn't unknowingly do it damn hard sometimes, like the way he now cranes his neck backwards as your shoes hit the gravelly path after crossing the road to the park.
His glance was quick, only to confirm it was you. But there's a quirk in his lips as he holds up a beer bottle.
He'd pinched the neck between his index and middle fingers, keeping it steady with his thumb as he held the unopened bottle upside down. Even so, you recognised the label of your favourite beer.
"Thought you wouldn't spare me one?" You hum as you pluck the bottle from his grip.
You feel Robby following you with his eyes as you walk around the bench he's sitting on. Meanwhile, you send a smile in greeting to Donny and Perlah on the opposite side, as they'd also noticed your added presence.
"You looked too miserable earlier, so I took pity on you."
You turn to face Robby as you plop down beside him, sliding your backpack from your shoulder as you do. "Remind me to use that line on you in the future."
The sides of his mouth jerk upwards as he huffs a laugh through his nose right before raising his beer can to his lip. You hide your own smile by turning to your bag, beer wedged between your thighs.
Your last meal had been that sad excuse of a sandwich in the afternoon, and though your stomach hadn't audibly grumbled, you could feel it churning. Knowing you wouldn't enjoy your drink on a near-empty stomach, you rummaged through the side pocket of your bag to fish out a protein bar.
An exhale that bordered on a snort came from beside you. You glance at Robby, who observes you as he sips his beer. While sitting up straight, you rip open the wrapper with your teeth, stretching the snack towards him.
Even if he doesn't object, Robby scrunches his face in a mock expression of disgust. It makes you scoff, but still, you hold the protein bar steady as he grabs the end and starts ripping off an uneven half.
He wiggles the piece to break it off from the remaining one in your grip, a thin web of caramel connecting them, until it breaks and covers mainly your fingers.
"Smooth," you remark. Robby only chuckles with a shrug.
You lick the sweetness from your fingers before you, much like the man beside you, dig into the snack.
It's not the first time you've shared your food with Robby, nor the first time he's gotten a drink for you. While it may not always be an even trade of half a protein bar for a bottle of beer, similar exchanges have happened before.
You've earned a reputation for always carrying around some sort of snack. It wasn't your fault that people who'd worked longer in the Pitt still had shitty abilities to plan ahead, whereas you knew how convenient it was to order a box of protein bars or some other on-the-go snack each month to keep in your locker, especially with how sparse the time for actual meals was during your shift.
Your attending had certainly not been the first to ask if you had anything to spare. Of course, he'd know about it; it was his department. He'd even witnessed firsthand how someone sidled up to you in the middle of a conversation between you, only for you to not miss a beat answering his question whilst retrieving whatever this month's snack of choice was to hand it to them. The first time, his head had cocked, and his brows jumped. Now he was used to it.
But Robby had never asked, still didn't. It was you who handed him a protein bar, or dropped a pocket-sized candy bag on the screen of the iPad he held. Always square in sight and when he couldn't object.
To see your attending take a pause, have something other than a coffee, or an occasional sip of water, was rare.
You'd noticed those traits of his as early on. However, it wasn't really until becoming a resident that you spared enough attention to learn other people's habits and remember them as well. And that's kinda how it all started.
On a random day, you'd asked Robby if he'd eaten anything. You already knew the answer, so when he shrugged, you hadn't been surprised. Without hesitation, you held out the protein bar you'd specifically brought to give to him.
Robby, being Robby, tried to reject it. Eat it, you. But you informed him you'd already eaten and slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie, walking away before he could give it back.
A satisfied kind of giddiness coursed through your body when you later found him snacking on it while talking to Dana in one of those few lulls during the day.
You know Robby is a grown man; he's older than you by double digits. He could take care of himself, had for this long, and you weren't aiming to force a change in his habits. But that didn't mean you enjoyed the appreciative glances and comments he directed at you when you seemed to read his mind, or mood, and gave him something to eat.
Not long after the little habit began, you noticed Robby started returning the favour. Getting you a coffee if he got one, or filling your water bottle.
You'd commented on it once, but he'd only cocked his brows, head tilting, as his attention moved from the patient board to you. If I didn't, a bill would probably end up in my mail at the end of the month, I know the salary residents live on.
Despite barely visible through his beard, you caught a hint of a smile. You only rolled your eyes and amusedly shook your head before sipping the coffee, having grown pleasantly surprised when you realised it was made just as you liked it.
"Don't choke yourself."
Your eyes flicker to Robby as you push the remaining part of the protein bar into your mouth. His gaze is already set on you as he wipes his finger unceremoniously on his pants, trying to get rid of the sticky residue of melted chocolate.
You chew and swallow before you reply, "Sorry, not all of us have mastered the art of starving ourselves."
He hums as his mouth kicks up into a smile. "You'll learn."
Shaking your head, you finally undo the screw cap of your beer and take a swig, washing down the residual bits around your teeth, simultaneously tucking the now-empty wrapper into your bag.
"Hey Doc-" you can't believe how that nickname actually stuck, yet your head automatically turns towards Mateo who's looking at you "-you playing along?"
The usual suspects on these nights have formed a kind of semi-circle around him. Javadi, like always, tagged along, even if she sipped the beer given to her sparsely. Samira, who'd begun joining more frequently, was to her left. Santos and Whitaker both sat on Mateo's other side.
All of their eyes now trained on you.
"What game are we playing?"
"Never have I ever," Mateo says with a broad smile, shaking the beer in his hand, implying it's not the sober kind.
"I'll pass this time, thank you very much," you laugh in return.
"Don't let the elders make you into a bore," he chuckles in return.
As you notice Robby's head turning the same way as yours in the corner of your eyes, the nurse earns a hasty, panicked look from Javadi.
"Oh, I'm racking up my karma points by being a Good Samaritan, taking care of the senior citizens and all that, you know?" You feel Robby's eyes shift to you; that's precisely why you turn to him with a smile edging on too sweet and a tilt of your head. "Ain't that right?"
He cocks his brows as he scoffs. "Yeah, sure, tell yourself that."
You look back at the group of people, noticing the expressions ranging from stunned to amused. When your gaze catches Samira's, who's shaking her head in disbelief, you send her a wink. Countless times, she has remarked how she could only dream of escaping a verbal sparring with Robby unscathed if she ever attempted one.
Knowing you wouldn't participate in their drinking game, the group of people returned to talk amongst themselves as they began.
With an entertained smile pressed into the rim of your bottle, you turn forward, tuning in on the conversation between Donny and Perlah, the same one Robby was a part of. But much like him, you enjoy the setting without contributing much to the discussion. Laughing along, making a comment here or there.
Sitting down and taking a moment to reflect on the shift was sometimes needed to decompress and feel like it's alright to let it go before heading home. Today hadn't been a tough shift, but the week had been more stressful than usual. Nothing major, just the sheer amount of emergencies that had rolled through your doors and the growing queue in the waiting room.
You don't know if it's because you've forced yourself to focus for so many days straight, that your attention now strayed so easily from the conversation you'd mainly been a part of to the huddled group to your right.
Despite that your eyes remain locked forward, you listened with one ear to the hushed voices and bursts of laughter.
The 'Never Have I Ever' game mechanic had seemingly been dropped along the game's progression. Now, it mainly consists of random statements they drink to or not, with elaborations coming when pleased rather than when you were the odd one out.
When you can't help but lowly chuckle at the chorus of whoops and comments after Santos admitted to having made out with a girl while drunk, Robby's head angles towards you. It had been low enough only he caught it, yet enough for him to understand you no longer were invested in the same conversation.
"Changed your mind about playing along?" He asks, voice close to a whisper.
You shrug and look at him, your smile shielded by how close you kept the beer bottle to your lips. "Want to join me in my secret participation?"
He huffs amusedly, the shake of his head minimal. "Do I have to get on drunk-duty?"
"Loosen up, Robby, they say being around young people also makes you feel young." You tease him, jutting your elbow gently into his arm.
"I don't think that's how the saying goes," he says sceptically, but with brows humorously narrowed.
"I have never found a patient hot!"
You glance towards the group —not taking note of who drinks or not— before your eyes move back to Robby.
With arched brows, you drink, daring him to play along. A smile pulls hard at the corners of your lips at his disgruntled noise, which is followed by him raising his beer to drink.
"My first kiss was bad."
"What are these questions?" Robby mutters as he rubs the side of his face, brows pulled together for an entirely different reason now.
You quell your chuckle. "Didn't think they would ask what's better between treating obstructed bowels or sanitising the trauma rooms, did you?" Robby sends you a look, but you meet it with an inquisitively raised brow. "So, bad first kiss?"
He sucks the inside of his cheek against his teeth, lips rolling as he winces slightly. Robby jerks his head, even if it's more a twitch of his chin, before he drinks. His expression makes you snicker because you know he must have thought back to it.
Unable to resist, you teasingly ask, "Do you even remember your first kiss?"
"I do, and it wasn't good." Your smile widens, and you have to force your laugh through your nose so it isn't too loud.
His brown eyes fall —you guess at the way you tap the bottle against your lip rhythmically, but don't tip it to drink— before they meet your gaze.
"No need to lie if they don't even know you're participating," he comments.
You tip your bottle to the side, flashing him a grin. "Some of us are just born with it."
He rolls his eyes and looks away again, humming a non-committal, highly doubtful 'mhm'.
Despite having questioned the topics, Robby doesn't opt out as the two of you secretly play along while pretending to still follow the conversation between the nurses opposite you.
On most of the questions, your and Robby's answers are the same. Been close to fainting during a trauma? Neither of you drank. Skinny-dipped? Yes. Made a fool of yourself when drunk? Yes, and you made a mental note to ask him about it at a later date because you had never seen him drink more than a few beers, so that intrigued you.
On others, you disagreed. Drunk dialled an ex? You had, not Robby. Have a patient ever given you their number? You took a sip, shooting Robby a surprised look when he didn't.
Then, Whitaker throws out a question you scrunch your nose at.
I've never slept with anyone.
If you don't imagine it, a somewhat awkward silence briefly settles over the group, until Santos questions why on earth Dennis would ask the question if he hadn't done it himself. That breaks the ice, and most of them chuckle and move on without delving into the topic of who has or hasn't any further. But you don't catch what the next question is, as a bump to your shoulder redirects your attention to Robby.
"In case you missed the question, drink." You'd seen him drink. Hadn't expected anything else, really. What you also noticed was how he'd glanced at you through the corner of his eyes as he dropped his beer, like he was waiting for you to do the same.
"Oh, I heard it."
The edge of his mouth jumps upwards, his head rolling to look at you better, apparently taking your hesitation for something other than what it was.
"Was your first time so bad you don't even want to think about it?" He reuses your previous remark. It makes you huff, head dropping into a shake.
You should probably deflect, drink to drop the topic and move on. But you find yourself unable to raise your bottle, leaving it to create a watery ring against your scrub pants.
You don't say anything, only shoot Robby a smile that probably looks as half-assed as it feels, following with a kind of defeated rather than nonchalant shrug if you continue the same trend.
Even if your eyes fall to watch yourself trace the rim of the bottle with your index finger, then the group who continues with their game, you don't miss the way Robby's eyebrows shot up as he registers what you said without saying a goddamn word.
His eyes are heavy enough that you feel them on you. It makes it difficult for you to concentrate on what Samira is saying, eventually forcing you to turn back and face him.
When you find Robby with his brows furrowed, enhancing his eleven lines and the wrinkles on his forehead, you question him with a "What?"
He blinks, head tilting questioningly. "Are you saying...?"
You would've let out a bark of laughter if it hadn't pulled everyone's attention. Instead, you settle for leaning slightly towards him. "I'm flattered that you give me the benefit of the doubt."
Brown eyes stare at you unwaveringly, remaining silent for a moment as he studies you. Then he drops his chin slightly. "Really, a virgin?"
Nothing points to it, but Robby must be tipsy because there's no way he would ask you to spell it out for him otherwise.
"Yes, I am. Any more questions, or can I wait until my gyno appointment?"
But he won't drop it, you realise when he shuffles closer, passing it off as putting down his beer on the ground rather than closing the gap between you.
Although a foot shrinks to a few inches, he keeps his voice just as low as before, his question sounding more like a sound caught in his chest than spoken words, "Why?"
You should've just drunk and escaped this conversation entirely. Now, your heart is rushing, and you resist the urge to squirm in your seat. You could've skipped this conversation by simply drinking, saving yourself from disclosing your sex life to him, Robby, your attending. But no, of course, you didn't think that far ahead. Didn't consider that he was just as down-bad for gossip as anyone else in his department.
You take a slow sip of your beer, but that distraction only lasts so long before you sigh, slumping against the backrest of the bench.
You can't dig your grave any deeper, and Robby is a friend, anyway.
Your arms wrap over your stomach and you tap the bottle against your elbow as you try to mentally ratify your decision to actually indulge him with an answer.
"It's not that I haven't wanted to, I do, but no one has ever been interesting enough in the end... I guess," you mumble. Hopefully, Robby catches it because over your body buried six feet deep, will anyone else hear a word of what you say. Samira is the only exception as she already knows.
Robby crosses his arms over his chest, watching you with a tilt of his head, eyes slightly narrowed. It's similar to how he watches you —anyone, really— when you present a case, fully present and giving you his undivided attention. You have no problem holding it usually, but now, you find your eyes falling to the ground as you nudge a pebble with your shoe.
"So, how come no one passed then?"
Your eyes widen, your eyebrows shooting up, unable to wipe the disbelief from your face as you snap to watch him. "My sex life so intriguing to you?"
"Rather the lack thereof." He sends you a smile, but even despite the teasing air of his comment, the look in his eyes remains overall gentle.
"Having this conversation with you, Jesus-" you scoff out on a low chuckle, yet you find yourself continuing, "Anything to light a sexual spark? Tried to take it further than kissing with some, but... ugh." Your nose scrunches, thinking back to those guys you'd hoped would finally be good enough to take the label off of you.
It wasn't a burden, per se. Nor did you carry it as a badge of dishonour. You've talked about it openly with your friends before. Not shy that you held off for the sole reason that you simply hadn't found anyone it felt right with in the moment, no one that excited you enough to look forward to it changing.
But having this conversation with Robby? Your attending? The man you, without a doubt, had fantasised would soothe the desperate ache only someone else's touch could quell? Yeah, that definitely wasn't like talking to anyone in your closet circle about it.
"The market that bad nowadays?"
"You don't know half of it." You earn a chuckle from Robby as he shakes his head, bending down to grab his beer again.
"A cheers in hopes of you finding someone". He holds his can sideways, letting it hang in the air between you. Enough so you can clink your bottle against it.
"Cheers to that."
Whereas you neck the drink, Robby waits a few seconds, the drink stalling close to his lips as he watches you. Your head jerked in a compulsive side-to-side movement, eyes shutting tightly as your brows knitted together in reaction to drinking too much carbonated liquid in one sweep.
He's swift to take a mouthful of his own drink so you don't catch how he'd observed you. But Robby only needed those seconds to know what urges you to set down your bottle with a sharp clink on the gravel beneath the bench and subsequent heavy exhale that follows as you sit up straight again to focus on Perlah and Danny's gossiping.
Frustration.
***
You should've known better. That's the first thing you realise when you wake up with a pounding head.
You hadn't had much to drink yesterday, stopped at two beers and headed home before nine. You hadn't been drunk, barely able to call yourself tipsy. But, being poorly hydrated combined with your scarce food intake helped fuck all to battle the alcohol you consumed, no matter the amount.
You weren't hungover, no nausea clinging to the back of your throat or flare of disgust at the idea of food. The headache from yesterday had simply intensified into a rhythmic thump in your temples. Your neck felt even stiffer and didn't ease up no matter how much you stretched it.
Groaning, you sit up in bed, head in your hands. There's a dull pulsing across your frontal lobe and the top of your skull. Your whole head, if you're honest. You really fucking hope an Advil or two could ease the pain so you didn't have to power through an entire shift like this.
What it can't do is make you forget yesterday. Your conversation with Robby.
Okay, maybe you were tipsy. You almost fucking wish you had been drunk so you could blame the alcohol for having entertained the discussion and wake up with no memory of it. But you hadn't. And, you remember every detail from it with vivid clarity.
The groan you let out this time was louder.
You could only pray Robby took pity on you and didn't mention it. Despite the many times you'd fantasised about all the hot scenarios this very discussion could arise between the two of you before you fell asleep, you'd never believed it would actually happen. And certainly not as casually as it did.
Your second alarm blears out of nowhere, doing nothing to help the tension behind your eyes as you scramble to shut it off and drag yourself out of bed.
Before you leave for work, you manage to cook a sizable breakfast, complete with painkillers as dessert, and prepare an extra-large thermos of coffee. Gods know you need it.
This early in the morning, the traffic has barely started up. So you arrive at your typical time at the hospital, which is usually about twenty minutes until Robby's usual huddle.
To no surprise, the man himself is already there when you walk through the doors into the Pitt, seemingly just finishing the handover with Jack, the latter heading towards the locker with a parting pat on the fellow attendant's shoulder.
Yet what does surprise you is the sudden but low through-the-teeth whistle.
Halting in the middle of your step, you look sideways, finding Robby already looking at you over the edge of his glasses, holding a paper cup in the air. It's not from the cafeteria, but one of those small, corner coffee shops.
The cup's bottom is tilted slightly toward you, which makes your eyes jump upwards again. Robby is now looking at you with an entertained smile that tugs the line of his beard upwards enough to enhance his crow's feet. He beckons you towards him with a second show that the drink is for you.
"Thought you might need it," he says when you finally reach the other side of the counter he's standing behind, his own coffee on the desk and iPad in hand. You take it from him with a slight scoff at his amusement, which only grows when he speaks again. "Don't forget to hydrate as well, can't live off of coffee."
"That's bold coming from you," you retort, turning on your heel to put your stuff away before your shift begins. And just maybe to minimise the chance of Robby mentioning yesterday.
Even though you catch his chuckle, he doesn't say anything else. Thank god.
When you arrive at the lockers, Jack's just closing his. He looks towards you as soon as he hears you coming.
"Morning," you greet him with as you walk past him to your locker. Jack responds with a nod.
After putting in the code and depositing your stuff, you pull out a strip of pills, popping one into your hand.
"You know we have to report if anything goes missing from the storage." You look at him as you wash down the Advil with the coffee Robby gave you. His eyes momentarily fall to the mug before they return to you.
"Yeah, sure, I'll tell you if I see anything suspicious," you reply with a smile.
He huffs out his chuckle. "Last night took hard on you?"
You keep yourself from giving anything away as flashes from yesterday play on your frontal lobe. With a shrug as you close your locker, you say, "Not as seasoned as you to drink beer on an empty stomach."
When you turn, now with only your thermos and the coffee cup Robby gave you, you see there's a shadow of entertainment in the corner of Jack's eyes.
"Stuff running you that hard into the ground?"
Like always with him, the check-in is wrapped into a quip, but no less probing. Which only has you chuckling as you head out from the corridor, Jack going with you. "Not just yet."
"Good." He says with a nod, which also serves as a goodbye, as he turns right while you continue forward to join the other day-shifters gathered around Robby, not without throwing him a wave in return.
Throughout the rest of the day, you pop Advil like candy each acceptable set of hours after the last one. Doing everything to stay focused throughout your shift.
Considering your first cup of coffee runs out while you'd listened to Robby's brief summary of the night shift, you also follow your attending's suggestion of drinking water. The thermos you brought from home conveniently saved for when that early-afternoon crash hit.
Thankfully, you slept enough to feel the effects of the caffeine as needed, rather than feeling jittery and sluggish simultaneously. Leaving Robby without a chance to remark on your pouting if the opposite had been the case. Not that you gave him many chances to talk about anything. Especially that particular thing.
You didn't actively avoid him. You just occupied yourself every second of your shift, moving from one task to the next. Going from charting to checking up on a patient. From the exam room to the trauma bay.
That didn't mean you… enjoyed wasn't the right word, but at least felt the tiniest bit of relief that your and Robby's interactions were kept to a minimum today out of all days. But there was no escaping the set of heavy eyes following you throughout your shift.
You know it's Robby. Somehow, you've grown familiar with the particular weight of his attention. Can't say how, but you just know, like a sixth sense. Today you're particularly sure, concerning he's the only one who has any reason to stare at you like that.
But he doesn't pull you aside, no eyes locked and finger swiping sideways to silently inform he wants to talk to you, nor join you by the nurse station and excusing you from the conversation you're having with Dana to do the same.
And you think you've survived when you find yourself by the lockers twelve hours later.
There's only a thirty-minute drive home until your three days off start. You're planning to sleep through one of them. The other two, you'll probably do whatever you'd put off during the past few days of work. Clean your apartment. Wash all the dirty clothes in the hamper. Go grocery shopping.
You're leaning against your locker, letting out a sigh as you stare at the contents inside, zoning out for a second.
What snaps you out of it is when you hear it. Footsteps.
The locker door blocks your vision down the corridor leading to central, but you know who it is. The pace, the distribution of gait, all those small details registering despite the sudden noise of your heartbeat in your ears.
Only when there's a deep chuckle from beside you and a very familiar pair of New Balance's enter the corner of your vision below the locker, do you deflate, the last glimmer of hope you had crushed.
Your head thuds against the locker beside your own with a groan, the door still shielding you from the man at the other side. "I thought I escaped this conversation."
"So you have been avoiding me?" Robby says it with a borderline laugh in his voice.
"No," you mutter, moving to stand straight as you move the locker enough to see him. Robby's watching you with a cocked head, slight smile on his lips.
"We've barely spoken more than a few sentences today."
You cringe a little, knowing he's right. Outside of the Trauma bays or Exam rooms, you've barely spoken more than this morning.
"I have not been actively avoiding you."
His brows raise as he gives you a single nod, humming a 'mhm'. He eyes you, seemingly waiting to see if you'll say something. When you don't, he crosses his arms over his chest.
"Alright, so if I ask why you didn't just lie and drink yesterday-"
"God," you shut your eyes hard as you cut him off with a groan. When you open your eyes, you look at Robby with something close to a plea. "I don't know, I just… didn't drink, okay? Unfortunately, I can't blame the alcohol, and I let you know I would've if it were possible. I could always bullshit the excuse of being tired, which I was, but there's no use lying now. So I- just… forget I told you anything."
"Not avoiding me, you say?" Robby rolls on the soles of his feet as he chuckles, nodding towards you as he muses, "And really? You had a whole speech planned?"
You send him a glare, but it only makes him chuckle again, offering you a smile you pointedly don't return as you drop your head against a closed locker again. This time, he sees you do it. And you see him watching you, which makes your eyes close to block his entertained expression.
"You kinda got time for that when you lament it for a whole day." You mutter into the wood right against your face.
"So… you regret it?" That makes your brows furrow and look at him again.
"What?"
"Telling me about… it?" Thank god that he doesn't spell it out in case anyone heard.
You shrug defeatedly. "Let's just settle on that I should've known better than vent to you about my problems when I could've just gone to Samira like usual."
His eyebrows pinch together. "Samira knows?"
"It shouldn't be that hard to believe, compared to us, I actually see her outside of work."
"We could change that?"
You blink. "What?"
Robby is silent for a second, working his jaw before momentarily glancing sideways. "Maybe-" he begins, arms unwinding from over his chest to use a hand to articulate the word further in an aimless fashion before his eyes seek yours again. "-we could-"
"Start having wine nights and sleepovers?" You ask with a short laugh, turning back to grab your backpack from your locker and sling it over your shoulder. You're burning up from he inside and need to get out of here. You're sure Robby gets over it during his days off, too, and you'll be back on Tuesday with no need to mention it ever again.
But fate seems to be cruel today, because the moment you take your car keys and thermos, you catch it, almost missing the words from how the two metal things clink together.
Majorly, the second part.
Your head whips towards Robby.
He's now standing with both hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie, head bent, not looking at you but the linoleum floor, which has grown awfully interesting.
"Sorry?" He glances up at you, something present in his gaze you didn't often see.
It's enough for you to do anything but stare at him.
There's a thumping in your ears, much more prominent than before. It must be your headache returning. But it's not a steady, pulsing sensation that curls around your skull. It's a rush of blood as your heart suddenly skips in your chest, enough to make you inhale sharply to get rid of it. Even so, the vibration remains in the hollow of your throat, a quiver throughout your body.
You couldn't have heard Robby right, could you?
You're smacking your locker closed harsher than you intend, only because you're already moving towards Robby, who hasn't said another word.
For a man as big as him, he's surprisingly easy to navigate when you grip his arm and tug him along with you further down the corridor, using your ID card to enter the closest door with a lock, which so happens to be one of the on-call rooms.
As you step over the threshold, you let go of Robby. He doesn't bolt the second you do, simply follows a step behind and closes the door.
"Can you repeat what you said?" You spin around to face him. The bottle and keys in your hand rattled jarringly together in your haste to do so.
It's a first, feeling the power dynamic between you shift. Usually it's Robby who pins you with his stare, waiting for you to answer him. Now you are watching him intensely while he rubs his neck and bows his head, gaze not meeting yours.
"I-"
"Robby," you cut him off, making his gaze snap to yours from where it wandered sideways. "Please just tell me if I heard you right, because I can hear my headache at this point and I think I'm growing delirious."
He exhales harshly, scratching the back of his head with both hands before they drag down the side of his face, only to bury them in his pockets.
"Yes, you heard right," he admits through his teeth.
"So you did ask, proposed to…" You trail off, mouth staying open as you seemingly can't form the words. But they hung in the air all the same.
He notches his head sideways as he grimaces. "Yeah."
"Oh", you nod once, then again, until you're repeating the movement as you find words, more sounds to be honest, to reply with, "Yeah, alright, uhm..."
"Fuck," he mutters, eyes shutting tightly as his face angles to the roof, only dropping once he continues. "That- that was really fucking out of line, and I should never have said it, so just forget it."
"Robby, wait-" you latch onto his arm before he can take more than a step, halting his action to reach for the door. Surprised, he looks at you, brows pinned high on his forehead.
You swallow, letting go of him, only to rub your palm along the side of your thigh as you break away from his gaze.
"I guess-" you clear your throat, forcing your hand to clutch the strap of your backpack when your eyes trail back to him again. "I guess you caught me off guard."
This time, Robby averts his eyes, one hand running through his hair, only to scratch at his neck. He pushes the air harshly from his lungs. "I get why."
"I feel like I'm entitled to ask this considering things-" you wave your hand aimlessly, "-but why… did you suggest it?"
"I... Jesus-" he jerks his head with a disbelieving chuckle, "-we should not be having this conversation."
"Too fucking late for that," you mumble. Brown eyes lock with yours again.
"If you wanna file an HR-complaint, I totally understand."
"What? No, Robby," you shake your head. "Why would I do that?"
He cocks his brow, pinching his fingers together and using his hands to further accentuate what he's saying, "I'm your attending and I just suggested..."
"It's not forbidden," you interject.
Robby scoffs, his hands dropping. "Doesn't make it less of a potential HR nightmare."
"So, why did you suggest it if it's such a terrible idea?" You disregard the way it feels like your heart deflates a little with the question.
He gives a short laugh, tongue pushing against his cheek as he looks away while shaking his head. You decide not to say anything, observing what is probably an internal battle equal to yours, as you try to grasp how the situation has spiralled like this.
"Whatever you think, just know it isn't to stroke my ego." He heaves out a sigh before glancing at you. "And I'm not pitying you."
"Good, because if you were, I would fail an HR complaint," you scoff. That's enough to make Robby's shoulders drop an inch, not all the way, and not to make him look relaxed, but they aren't as drawn tight anymore. "But, the question still stands, Robby."
"I don't know." He says it slowly, with a slight pause after 'don't,' inhaling before he exhales the 'know'. "I've just been thinking about what you said."
You exhale slowly to wrap your head around the situation, around what he just told you. That he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. What did that even mean? That he couldn't believe it? That it bothered him enough to propose this?
God knows how much you would've paid for him to admit that a year ago, to suggest this. Who are you lying to? Amid the confusion, there's excitement, something chanting 'yes, finally' right now.
But the situation is ... a mess? Fucked? You don't know what to call it other than fuel for your headache that's flared right up again.
"Can we… talk about this more tomorrow, maybe, when I've slept away my headache?" That's present for multiple reasons now.
"Yeah, sure, of course." Robby breathes out.
"I… uh, write to you tomorrow, I guess?"
"You decide if you want to." He says, giving you an out.
With the pounding in your temples, you really can't give him anything but a tight-lipped smile in appreciation because it's just such a Robby thing to do. One that he answers with something similar, if not more strained.
Stepping out of the room did little to slow your thundering heart that triggered your headache even further. If you had caught someone lurking in the corridor, you might just have dropped dead.
Because how could you explain the muffled conversation they would definitely have heard through the walls?
With the way your thoughts were running a mile a minute, it would've been a shit-show to string together a good lie. And if they saw Robby exit the on-call room after you —which you're thankful he doesn't even if no-one is here to catch the two of you coming out of the same room, you visibly flustered and Robby something that wasn't his usual self— you would've scrambled to get a single coherent word out.
Because, what the fuck was that?
Robby offered to- yeah, he offered to take your virginity. Your attending was offering to take your, his resident's, virginity. The very man you've harboured a crush on —because let's face it, that's what it's been no matter what you named it— just suggested he could be your first.
And you were seriously considering accepting it.
Yeah, you're so fucked.