Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dana had been the one who started it.

She was taking care of a patient who was far too flirty and absolutely unwilling to take no for an answer. So the moment Robby wandered over to check on things—blissfully unaware of her predicament—she latched onto his arm like it was a life preserver.

“What is going on?” he asked, weirded out but perceptive enough to know something was off.

“Robby!” she said, smiling up at him in a god-I’m-so-in-love-with-you way instead of her usual you’re-an-idiot way. Truly unsettling. “I was just telling Mr. Teller here about our dinner plans tonight. He was kind enough to ask.”

Robby caught on instantly and slipped into character. Specifically: the hopelessly devoted boyfriend version of himself.

He pulled her in and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“It’s our one-year anniversary,” he said. “I planned something very special for tonight.”

“He’s taking me to my favorite restaurant,” Dana gushed. “It’s really fancy, so we rarely go there. I told him he didn’t need to go all out for me.”

“Only the best for my sweetums!” Robby added, booping her nose.

Dana nearly broke—her mouth twitching—but she kept her expression radiant as she turned back to her extremely displeased patient.

“I’m still hoping the surprise includes a ring,” she said conspiratorially.

“You’ll have to wait and see, sweet pea,” Robby replied, before smoothly transitioning back into doctor mode. He delivered the lab results, explained the new meds going into the IV, and answered Mr. Teller’s questions with calm professionalism.

By the time he left, the patient seemed fully convinced Dana was extremely taken—and extremely unavailable.

Dana found Robby fifteen minutes later, updating charts at the east-side workstation. He didn’t notice her until she stopped beside him.

“Call me ‘sweetums’ again,” she warned, “and you’ll find out exactly what it feels like to be on the receiving end of an anal probe.”

Robby looked up, blinking at her. “Sweetums is a perfectly normal pet name,” Robby said, affronted—or at least pretending to be.

Dana crossed her arms and gave him a pointed look.

“No, it isn’t. It’s also the name of the ogre on Sesame Street. Doesn’t feel very sweet to call me that when we’re about to get engaged.”

“I’ve told you a thousand times: I’ll propose when I’m ready,” Robby said, adopting the tone of someone trying for dignity and not quite landing it.

“It's been a year,” Dana said. “You better propose soon or I’ll leave you for someone better. My mother always told me I could do better than you anyway.”

She stepped past him in the general direction of the hub.

“Please don’t leave me, sweet cheeks!” Robby reached out and caught the back of her polo as she moved by, giving it a light, playful tug—just enough to stop her for a second. “I’ll be lost without you.”

Dana swatted his hand away. “Do you know any pet names that don’t start with ‘sweet’?”

“I’m not good at coming up with those under pressure,” he admitted.

“From now on,” Dana said, tapping the counter as if writing an official decree, “the only approved pet names are: baby, my love, and—” she gave his cheek a quick, light pat—“person who keeps me from losing my job.”

Robby snorted. “That last one feels kinda… targeted.”

“It is targeted. I’m always saving your ass.”

“I’ll do my best to remember,” he said, grinning.

“Thank you for having my back,” Dana added after a moment, voice softening.

Robby replied without missing a beat. “Always, Dana. We’re in this together.”

And together they were.

Not even two weeks later, Robby was the one who needed rescuing.

It started with a sprained ankle and a smile far too bright for his frazzled Tuesday-afternoon brain.

The moment he stepped into Central 8, the patient—Alicia, mid-twenties, running club t-shirt—looked up at him like he’d walked straight out of a perfume commercial. Warning sign number one.

Warning sign number two: she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear in slow motion. No one ever did that unless they were about to flirt.

Robby’s soul left his body. He was awful at shutting down flirtation.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Michael Robinavitch,” he greeted, sitting beside her stretcher. “But you can call me Dr. Robby.”

“Hi, Dr. Robby,” she said, lashes fluttering. “You can call me Ali.”

He buried himself in the chart, as if it could shield him.

“So, I hear you’re here for an ankle sprain.”

“You heard correctly,” she giggled.

Robby launched into his exam with laser-focused professionalism—the kind born of pure denial.

Unfortunately, Ali remained committed.

“So, Dr. Robby,” she said, casual as anything, “are you single?”

He froze mid-palpation. Actually froze. His brain blue-screened entirely.

He’d had patients ask for his number after discharge. He’d even gotten a card once offering a “good time.” But never someone bold enough to ask about his relationship status in the middle of the assessment.

Heat crawled up his cheeks.

“I—uh—” he hesitated, flustered beyond belief. Then he remembered Dana. “Actually, I’m not single.”

Ali’s face fell.

“Got engaged recently, as a matter of fact,” he continued before he could stop himself.

“Oh that’s lovely,” Ali said, and she sounded genuinely happy for him.

Well. At least there was that.

“Does your fiancée work here with you?” She asked.

“She sure does,” he said quickly. “You know how it is—only way to make a relationship work in this field is finding someone with the same crazy schedule.”

“Makes sense. I bet you both work insane hours. I’ve been waiting here six hours already.”

“You’re lucky. I’ve seen people wait upwards of twelve.”

Ali looked horrified. Robby seized the moment to go fetch a brace.

She could bear weight, swelling was minimal, and there was no tenderness—no fracture. Just a sprain and orders to stay off it for a bit.

After helping her with the brace and crutches and starting walking her toward chairs, Ali asked, “Could you point her out to me?”

“Who?” Robby blinked.

Ali playfully rolled her eyes. “Your fiancée, Dr. Robby. Obviously.”

Right. Obviously.

He scanned the ER and spotted a familiar blond head speaking with a patient near the south-side workstation.

“She’s that pretty thing over there talking to that patient,” Robby told her, pointing Ali in the right direction.

“Oh she really is pretty!”

Dana looked up then, perhaps sensing the eyes on her, and waved at Robby with the smitten smile he had recently become accustomed to.

“She doesn’t have a ring on,” Ali noted, frowning.

Well, shit.

Robby had backed himself into a corner. He felt his blush return with vengeance.

“Uh, well, you see—”

Before he had to come up with an excuse, Dana—like the angel she was—realised he was in distress and approached them.

“Need anything else, dear?”

Ali looked between them. “Dr. Robby was telling me all about your engagement, but I don’t see a ring…”

Dana let out a bright, girlish laugh.

“That is my fault,” she said. “I told him that under no circumstances was he allowed to propose with a ring I hadn’t approved first. His taste in jewelry is… questionable.”

Robby rolled his eyes but kept the very-in-love smile on his face.

“But he’s a romantic,” Dana continued. “He wanted the engagement to be a surprise, so he proposed with an empty box and told me that if I said yes, we could go ring shopping together. No budget.”

“Oh! That’s so romantic!”

“We got engaged two weeks ago,” Dana said. “Right now I’m just searching. I know exactly what I want—I just haven’t found it yet.”

“He did say it was recently,” Ali nodded. “You’re so lucky. My ex-boyfriend would even buy me coffee.”

“He’s an ex for a reason,” Dana said wisely. “I never settled for anything less than what I deserved, and that’s my Robby over here.”

She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

“You two are so sweet,” Ali crooned. “Sorry I shot my shot, Dr. Robby, but you can’t blame a girl for trying. You’re such a catch.”

Then she limped back toward the waiting room.

Robby sagged. “Oh thank fuck you showed up when you did…”

“That was hard to watch,” Dana smirked. “So we’re engaged now? You better get me a ring if we’re gonna keep this up.”

“See, the brilliance of fake dating slash being fake engaged is that it’s not real, so we can walk it back anytime we want,” Robby told her sagely.

“You’re just too cheap to get me something nice,” she scoffed, heading back to her duties.

Robby got her a ring the very next shift.

He found the biggest strawberry-flavored ring pop he could find and presented it with great ceremony.

“Only the biggest rock for my girl,” he said proudly.

Dana slipped it on with the happiest smile in the world.

Jack took a deep breath as he stood by the entrance of the PTMC.

He could do this.

Jack felt ready. His therapist thought he was ready as well. Adamson also thought he was ready or else he wouldn’t have offered him the job.

He just needed to walk inside.

“Hey, everything okay?” A concerned voice asked behind him.

Jack turned to see a man around his age dressed in a scrub top and cargo pants. He had the kindest brown eyes Jack had seen and a friendly smile. He clearly worked here.

“Yeah, first day jitters,” Jack admitted.

“Oh, you must be Dr. Abbot. Adamson told me you’d be starting today.” He then added conspiratorially “Between us, I’m really glad you’re joining us. We’ve been pretty short on attendings lately—mostly students and residents these days, and I swear they get younger every year. They’re great, of course, but sometimes it’s nice to have another experienced pair of hands around.”

Without even realizing Jack had been following the mystery man inside.

“What’s your name?” he asked, because Jack didn’t like not being the only person not in the known.

“Oh right!” The other man let out a warm laugh stopping in his tracks. “My name is Michael Robinavitch but since my last name is hard to pronounce everybody just calls me Dr. Robby or just Robby.”

“Nice to meet you, Robby.”

Robby smiled and launched into a tour, taking Jack from the waiting room—affectionately dubbed “Chairs”—down to the main ER floor. Jack appreciated it; during his interview he’d met Adamson in a meeting room on an upper floor before the man was called away to an emergency right after offering him the job, leaving no time for a tour. Today he’d been given nothing more than a reporting time and location.

“And this lovely lady here,” Robby announced with great ceremony as they approached the central hub, “is Dana Evans. Future charge nurse. Resident heartbreaker. The only person in this building I listen to without arguing. If she didn’t love this job so much she would probably rise the ranks until she became this hospital’s CEO.” 

Dana looked up from setting her bag down, raising one eyebrow. “Trying to bribe me this early in the morning, Robinavitch?”

“You wound me, Dana,” Robby said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I was genuinely praising you. And introducing Dr. Abbot, here, to our best nurse.”

Dana gave a short, amused huff. “Don’t let Lucia hear you say that.”

“Lucia?” Jack asked.

“Charge nurse,” Robby replied. He lifted his shoulders in a small, knowing shrug. “You’ll meet her eventually. Hopefully on a good day.”

Dana smirked. “If such a thing exists.”

Jack wasn’t entirely sure whether they were joking, but he nodded anyway.

Dana turned her attention fully to him then, her gaze sharp and assessing, like she was scanning him for weaknesses. Jack straightened instinctively.

“You’re the new attending?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Dr. Jack Abbot.” He extended a hand before he could stop himself. Old habits. “At your service.”

Dana took his hand, brow lifting. “Ah. A soldier.”

Robby blinked. “Really?”

Dana shrugged. “The posture. The yes-ma’am reflex. I can spot ’em.”

Jack felt heat creep up his neck. “Two tours,” he confirmed. “Afghanistan and Iraq.”

Robby let out a low whistle. “Holy shit. Bet you saw some wild stuff over there.”

Jack shrugged. “Mostly GSWs, burns, a lot of shrapnel, missing limbs.”

Robby nodded, impressed rather than horrified. “You’ll do just fine here then.”

Before Jack could respond, another voice cut in:

“Ah—here’s my new recruit.”

Dr. Adamson approached the hub, coffee in hand, looking far too awake for someone running an ED. He shook Jack’s hand firmly.

“Good to have you with us, Jack. Robby hasn’t overwhelmed you with enthusiasm yet, has he? He’s been on my case for months about getting another attending on board.”

“Not yet,” Jack said, managing a small smile.

“Give it time,” Adamson said, amused.

Robby let out a wounded gasp. “Excuse you. I’m delightful.”

Adamson ignored him. “Jack, today you’ll stick with Robby. Just to get your bearings—figure out the layout, get to know our workflows and where things are.”

“But before that,” he clapped Robby on the shoulder. “You. Walk with me.”

Robby shot Jack a quick, apologetic smile before trailing after Adamson toward the empty family room.

That left Jack standing with Dana.

Dana didn’t look away from the chart she was updating as she said, “You’re in good hands.”

Jack turned to look at her.

Dana proceeded, still not paying him any mind. “Robby’s Adamson’s protégé. Kid’s set to take over as Chief Attending one day if Adamson ever gets promoted to the board—or retires, which none of us believe will actually happen.”

Jack blinked. “He’s that good?”

“You have no idea,” Dana said, finally looking up, her eyes softening—just a little. “Adamson is the Chief Attending in charge of the ED—basically the department director. When he’s down here, he’s the shift’s Chief Attending by default. But if he’s off rotation, the role goes straight to Robby, and no one questions it. He runs this department like it’s coded into his DNA. Works too much, sleeps too little, cares too hard… but he’s brilliant. And he’ll have your back.”

Jack nodded slowly, absorbing that.

“And what about you?” he asked. “Should I be afraid?”

Dana smirked. “Only if you’re smart.”

Jack snorted, surprised at himself.

She grinned. “Welcome to the Pitt, Dr. Abbot. You’re gonna fit right in.”

“Thank you.”

Her expression shifted instantly into something menacing enough to make Jack’s spine straighten.

“Just one more thing,” she said calmly.

Jack had stepped into more than a few battlefields to reach wounded soldiers—never a combatant himself, but never truly safe either, as the loss of the lower part of his right leg proved. Yet somehow this woman felt more lethal at the moment.

“Call me ma’am one more time,” she said sweetly, “and I’ll schedule you for a bilateral orchiectomy myself. Then I’ll keep your balls in a jar as décor for the central hub. Are we clear?”

Jack’s eyes widened almost comically

“Yes ma—yes… miss.”

“For fuck’s sake, Abbot.” Dana rolled her eyes. “Call me Dana. Or Evans. I’m not that much older than you.”

Adamson shut the family room door behind them with a soft click—the kind that meant pay attention, this matters.

Robby stood there a beat, glancing around, the coffee table at center was cluttered with crayons and abandoned coloring pages, probably from the last kids that had been in here.

“So… do you want to discuss a case?” He hesitated. Adamson usually did that on the open floor unless it involved the kind of details HIPAA would tackle him over. “Is this one of those sensitive ones?”

“No,” Adamson said. “This isn’t about a case.”

He sank into one of the padded chairs, he gestured for Robby to take a seat. “It’s about Abbot.”

Robby blinked. “What about him?”

Robby took the chair across from Adamson. The distance felt a little awkward, but it was the only arrangement that made sense. He sank back, already trying to guess where this conversation was going.

From what he’d seen so far, Abbot was quiet, polite, and surprisingly grounded for someone thrown straight into the Pitt’s chaos—he hadn’t even flinched at the sight of the seven a.m. disaster-level waiting room. And someone with trauma experience from the military? That was practically gold.

Adamson exhaled through his nose. “If I’m being completely honest… I hired him for you.”

Robby blinked. “For—me? Why?”

“You’ve hit a plateau,” Adamson said bluntly. “Not in a bad way. You’re damn good. One of the best I’ve ever trained. But lately?” He shrugged. “You need someone who pushes you. Someone you can’t predict. Someone who makes you think harder.”

Robby stiffened slightly. “I didn’t realize I was plateauing.”

“You’re not declining,” Adamson said quickly. “You’re steady. Comfortable. Predictable. And predictable doesn’t grow.”

Robby absorbed that silently.

It stung—but it wasn’t a bad sting. More like a wake-up call.

“Abbot’s résumé is ridiculous. Top of his class. Stellar evaluations. He could’ve gone anywhere, but he went the military route because of finances.” Adamson paused. “Not his first choice, but he made it work.”

Robby nodded, listening closely.

“And he thrived there,” Adamson continued. “Two tours. Field trauma. Battlefield improvisation. You know that kind of medicine—the kind you only learn when everything around you is falling apart.”

Robby swallowed.

He knew.

Anyone in EM admired battlefield medics.

“I want you challenged,” Adamson said. “Jack can do that. He thinks differently than you. He’s had to. You’ll learn from him just as much as he learns from you.”

“…okay,” Robby said quietly.

He wasn’t sure whether to feel anxious, flattered, or competitive.

Probably all three.

“How do you want me to handle today?” he asked.

“Full freedom,” Adamson said. “Let him shadow you but don’t keep him off cases. Show him our workflows. Introduce him to how we do things here. By tomorrow, he should be able to navigate the ER without handholding.”

Robby nodded. That was doable.

“Oh—one more thing.” Adamson’s tone shifted, softer, more cautious. “Keep an eye on him if he’s been standing too long. Watch for micro-expressions—jaw clenching, shoulders tightening, shifts in weight.”

“Why?” Robby asked.

Adamson hesitated, then said, “He’s an amputee. Right leg.”

Robby froze, eyes widening.  “…I didn’t notice.”

“Good prosthetic,” Adamson said. “And he’s stubborn as hell. Won’t tell you when something hurts. But long shifts can be rough. New attendings try to prove themselves—sometimes too hard.”

Robby nodded slowly.

New respect settled in his chest, mingled with something protective.

“Got it,” Robby said. “I’ll watch out for him.”

Adamson’s expression softened. “He’s good for the team. But more importantly? I think he’ll be good for you, Robby.”

Robby felt his face heat and stood a little too quickly. “I’ll, uh—get him started.”

He reached for the door.

“And Robby?”

“Yeah?” He didn’t turn around.

“Have fun, will you? This isn’t a punishment. You’re the one who kept pestering me to hire a new attending.”

That did it—his ears went scarlet. “Sure thing, Chief.”

“Robinavitch, how many times—!” Adamson snapped, but Robby was already halfway out the door, and the rest of the tirade about not being called Chief never made it out.

He spotted Dana and Jack exactly where he’d left them, standing near the hub. Dana was saying something flat-toned and undoubtedly threatening, and Jack—poor guy—looked like he was reassessing every life choice that brought him here.

Robby jogged the last few steps.

“Hey—sorry about that,” he said. “Adamson wanted to talk shop.”

“No worries,” Jack said, straightening a little. “Dana was just explaining the internal politics of… everything.”

“Internal politics?” Robby snorted. “She was threatening you, wasn’t she?”

Dana didn’t look up from her chart. “Threatening is such a strong word. Like Abbot said, I was teaching him how some things work around here. That’s all.”

Robby grinned and picked up his backpack. “Alright, c’mon, Abbot. Let me get you set up with the important stuff.”

Jack fell in beside him as they moved away from the hub toward Trauma.

“Did she threaten you with an orchiectomy?” Robby asked.

“A double,” Jack nodded. “If I called her ‘ma’am’ ever again. And then she said she’d keep my balls in a jar as décor.”

Robby snickered. “Classic Dana. I’ve been threatened with that one several times, but she’s never followed through. She’s got a mean right hook, though, so watch out for your arms if you piss her off. Either that or she destroys you psychologically.”

As they passed T1 and T2, Robby stole a discreet glance at Jack’s gait. But Jack walked like nothing was missing. Smooth stride, steady pace, posture relaxed. If there was a difference, it was microscopic—maybe a quieter footfall on the right, maybe a fraction less ankle movement. Robby wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining it.

Honestly? If Adamson hadn’t said a word, he would never have noticed.

Still, he’d keep an eye out later in the shift.

“So,” Robby said lightly, “have you ever used a scrub machine before?”

Jack blinked. “A what?”

“Ah. Perfect. This’ll be fun.”

They reached the alcove near the Trauma rooms where the scrub dispenser sat. Jack blinked at the steel cabinet with its digital display.

“That’s a… laundry machine?”

Robby snorted. “No. No, my friend. This is the scrub dispenser.”

He tapped his badge to the reader. “Here’s how it works. Everybody gets one credit for tops and one for bottoms. If you don’t have credits and you try to get scrubs anyway, the machine—”

He jabbed the dispensing option dramatically.

Nothing happened.

“—does absolutely nothing. No beep. No error message. Just cold, blank judgment.”

Jack cracked a smile. “And how do I get credits?”

“For you? First day? You get one free automatic dispense. After that, you return your scrubs, the machine gives the credits back, and you can get a new set.”

Jack nodded, studying it. “And it knows my size?”

“It’s preloaded into your profile. HR buries it somewhere in the eighty forms they make you fill out before you start. Either the day you got the offer or the day you picked up your badge—I honestly don’t remember which.” Robby shrugged. “Point is, it spits out whatever size the system has for you.”

Jack raised a brow. “And if my size is out?”

“It’ll give you scrubs from another department, as long as they’re your size.”

Jack stared. “…so I might end up wearing L&D?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Robby said. “You haven’t lived until you’ve done an entire shift in the wrong color and confused the shit out of everyone.”

Jack snorted. It was small, but real.

Robby felt ridiculously accomplished.

“Alright,” Robby said, motioning. “Go for it.”

Jack scanned his badge and pressed dispense. The machine whirred, displayed Searching for your item. Please wait, then unlocked a compartment. Jack retrieved the folded scrubs, brushing a thumb over the fabric.

“It’s been a while since I’ve worn these…”

Robby shrugged. “I bet they’ll suit you,” he said before he could help it.

Jack looked up, startled.

Robby’s brain immediately panicked. “I mean—black suits everyone. As a general… clothing… phenomenon.”

Jack smiled at him. It was a really nice smile.

Robby wanted to walk into the nearest supply closet and perish.

“Anyway!” Robby pivoted hard. “Lockers are this way.”

They turned around and headed toward their so-called locker room a few feet down the hall—two rows of stacked lockers with digital keypads lining the wall like an afterthought.

“Pick any open one,” Robby said. “Set your PIN and it’s yours for the day. If you come early enough every shift you can basically claim the same locker forever, but officially? First come, first serve.”

He demonstrated with his usual locker and tossed his backpack inside. Jack picked a locker near the back, slid his clearly army-issued backpack inside, and tugged the scrub top on over the t-shirt he was already wearing.

“If you want to change into the pants too,” Robby said, “I can show you the closest bathrooms. We don’t have actual locker rooms. Adamson isn’t strict about the pants—I wear them, but some days I just stick with cargo pants. I like all the pockets.”

“These scrubs don’t have pockets?”

“Oh, they do—they even have utility pockets. But you can’t beat cargo pants.”

“I get you,” Jack said. “But I was under the impression scrubs were mandatory, so I didn’t come quite prepared in the bottoms department.”

“Bathroom location is an important part of the tour anyway.”

Jack shut his locker, scrub pants in hand, and entered a four-digit PIN.

“Lead the way.”

Jack had barely come back from the lockers before the ER erupted around him. Someone shouted for an attending, someone else waved a CT form in the air like a distress flag, and a med student was slapping a printer like physical intimidation might fix it.

Robby glanced over his shoulder, eyes bright. “Ready to be thrown to the wolves?”

“I thought I was just observing today,” Jack said.

Robby snorted. “Yeah, no. Welcome to the Pitt.”

He grabbed a pair of gloves off a passing cart and headed toward Central 9. Jack followed, the familiar hum of a busy ER settling into his bones the way it always did—like a rhythm he’d never forgotten.

The patient in Central 9 was curled on his side, pale and sweating. Robby handed Jack the chart without ceremony.

“Alright,” Robby said. “Walk me through him.”

Jack didn’t hesitate. “Twenty-four-year-old male. Fever, tachycardia, nausea, right lower quadrant tenderness. Classic appendicitis. Possibly perforated.”

Robby’s mouth twitched, impressed. “Good. Let’s take a look.”

They worked around each other easily—too easily for two people who’d known each other an hour. Jack palpated while Robby kept up a calm stream of questions for the patient, then they swapped positions without speaking.

When they stepped back into the hallway, Jack waited for instructions, but Robby only nodded toward the hub.

“Tell the nurse what you want.”

So Jack did. And it went smoothly. Better than he expected.

The morning blurred forward—chest pain, a febrile seizure, a kid with dehydration. Jack found his hands steady, his voice grounded, his instincts sharp. Robby didn’t hover or monitor him like a trainee. He simply made space for Jack and filled in workflow gaps as needed, stepping in and stepping out to help with other cases when needed  with uncanny precision.

Later, once the early chaos settled into a steadier rhythm, Jack set up to drain an abscess while the patient drifted under light ketamine sedation and a resident hovered uncertainly near the bed. Jack slipped into teacher mode without even realizing.

“Why are we checking for fluctuance?” he asked gently.

The resident stiffened. “Uh… why are you asking me questions?”

Jack blinked, surprised for only a breath. “Because this is a teaching hospital,” he said evenly.

The resident hesitated. “Right… but aren’t you, like… a late-start resident or something? Someone said it’s your first day.”

Before Jack could answer, Robby appeared in the doorway.

“He’s an attending, Hearst,” Robby said, tone firm enough to snap the air. “If Dr. Abbot asks you something, you answer.”

Hearst straightened so fast it was almost funny. “Uh—fluctuance indicates a fluid collection. So… abscess.”

Jack nodded, warming to the kid again. “Good. Come here. I’ll guide your hand and show you how to incise it.”

And he did. Hearst’s first cut was shaky, but correct. Confidence began to settle into the kid’s posture. Something like pride settled into Jack’s.

As the shift pushed toward midday, the pace picked up, and Robby gradually peeled away to handle his own side of the board. At first Jack expected him to circle back—to check in, redirect, monitor—but Robby didn’t. He just tossed Jack a quick nod across the hub, the universal attending handoff for You’ve got this, and kept moving.

So Jack picked up his own patients, solo now—headaches, a laceration, an elderly woman with mild CHF. He checked in with Robby on a few workflow quirks, but otherwise the department treated him like he’d always been there. Nurses started bringing him charts directly. Residents began to seek him out with questions.

Before long, Jack realized he was running a full patient load on his own—and it felt good. It felt right.

By mid-afternoon, Robby passed Jack at the central workstation, where he was leaning against the counter as he reviewed the labs a med student had handed him. Robby nudged a rolling stool toward him with his foot. “When you finish that, sit and do some charting. Trust me—you’ll thank me when you’re not stuck doing it all at the end of the shift.”

Jack huffed a laugh and sat. The relief along his right side was subtle but real.

Only then did he realize he had barely sat down since his shift started. Sure, he’d taken a seat to stitch someone up or walk a resident through a procedure, but he hadn’t actually sat long enough to rest his leg. It was probably all the adrenaline. He hadn’t felt like this in years.

Jack had even managed to make a decent dent in his charting before the next major emergency hit.

“Trauma incoming! Two minutes out!” Lucia called from the hub. “They’re gonna need you, Robby.”

Robby, who had been checking on a patient in a hallway bed near South 22, looked straight at Jack and jerked his head toward the ambulance bay. “C’mon!” he said, already breaking into a run.

They sprinted toward the ambulance just as the doors flew open.

A man in his late twenties lay on the stretcher, leg soaked in blood, jeans torn, pale and fading fast. A makeshift clamp held pressure near the groin.

“Chainsaw accident,” the medic said. “Massive blood loss. We can’t control it.”

They rolled past Trauma 2, where Adamson was still fighting to stabilize a crashing patient, and into Trauma 1. The moment the stretcher locked in place, nurses descended—monitor leads, pressure bags, suction, the whole choreography of organized chaos.

Robby moved to the head of the bed. Jack slid to the side, gloves on, eyes already tracking the crimson pooling faster than the dressings could soak it.

“He’s blowing through dressings,” Dana said, her voice clipped, focused. “Pressure isn’t enough.”

“Alright,” Robby said, steady but tense, “get a tourni—”

“No.”

Jack didn’t raise his voice, but the single word cut through the noise.

Robby turned toward him. “No?”

Jack shook his head, already elbow-deep in training he hoped never to use again. “It’s too high. You’ll never get occlusion. That is a junctional hemorrhage.”

Robby’s eyes widened—not confusion, but the sharp flicker of someone realizing Jack had seen this before.

Jack leaned into the wound, sliding his hand into the inguinal crease, fingers searching with practiced precision until he felt the femoral vessels. Then he pressed.

Hard.

The bleeding slowed. Not stopped—never fully stopped—but slowed enough to buy time.

“Holy shit,” a nurse Jack was pretty sure was called Jesse whispered, watching the vitals climb from the brink. “He’s stabilizing.”

“Keep those fluids running,” Jack said without looking up, voice calm in that way only the trained could be. “I’ve got pressure. Do not move me unless you want this kid reopening.”

Dana immediately shifted roles, becoming his second pair of eyes. “IVs are good, pressure bag’s up. We’re ready for blood.”

Robby snapped back into full command. “Alright—type and cross, get blood up here now, page surgery again, wide-open fluids, let’s move!”

Jack held pressure.

And held.

And held.

Everyone else worked around him—nurses threading lines, hanging blood, monitoring vitals, adjusting oxygen. Robby coordinating with the trauma surgeon. Dana anticipating every need before anyone voiced it.

But Jack stayed exactly where he was, hand compressing the artery like a dam between the boy and the worst-case scenario.

By the time the OR team arrived and the surgeon replaced Jack’s hand with his own, Jack’s shoulders were burning—but the bleeding remained controlled.

Only then did Jack step back.

The moment the gurney rolled out and the doors swung closed behind it, the tension drained from the room all at once.

Jack sagged against the nearest wall, breath leaving him in a long, slow exhale.

Robby appeared beside him, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. His voice was quiet, reverent in a way that caught Jack off guard.

“That was incredible.”

Jack shook his head. “Just field training.”

“Field training that saved that kid’s life,” Robby corrected, nudging his shoulder. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

Jack stared at him for a moment, something warm and long-forgotten curling low in his chest.

As evening settled in, the ER didn’t slow so much as shift. Jack felt himself settling into the rhythm too. The team moved around Jack with a familiarity he hadn’t expected on a first day.

And Robby…  Robby kept weaving in and out of his orbit—sliding beside him at the hub, brushing past him in hallways with a murmured update, handing off charts with a flash of a grin. They moved around each other with the ease of people who’d worked together for years, not hours.

At one point, Jack rounded a corner and saw Robby animatedly explaining something to a resident—hands flying, expression all bright intensity.

And something in Jack tightened—a flicker of the same feeling from earlier, tugging at him before he could shove it down.

He pushed it down hard.

No.

Too soon.

He should still be mourning.

Still rearranging the pieces of himself he’d barely glued back together.

He wasn’t going to complicate everything the minute he found solid ground again.

He tore his gaze away and focused on his next case.

Time blurred after that—more patients, more residents with too many questions, more nurses treating him like he’d always belonged here and could pull his own weight. It wasn’t until the shift was nearly over that Robby nudged his elbow.

“Hey,” Robby murmured. “You good?”

Jack looked down from the case board, startled by the quiet concern in his voice.

Robby jerked his chin toward the clock. “We’ve got, what, an hour left? Think you can survive it?”

Jack huffed a laugh. “Barely.”

“I feel you,” Robby grinned. “But since we’re almost out of here and nothing’s blowing up, how about you swing by the break room and grab something to eat—Adamson ordered from Primanti’s and I believe there’s still some sandwiches left—then go sit by Dana instead of picking up a new case?”

Jack blinked. “You sure? There’s still a few I could—”

“Nope. Eat,” Robby cut in, giving him a gentle push in the direction of the break room. “Dana won’t bite you. And I’ll be there in ten. One of my med students fainted because he saw a needle, so now I get to stitch that idiot’s forehead.”

He pointed toward an open room. Jack recognized the kid—an MS3 who wanted nothing to do with EM, was here purely because third-year rotations demanded it, and looked like he’d seen more blood today than he’d planned on in his whole career.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You sure it’s not karma for being too hard on him earlier?”

Robby gasped dramatically. “How dare you accuse me of bullying my students? I am a delight.”

Jack shook his head, smiling as he headed toward the break room. “So you keep saying, but that’s not what I’ve been witnessing all day.”

“Lies!” Robby called after him. “Slander!”

Jack glanced back once, smirking.

“Save me a sandwich!” Robby added, pointing at him like it was a solemn promise.

Jack snorted and kept walking.

He ducked into the break room and grabbed the two sandwiches with the least offensive combinations from the leftovers. When he stepped back out, Dana looked up as he sank gratefully into the chair beside her.

“Finally realized sitting is a thing?” she asked dryly.

Jack opened his mouth to retort—and froze.

Relief flooded him in a wave so strong it almost made him dizzy. The last few hours had really done a number on him; adrenaline and distraction could only carry a man so far.

“Yeah,” Jack exhaled. “Guess I did.”

Dana gave him a once-over—quick, clinical, and noticeably gentler than he’d expect from the woman who’d threatened his balls before noon—and nodded to herself. “Good. Stay put. You overachieve on your first day and people will expect you to always work at that level.”

Jack chuckled under his breath, taking a bite of his sandwich and tapping his badge to finish charting.

Across the room, Robby was already sitting beside the sheepish med student, hands gentle as he cleaned a small gash on the kid’s forehead.

Jack watched him for a moment—just a moment.

Warmth tugged at him again.

He shoved it down hard. Again.

Then he turned back to his sandwich and let the hum of the Pitt settle around him. He felt steady and safe in a way he hadn’t felt in years. There was less than an hour to go on his shift. He’d crash the moment he showered and his head hit the pillow, but somehow he was already looking forward to coming back.

Robby met Adamson halfway down the stairwell between the fourth and fifth floors, a place the chief favored whenever he wanted a conversation without a dozen sets of ears lingering. Adamson looked satisfied in that way he got when a plan had unfolded exactly the way he predicted.

“Alright,” Adamson said, adjusting the cuff of his jacket before leaning against the railing. “Tell me I was right.”

Robby took a measured sip of coffee. “You’d have to be more specific.”

“Abbot.” Adamson gave him a pointed stare. “You two. The way you’ve been running the floor the past few weeks. It’s good. Really good.”

Robby shrugged, trying not to preen. “He’s settling in.”

“He’s doing more than settling in,” Adamson said. “He’s pushing you. You’re pushing him. Residents are actually motivated to stay on as attendings. Nurses aren’t threatening mutiny. The whole place is tighter.”

Robby fought the urge to roll his eyes.

Adamson made it sound like everything had magically fallen into place the second Jack walked through the doors, but Robby knew better. He’d spent years doing everything he could to make the Pitt a place people actually wanted to work in—keeping morale up, supporting residents, smoothing the rough edges that administration refused to acknowledge.

Jack was here now because Adamson had finally convinced the administration that they were drowning without another attending. (And because he had gotten sick of Robby bitching about it every three days.)

Sure, having Jack on his shift took a massive amount of weight off him. Even when Adamson was on shift, if he got pulled into something, Robby became the de facto second-in-command—meaning the messes were still his to clean up.

Jack made that easier. A lot easier.

And Jack was great. Brilliant, even.

But he hadn’t been here for the years when Robby had been the human equivalent of duct tape.

“We’ve had good hires before,” Robby said.

“Not like this.” Adamson’s tone softened, but not in the condescending way. In the mentor way. “You two work like you’ve been doing it for years.”

“It’s been three weeks.”

“Exactly my point.”

Robby felt the acknowledgment land in his chest—warm, uncomfortable. He hated how transparent he must’ve looked, because Adamson’s mouth twitched like he’d scored a win.

“Look,” Adamson said, pushing off the railing, “You know I hired him to challenge you. To keep you sharp. And it’s working. Better than I expected.”

“Congratulations, you made a great hire,” Robby replied dryly, not wanting to give Adamson the satisfaction.

“You’re so stubborn,” Adamson sighed fondly. “Either way, I’ve seen you two work your magic downstairs. You’re already thick as thieves. I can’t wait to see how much better you both become together.”

Robby’s throat tightened.

He tried very hard not to react. “Yeah, well. You’ll have to wait and see.”

Adamson clapped his shoulder. “Keep it up.”

Then he headed down the stairs and disappeared around the landing, leaving Robby alone with the echo of footsteps and the sudden, unwelcome pounding of his own heart.

Adamson had no idea.

He had just—completely by accident—ruined Robby’s life.

Or improved it.

Hard to tell the difference lately.

Because the truth was simple and profoundly stupid: somewhere between Jack joining the team and now, Robby had developed a crush.

A massive one.

He’d tried to hide it. He really had. He was forty-three, not fourteen. He knew how to compartmentalize. He’d had practice—god knew emergency medicine taught you how.

But then came the moment that ruined everything.

Jack and Robby had hung out outside of work a total of two times in the time since Jack joined the department.

The first had been a co-worker’s birthday that somehow morphed into a full group outing. Robby practically had to drag Jack into the bar because Jack genuinely believed he “wasn’t part of the group yet,” and therefore wasn’t actually invited. At the start he hovered near Robby like an anxious, newly adopted cat, but a few drinks later he’d turned into full-blown Miss Congeniality.

And then came the second outing.

Jack’s invite, casual but not casual at all: You want to catch the Pens game? There’s a place near my apartment.

They had watched the game, sure.

But they’d also talked. Really talked.

Mostly they traded stories, starting with what they had most in common: med school disasters, first botched procedures. By the end of their third beer, the stories had drifted into something more personal. Robby shared a little about being raised by his grandma. Jack told him some of his deployment stories.

And then Jack told him about his leg.

Jack said it plainly, like stating the weather. And Robby, rather than pretending he didn’t know, admitted that Adamson had told him to be mindful of signs of strain. He’d been ready for Jack to bristle.

Instead, Jack had given him a long, assessing look and said quietly, “Yeah. I figured. You redirected me to sit every time it even started to flare up. Too many times to be a coincidence.”

They stayed until the staff kicked them out, talking like men who’d grown up together and hadn’t been able to speak openly in years.

It was the Monday after that second outing—the one that had accidentally turned into the longest, easiest, most disarming conversation Robby had had in years. He couldn’t tell you even with a gun pointed to his head who had even won the game. 

He’d come into work still half-humming from it, still replaying Jack’s laugh at one of his med school horror stories, still feeling the phantom warmth of Jack’s hand on his shoulder when he’d said, Thanks for coming out with me. I… needed that.

Robby had walked into the ER smiling.

Smiling.

And Dana had spotted him instantly, narrowing her eyes like she’d just detected the tremor before an earthquake.

“You,” she’d said, pointing her pen like a weapon. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Robby had replied, catastrophically unconvincing.

“You’re smiling like a lovesick idiot, you know?”

“No I’m not.”

Dana had studied him—slowly, deliberately.

Then, without warning: “So you and Abbot finally went on a date.”

Robby choked.

“Are you ready to admit you have a crush on him, then?” She smiled, the picture of smug satisfaction.

Robby had inhaled sharply, the kind of surprised breath a man took when stabbed.

“I—what—Dana, I don’t—” He inhaled again, trying to regain some dignity. “It wasn’t a date. He asked if I wanted to go to a sports bar and watch the Pens with him, so we did. That’s it. That’s literally all that happened. I don’t have a crush on him.”

She lifted one eyebrow. Just one. It was all it took.

Robby folded immediately. It wasn’t a verbal confession—he had some pride—but his face betrayed him with humiliating clarity.

Dana’s smile had been slow, wicked, and impossibly pleased.

“Oh,” she’d murmured. “This is going to be fun.”

He had never recovered.

Now Dana seemed to draw nourishment from every flustered look, every awkward pause, every time Jack casually touched Robby’s arm and Robby forgot how bones worked.

Robby sighed, straightened himself, and stepped back into the ER.

He barely made it five steps.

Dana intercepted him with military precision.

“You’re doing the face again,” she said.

Robby closed his eyes. “I don’t have a face.”

“You have so many faces,” she said. “Right now, it’s the one where you look like someone asked you to define mixed feelings in under ten seconds.”

“I just talked to Adamson.”

“Ah.” Dana nodded knowingly. “Existential dread. Always a classic.”

“It isn’t existential dread.”

“I can practically take your pulse from that bulgy vein in your neck,” she said, pointing to her own in demonstration.

Robby resisted the urge to crawl under the nearest gurney. “He said Jack and I are good for each other.”

“You are.”

“He said we make the department better.”

“You do.”

“And he wants us to keep doing whatever we’re doing.”

Dana smirked. “Do you need me to diagram this for you on the whiteboard?”

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s complicated.”

“You keep using that word,” she said. “But I’m pretty sure all you mean is: ‘I have a crush the size of a small continent and Jack Abbot has absolutely no idea.’”

“Could you be any louder?” Robby hissed—then immediately wilted, covering his face with both hands. “I wish the floor would swallow me whole."

“Nope,” she said cheerfully. “We’re understaffed. We need you up here.”

Before he could answer, Jack approached the hub, chart in hand, that small smile he always seemed to have ready for them tugging at his mouth.

“Everything okay here?” he asked.

“Robby’s catastrophizing,” Dana said easily.

Jack’s brows pulled together. “About what?”

“Pick a subject. You know our boy here is very dramatic”

Jack turned to Robby. “You alright?”

It was a simple question.

A gentle one.

Somehow the gentlest made the deepest cuts.

“Yeah,” Robby managed. “Just a long day.”

It wasn’t even eleven a.m.

Jack nodded. Then—because he had no idea what it did to Robby—he rested a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Alright,” Jack murmured. “Just checking in, brother.”

Ah. There it was.

The new bane of Robby’s existence.

Brother.

Brother, which Dana insisted was just army vernacular.

Brother, which Jack used so easily, so naturally, like breathing.

Brother, which landed in Robby’s chest like a quiet, polite heartbreak.

Jack moved off toward Trauma, blissfully unaware he’d just emotionally crippled his colleague for the rest of the day.

Dana watched him go, then sighed. “Oof.”

Robby stared at the floor. “He might as well have handed me a pamphlet titled How to Emotionally Disembowel Yourself in One Easy Step.”

“And you keep insisting you’re not a drama queen,” Dana snorted. “It doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

“It feels like rejection.”

“It’s not,” she said simply. “It’s a boundary. A safe one. He’s trying not to screw anything up. Which—if I’m reading this right, and I usually am—means you matter.”

Robby froze.

But Dana didn’t push.

She clapped him lightly on the back. “Alright, Romeo. Go do something useful instead of wallowing beside me—some of us have work to do.”

Robby took a breath, gathered the last shreds of his dignity he had left, and looked at the board to pick his next case.

So what if a crush was quietly eating him alive? The ER didn’t stop for emotional crises. He still had work to do.

But if Jack Abbot called him brother one more time, Robby was going to walk directly into oncoming EMS traffic.

With grace.

And professionalism.

Peds wasn’t usually one of their busier rooms, but a bug ripping through the local schools had changed that. The pediatric double room bustled with restless kids and anxious parents—the kind of chaos unique to pediatrics.

Robby stood at Bed 1 with a little girl who’d been vomiting since morning, another fallen victim of the school bug. He was sitting beside her bed, checking her hydration status with comforting chatter that had her giggling despite looking pale as paper.

Jack had no business being in the room.

His own patient—a twelve-year-old soccer player with a mild ankle sprain—was in a regular adult room down the hall. The kid needed a pediatric-sized ankle brace, because the adult ones kept slipping. But the supply cabinet in the adult pod was empty (again), and the only place the Pitt kept the small braces consistently stocked was here, in the peds double room.

So Jack slipped in quietly, heading straight for the bottom drawer.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he passed behind Robby. “Just grabbing something.”

“Go ahead,” Robby said without looking up.

Jack crouched by the supply drawer and started rifling through brace sizes. He tried not to listen—he always tried—but the mother on Robby’s side had a voice that tended to brighten a whole room.

And Robby’s, unfortunately for him, tended to invite conversation.

“So,” the woman said, smiling warmly, “you’re very good with kids. Not every doctor has that kind of patience.”

Robby chuckled softly. “Kids just need someone to meet them where they are.”

“And you do it beautifully,” she said, leaning a little closer. “Your partner must adore you.”

Robby froze for half a second—Jack recognized the micro-pause. The oh no, please not this again micro-pause.

He watched Robby try the standard deflection:

“I’m just doing my job, Mrs. Campbell.”

But the mother didn’t take the hint.

“Oh—” She touched his arm lightly. “It’s Ms. Campbell now. Haven’t been a ‘Mrs.’ since the divorce.”

Robby gave the polite, professional nod he reserved for personal information he did not want. “Of course. Ms. Campbell.”

She leaned in just a little too comfortably.

“Well, job or not, Dr. Robby, a man who’s this patient and this kind…” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, “—he’s dangerous.”

Jack’s hand paused over the drawer, then moved again. He forced himself to keep looking through braces. This wasn’t his business.

The mom didn’t back off.

“Come on,” she nudged, “tell me you’re not single. A man like you shouldn’t be.”

Jack’s breath hitched before he meant it to, but no one heard him over the background noise of the room. He told himself to tune it out. To stay focused.

He and Robby had never discussed their love lives. He couldn’t help but be a little curious about it.

Robby exhaled through his nose—soft, resigned. The kind of exhale he used when he’d tried every normal option and still needed to shut a conversation down cleanly, kindly, professionally.

“Well…” Robby said, exhaling softly, “actually, you see that blonde nurse outside? That’s my girlfriend.”

Jack froze.

Not dramatically. Not visibly.

Just… quietly froze.

His fingers stiffened around the brace he’d just picked up—completely the wrong size, though he couldn’t make his eyes focus enough to confirm that.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe for a moment.

Ms. Campbell seemed as caught off guard as Jack himself, the smile on her face faltering as the words sank in.

“Oh,” she said softly. A small flush crept up her neck. “I—well. Good for you both.”

Robby gave her an easy, nonjudgmental smile, the kind he used to smooth awkward moments. “She keeps me on my toes.”

“I’m—sorry. I didn’t realize. She seems lovely.”

Robby’s tone gentled even further, smoothing over the awkwardness with practiced kindness. “It’s alright. Let’s just focus on getting your daughter rehydrated.”

Jack barely heard the rest. The words felt muffled, distant. He just stared into the drawer, numb in a quiet, bewildered way.

It made sense. Of course it made sense.

Robby and Dana.

The closeness, the ease, the private jokes and the years of working together. He’d never doubted they were important to each other—he just hadn’t expected…

He swallowed, forcing a breath.

He grabbed a brace—wrong size, didn’t matter—and gently closed the drawer.

He turned, expression carefully neutral.

“Find everything?” Robby asked, looking up with an easy smile.

Jack nodded once. “Yeah.”

“Great. I’ll meet you in a few.”

“Sure, I’ll be down the hall,” Jack said, voice steady because he’d learned a long time ago how to make it steady even when nothing else was.

He stepped out of the room with controlled steps, the hallway air suddenly cooler against his face.

Once outside, he paused—just for a second—bracing a hand against the wall as if adjusting his balance and allowing himself to feel the single clean impact of it.

It was ridiculous to feel anything.

He knew that.

He’d had no claim, no expectation. They were friends—early friends, tentative friends, built on shared shifts and a couple of nights out watching hockey.

Jack had no business wanting more.

And now he knew, cleanly and without question, that there wasn’t a “more” to want.

He inhaled slowly, evenly, like steadying himself before a procedure.

By the time he reached his patient’s room, none of it showed on his face.

His chest, however, had gone hollow.

Jack had adjusted to the night shift faster than he expected.

The first week threw him off more than he expected—not the hours themselves, but the sudden flip in rhythm. Even after years of odd shifts and two deployments, his body still had opinions about when it preferred to be awake. But by week three, he found he didn’t mind the nocturnal pace. Nights were quieter in the hallways, louder in the rooms. Unpredictable. Strange. A little unhinged, sometimes. He liked that.

The overnight team was bare-bones, just enough people to keep the place running. Chaos arrived in sudden spikes and could be anything from a stabbing, to a kid who tried skateboarding off a roof, to a drunk accountant with a gardening tool stuck in his thigh, or just someone with a common cold.

And Jack needed that.

He’d volunteered the second he heard Singh was going on sabbatical. Adamson had been surprised—genuinely surprised—because no attending volunteered for nights unless they were desperate for overtime, on punishment, or extremely strange.

Jack, apparently, was the fourth (secret) category: a man trying to outrun himself.

He’d given Adamson a simple explanation: he hadn’t done many nights since joining the Pitt, and everyone always said nights were where the real trauma lived.

Adamson didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it.

Everyone else took the explanation at face value.

No one asked for the real reason.

Jack didn’t let himself think about it most nights. But sometimes—like now, while he waited for a CT report to load—his mind sometimes wandered back to day shift.

To Robby.

He caught himself before the thought could tighten in his chest, but it always came anyway. Not the moment itself—that sting had faded into something duller now—but the aftermath.

The sudden clarity.

The realization that he’d been blind.

That Robby and Dana had been right there in front of him the whole time—close, easy with each other, orbiting each other like they’d been doing it for years—and he’d somehow missed it entirely. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to see it.

He'd spent the last three months in therapy trying to untangle guilt from grief, grief from longing, longing from the simple human need to feel something again. But the apologies never happened in that room. Those came in the quiet hours he couldn’t sleep, when he found himself speaking into the dark—mostly to Annie. Apologizing for feeling something again. For not wanting to be alone, even though she’d have been the first to tell him to stop punishing himself.

Beautiful, stubborn, dying Annie.

Who had asked him not to go, even though they needed the money for her treatment.

Who had smiled at him when he came home broken.

Who had held him while she was the one slipping away.

He had felt like a traitor for even glancing in another direction.

And then he’d realized it didn’t matter.

Because whatever had been growing inside him—quietly, without permission—had been nothing compared to the bond Robby already had with someone else.

Jack’s throat tightened. He breathed once, carefully, and brought himself back to the present.

This was why he switched to nights.

Not out of spite. Not out of avoidance.

Out of necessity.

Days had become too loud. Too bright. Too much.

He saw Robby everywhere. At the hub, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder with Dana. Laughing at something she said under her breath. Touching her arm in that easy, habitual way that came from trust built long before Jack arrived.

Every time he saw them together, something in his chest pulled a little tighter.

He still saw Robby occasionally—at handoffs, or when day shift leaked into night shift with a late trauma. Robby always greeted him with that open friendliness Jack had come to value too much. And Jack always kept it short. Simple. Professional.

Jack didn’t want to hurt him. He just couldn’t afford to hurt himself any more than he already had.

The CT report finally loaded. Appendicitis. A straightforward case. He could handle straightforward

He pushed off the counter, his leg giving the familiar, manageable ache that came with long hours.

Nights were good. Nights were steady.

Nights didn’t break his heart.

That alone made them worth it.

The Pitt ran on a dozen unofficial rules, and one of them was that Dana Evans did not do night shifts unless someone had died or was on the verge of dying. Tonight, apparently, someone was on the verge of dying—because Dana had just walked through the door.

She’d spotted Jack the moment she walked in at 7:04 p.m.

He knew because she’d narrowed her eyes like a hawk that had just identified a rabbit limping in a field.

“Abbot,” she greeted him, voice too neutral to be genuine.

“Evans,” he replied, equally guarded.

For the past few weeks, Dana had been trying to get him alone at shift change. The first time, he’d managed to dodge her by pretending to be late for handoff. The second time, he suddenly needed to “speak with imaging.” The third, he’d escaped through the ambulance bay like a man fleeing a crime scene.

Dana wasn’t used to people successfully avoiding her. Jack suspected she took it personally.

Now that she had him trapped during a full shift, she hovered. She drifted in and out of his orbit. She watched him work with an attention that made another nurse mutter, “Jesus, Dana, the man’s not a toddler.”

Dana ignored that completely.

At one point she finally managed to corner him alone, with no chance of escape. She folded her arms, gave Jack a long look, and said, “You’ve been dodging me.”

“I’ve been working,” he said.

“Uh-huh. And I’ve been forty for the last seven years.”

Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Dana’s sigh was loud enough to fill the whole room.

Before she could press further, shouting erupted from Central 10.

A very large, very drunk, very rowdy kind of shouting.

Dana’s radio crackled: “Security needed in ten. Patient escalating.”

Dana winced. “Of course.”

Jack followed her without hesitation, even though she hadn’t asked and security was already on the way. There was no way Dana was going in there alone. He still trained like he was on active duty, and judging by the sounds coming from Central 10, she was going to need backup.

The patient was enormous—six foot four, thick through the shoulders, red-faced from alcohol and whatever fight he’d been spoiling for since before he’d even hit triage. He was slurring accusations at Lena while two techs kept a careful distance.

Dana stepped in front of him with effortless authority. “Mr. Willis, you need to sit down.”

“Don’t wanna,” he growled. “Wanna take you out instead. Bet you’re real fun.”

Jack shifted forward, placing himself in front of Dana in a steady, deliberate line of protection—a quiet don’t even try it clear in his posture. The techs backed off immediately, and Lena let out a quiet breath, edging behind Jack as well.

Dana rested a light hand on Jack’s arm—a small, practiced signal that she still had the lead—and stepped up beside him instead of addressing the patient from behind his shoulder.

She plastered on a sweet smile, her weapon of choice.

“Oh, that’s real flattering, Mr. Willis. Truly. But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline. See…” She patted Jack’s chest lightly. “I’m taken.”

Jack blinked.

“This is my boyfriend, Dr. Abbot,” Dana continued, voice syrup-sweet. “Army vet. Two tours. Doesn’t take kindly to men hitting on me.”

Jack’s brain stuttered. Boyfriend?

But he kept his expression perfectly, immaculately flat. His rarely used combat face. The don’t fuck with my people stare.

It worked.

The drunk blinked up at Jack, sizing him up. Jack didn’t move—he didn’t need to. Stillness was its own threat. Eventually the man muttered, “Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

“Then sit down,” Jack said, voice low.

The man sat. Like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Dana exhaled slowly once the techs secured the restraints and Lena thanked Jack with a grateful pat on the arm.

When they stepped into the hallway, Dana finally let out a soft, amused, “God bless the United States Army.”

Jack huffed a soft laugh despite himself.

“Jesus Christ, this is one of the many reasons I hate nights… Too many drunks. Thank you for having my back in there, Abbot.”

“No problem.”

Jack paused. And then the words slipped out before he could edit them.

“Doesn’t Robby mind you doing that?”

Dana blinked. “Do what?”

“Use me as—as your boyfriend.” He swallowed. “Since he’s the real one. I don’t want to… step on anything.”

Dana stared at him. Then burst into laughter so loud a passing resident flinched.

Jack stiffened, confused. “I wasn’t joking.”

That stopped her cold. She froze mid-laugh, eyes widening.

“Wait,” she said. “Hold on. Back up.”

Her expression softened into something nearing horrified amusement. “You think Robby and I are dating?”

Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Dana’s voice came out half-teasing. “Oh my god. Is that why you switched to nights? You were jealous?”

He looked away.

Dana inhaled sharply. “Jack.”

Still nothing.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, softer now. “You weren’t jealous.”

Jack closed his eyes.

“You were heartbroken.”

He didn’t deny it. Which was enough.

Dana pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something that sounded like, “God help me, I work with two very competent idiots.”

Then she straightened, met Jack’s eyes, and spoke plainly.

“Jack. Robby is not my boyfriend.”

He frowned.

“He never has been. Never will be.” She smacked his arm lightly. “We’ve been fake-dating for years.”

Jack blinked. “Fake… what?”

“When a patient gets too flirty or too handsy and won’t take no for an answer,” she explained. “We use each other as the imaginary partner. Show the creep we’re ‘taken.’ It works like a charm. Especially when the partner is standing right there.” She nodded toward Central 10. “Like we just pulled.”

Jack felt something unclench in his chest—very slowly, very cautiously.

“Jack… I have someone. A real someone. And it’s not Robby.” Then, softer, “It was never Robby.”

She touched the chain at her collarbone and drew the ring into view.

“I’m married.” Her voice gentled. “I keep it on a necklace during shifts. I’ve been meaning to get one of those silicone bands so people can actually tell I’m taken, but… I haven’t had the time. Time gets away from you when you’ve got two beautiful daughters and a husband to wrangle.”

Jack swallowed, throat tight. “He told a patient you were.”

Dana nodded. “Then the patient wasn’t taking the hint. Or ‘no’ for an answer.”

Jack stared down the hallway, trying to make sense of the sudden, impossible shift of light inside him. Dana opened her mouth—probably to press further—and Jack reacted before he could think. He grabbed her elbow gently and said, low and strained:

“Stairs.”

Dana blinked. “Jack—”

“Please.”

Something in his tone must’ve convinced her, because she followed without another word.

They climbed to the fourth floor—the sweet spot where there were just enough administrative offices to discourage wandering, and not enough traffic for anyone to care. Jack had discovered the quiet floors early in his night rotation. He’d prefer the using the roof, but the Pittsburgh winter made that an act of self-harm tonight.

“You want to talk,” Dana said once they finally stopped, “so talk.”

Jack swallowed. Hard.

“You can’t tell Robby,” he said quietly.

Dana snorted. “Please. I’m not getting between you two. I care about you, but not enough to jump into that emotional minefield.”

Jack huffed something like a laugh, but it had no weight behind it.

Dana tipped her head. “You know, avoiding the man for over a month is not exactly subtle.”

His jaw tightened. “Dana—”

“I’m serious, Jack. You switched to nights out of nowhere, and suddenly you only talked to him when the job forced you to. I don’t know if you thought no one would notice, but Robby did. Everyone did.”

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” she said. “Explain it to me.”

He didn’t mean to say it. He really didn’t. But it came out anyway, low and rough:

“I used to be married.”

Dana’s expression softened, but she didn’t look surprised.

“Yeah,” she said gently. “I figured.”

Jack blinked. “From what?”

She lifted a hand and tapped lightly toward his silicone band. “The ring. And the way you touch it when you’re lost in thought.” Her voice stayed warm, not pitying. “I didn’t ask because it wasn’t my place. And then I overheard a couple of nurses saying you were a widower.”

She paused, lips twitching with something between sympathy and exasperated amusement.

“You should know the female population of the Pitt took that information very personally.”

Jack huffed a soft, startled sound—not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh.

“Sorry,” Dana added quickly. “Not trying to make light of it. Just… letting you know people noticed, even if no one was rude enough to push.”

“Yeah. Well. They were right.” He exhaled shakily and proceeded, “Annie passed almost seven years ago. Cancer. And I still…” He swallowed. “I still love her. I always will.”

“I’d be worried if you didn’t,” Dana said gently.

Jack nodded once, eyes fixed on the floor. “After she died, I just assumed that was it. That whatever part of me could… love like that… died with her. And I was fine with that. I made peace with it.”

Dana didn’t interrupt.

“And then Robby shows up,” Jack said, voice barely above a whisper. “And for the first time in years, I felt something shift. Like maybe I wasn’t done. Maybe I could try again.”

His throat tightened. He pushed through it.

“And then came the guilt. All of it. Like I was betraying her memory because I wasn’t ready to be alone forever.” He let out a shaky laugh. “So I worked through it in therapy. Hard. Harder than I’ve worked on anything in a long time.”

Dana’s face went soft, deeply soft.

“And then,” Jack said, “I find out he’s with someone else. And something in me just… cracked again. Because of course he wouldn’t feel the same way. Of course I only get to have one true love. And she’s gone.”

The stairwell was quiet for a long stretch.

Then Dana reached out, took his hand in hers and squeezed.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For the loss. For the guilt. For all the work you put in and believing it meant nothing in the end. None of that makes you selfish, Jack.”

He swallowed hard.

She squeezed his hand once more before letting go. “But you’ve been punishing yourself again without even realizing it.”

Jack frowned. “I haven’t—”

“Jack.”

Her tone was firmer now.

“You fled to nights, stopped talking to the one person you clearly care about, and convinced yourself you weren’t allowed to want anything.”

He didn’t deny it.

Dana sighed. “And Robby? He’s been moping like it’s his full-time job. Complaining that you hate him. Wondering what he did wrong. But does he talk to you about it? No. Because he’s an emotionally constipated forty-something-year-old man who thinks feelings are a communicable illness.”

Despite everything, Jack let out a soft, involuntary laugh.

Dana smirked. “There he is.”

Silence settled again—gentler this time.

Then she added, “Look. I’m not telling you what to do. I’m not telling you to confess your feelings, or to chase him, or even to do anything right now.”

Jack lifted his eyes to hers.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “that your life isn’t over. You’re allowed to feel again. And look—” she lifted a hand, stopping him before he could tense, “I didn’t know Annie. I would never pretend I did. But from the way you talk about her? From the kind of person she had to be for you to love her like that? I don’t think she’d want you living like a ghost.”

Jack’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look away.

Dana shook her head, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “And as for Robby… dear god. Robby is a grown man who misses you so much he’s driving the rest of us up a wall. If I have to hear him sigh dramatically over coffee one more time, I’m going to start charging him a therapy copay.”

Jack’s chest tightened—not painfully, but with something dangerously close to hope.

Dana smiled—warm, not teasing for once.

“So maybe,” she said softly, “when Singh gets back… you switch to days again. Not for him. Not for me. For you.”

Jack didn’t answer.

But for the first time in weeks, the idea didn’t hurt.

Robby was antsy.

Sure, he could blame his mild ADHD for the way his leg bounced hard enough to rattle the workstation, but he knew better. Lucia had already smacked the desk twice and hissed, “Robinavitch, quit vibrating,” but the words slid right through him without catching.

He was waiting for Dana.

She was only working half a shift today—Gracie had a dentist appointment—and even though the whole ordeal took maybe two hours, Lucia had been in an oddly benevolent mood and told Dana to take the entire morning off. Robby suspected the holiday season was softening her. Or possibly that she was truly grateful Dana had single-handedly kept the ER running while Juliet and Martha were out sick.

Either way, Dana was due any minute, and Robby had questions.

A few days ago she’d told him she was picking up a night shift, and Robby had practically fallen over himself begging her to figure out what the hell was going on with Jack. Not his proudest moment, but he was desperate.

He should have been mad at Jack. It would’ve made more sense.

Jack had just… disappeared.

Pulled away. Dropped him.

It should’ve pissed Robby off. Should’ve made him shrug and say, Fine. Whatever. They’d known each other less than half a year. They weren’t best friends. They weren’t anything important.

Except Robby did care.

And that was the problem.

He cared about the twelve-hour shifts spent trading stories or working side-by-side. He cared about the nights they’d ended up at the sports bar watching the Pens—or not watching the Pens, depending on how deep into conversation they got. Hell, at some point they even went when the Pens weren’t playing.

Robby didn’t care about hockey that much. He cared about Jack’s laugh. Jack’s quiet, sharp wit. Jack’s calm under pressure no matter how hard the case in front of them was.

And fine—there was also the crush.

The stupid, slow-burning, middle-aged crush that shouldn’t have happened but absolutely, undeniably had.

Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder clearly had a personal vendetta against Robby’s sanity. He even missed being called brother. At first it gutted him, but then he found himself weirdly fond of it—until Dana punched him in the arm for confessing that realization.

So yeah. He’d wanted to see Jack. Especially because their schedules had been misaligned all week and he hadn’t actually seen him in days.

Instead, he arrived at handoff to find a very tired, very irritated Dana throwing her bag over her shoulder.

“Jack left early,” she told him bluntly. “Didn’t feel well.”

Robby’s stomach dropped, and he immediately shot Jack a text asking if he was alright and needed anything.

(A few hours later—which was on Robby, he’d completely forgotten Jack was probably asleep—Jack replied: Thanks. I’m alright. Just tired.

Polite, but distant.)

Before leaving for the day, Dana had added, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, and he switched shifts with Arrington. You won’t see him until tomorrow.”

Robby had barely slept.

So now, the second Dana stepped through the doors, he shot to his feet like a rocket.

“Good afternoon D—ouch!” Dana smacked his arm hard.

She was pissed.

“What the hell did I even do?!” Robby yelped, holding his arm like a wounded child.

Dana stared at him like he was personally responsible for global warming.

“Seriously, Robby? You use the ‘Dana is my girlfriend’ excuse on a patient and don’t think to clarify to Jack that it’s fake? That we’ve been using that trick for years? That it isn’t real?”

Robby blinked. “What?”

Dana groaned like he was the densest man alive.

“I told Abbot I wasn’t going to get mixed up in this,” she snapped, “but Jesus Christ, Robby—talk to him.”

He followed after her as she headed toward the lockers.

“Dana—”

“Talk. To. Jack.” She turned and jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’ve said enough to give you a fighting chance. Now be a big boy and figure it out.”

Robby opened his mouth to push again, but Dana’s glare was the kind that made seasoned surgeons rethink their life choices.

So he shut it.

Dana disappeared into the staff hallway, and Robby stayed frozen in place, heart thudding, stomach flipping, mind replaying her words on a loop:

Talk to him.

Talk to Jack.

He thought the girlfriend thing was real.

Robby’s breath left him in a quiet, horrified rush.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered.

For the first time in weeks, he understood exactly what had gone wrong.

And exactly whose fault it was.

Jack arrived early for the first time in a while and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Well—that wasn’t exactly true, if he was being honest with himself. He was always early unless there was some outside force he couldn’t control that made him late. But since switching to nights, he’d been waiting outside as long as possible so the beginning of his shift would overlap as little as possible with Robby's. Today, though, the thought of standing in the cold with nothing to do but think felt worse, so he caved and went inside as soon as he arrived.

The ER at this hour hummed instead of roared. Machines were steady. Voices stayed low. The chaos was still there—it always was—but it hadn’t spiked yet. Jack lingered at the edge of the floor, coat still on, letting the rhythm settle his breathing.

Dana had sent him home early during his last shift without hesitation. You’re useless like this, Abbot. Go. She’d been right. He’d been present in body only, his thoughts looping somewhere he couldn’t afford to be.

He’d begged Flora Arrington to swap shifts with him for one extra buffer day and scheduled an emergency therapy session.

He needed to stop jerking from one emotional extreme to the next like a damn teenager. He was about to turn forty. His heart wasn’t supposed to be this sensitive anymore.

He felt steadier now, at least. Not healed. Not resolved. But capable of standing in the same space as Robby without flinching.

Robby wasn’t at the hub when Jack stepped onto the floor.

Good.

Jack wasn’t sure whether he wanted to talk to him immediately or needed a few more minutes to breathe. He hadn’t decided yet—and maybe that was okay.

He headed to the lockers to put his things away, but before he could even glance at the board or pick up a chart, someone stepped into his path.

Adamson.

“Jack,” he said, voice warm. “How’re nights treating you?”

Jack straightened, professional. “Good, sir.”

“You can drop the sir,” Adamson said with an amused smile. “You liking nights enough to stay on?”

Jack shook his head. “I’d be open to a few more per month, but… after the sabbatical, I think it’s time to come back to days.”

Adamson nodded, satisfied. “Good. We’ve missed you down here.” Then, too casually, he added, “I’m glad you and Robby finally talked things out.”

Jack blinked. Adamson walked off before he could answer.

How did he even—?

Jack breathed out slowly. If that wasn’t a sign he needed to fix things with Robby, he didn’t know what was.

Dana appeared next, coat on, cheeks pink with cold like she’d already been outside—probably for a smoke. She placed a hand on his arm as she passed, a quick press, reassuring and grounding.

“You’ll be fine,” she murmured. “Text me later if you need to.”

Then she was gone.

Jack turned toward the board, fingertips hovering over a chart he hadn’t fully processed yet.

“Get me Dr. Samshi on the line!”

Robby’s voice cut through the low hum of the floor, coming from Trauma 1.

Jack glanced over to see Robby in blood-splattered PPE, talking a mile a minute to a nurse while applying pressure to a wound. He looked up at the exact wrong—or right—moment.

Their eyes met.

Robby froze.

Then—“DON’T LEAVE!”

His voice carried far enough to make two residents jump.

Jack blinked. “…Robby, I’m on shift. I’m not—”

“You know what I mean,” Robby snapped, still breathless and earnest.

Jack did. Don’t disappear into a case before I get out of this room, if at all possible.

Jack stared for a beat, then replied evenly, “Okay.”

Robby nodded and was gone again, elbows-deep in the trauma.

Jack waited, flipping through a few charts without really absorbing them.

It took longer than Jack expected—the trauma room stayed busy—but eventually Robby emerged, changed and scrubbed, carrying both of their jackets without comment. Of course he remembered Jack’s locker combination. And locker preference. The familiarity of it landed harder than anything else had so far.

“Come on,” Robby said, holding out Jack’s coat. “Roof?”

Jack nodded and accepted it.

Robby had been the one to show him the roof on a shift that had been particularly overwhelming. He’d told Jack that sometimes he went up there just to get ten minutes of peace and quiet. From that day on, it had become their place—to take a breather, to linger after a gruesome shift, not talking, just enjoying the quiet company.

The roof was much more pleasant on warmer days.

The December air hit them immediately—sharp and biting, Pittsburgh winter settling deep into the bones. Snow threatened but hadn’t started yet, clouds heavy and purple. They stood near the railing, breath fogging, shoulders hunched against the cold. The city stretched out below them, all lights and distant quiet.

Robby broke the siflence first.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I need to say that first.”

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it. That wasn’t what he’d expected.

“I knew you were in peds,” Robby continued, words spilling faster now. “We talked. You came in for supplies. I knew you probably heard the conversation.” He paused, then added more carefully, “I didn’t think to explain the fake girlfriend thing because it’s just… something Dana and I do. We’ve been doing it for years. Nurses know. Residents know. Hell, Dana’s husband has teased us about it.”

Jack listened without interrupting.

“And then you stopped talking to me,” Robby said. “You changed shifts. You pulled back.” He looked out over the city. “I didn’t know what I’d done.”

Jack’s chest tightened.

“That hurt,” Robby said. Not accusing. Just factual.

Jack inhaled slowly.

“You didn’t do anything,” he said quietly.

Robby frowned. “Jack—”

“No,” Jack cut in—not sharp, just firm. “You don’t need to apologize. This wasn’t on you.”

Robby turned fully toward him.

“I heard something,” Jack continued, gaze forward, “and instead of asking, I filled in the gaps myself. That was on me.”

Robby studied him. “And those gaps were enough to make you switch to nights.”

“Yes.”

Not defensive. Not proud. Just honest.

Robby leaned his elbows on the railing. “Why?”

Jack considered lying. Then didn’t.

“Because I realized I was more affected than I’d planned to be,” he said. “And I didn’t want to put that on you. I needed time to… get past it.”

Robby’s jaw tightened. “So you were protecting yourself.”

“Yes.”

Silence settled between them again.

“I don’t love that you disappeared,” Robby said finally. “But I get why you did.”

Jack nodded. “I should’ve said something. Even just, ‘I need space.’”

“You should’ve,” Robby agreed, not unkindly. “But at least you didn’t shut me out completely. You still talked to me about work. You didn’t ghost me, as kids say nowadays.”

Jack exhaled. “Bare minimum.”

“Still mattered to me,” Robby said. “It gave me hope you’d come back around.”

Jack nodded, unsure how to respond.

They stood there, the city spread out below them, breath fogging between words.

“You coming back to days?” Robby asked at last.

“Yes.”

Robby nodded. “Good.”

After a beat, he added, “If something feels off again… you don’t have to disappear.”

Jack swallowed. “I know.”

“You can talk to me about it.”

“I will,” Jack said quietly. “From now on.”

“And if I screw something up without realizing it,” Robby continued, “I’ll try to ask why you’re mad instead of waiting you out.”

Jack glanced at him. “Deal.”

Robby gave a small, tired smile. “Deal.”

They stood there a moment longer, the city humming below them, the cold biting through their coats.

Robby shifted his weight, then glanced at Jack sideways, something thoughtful settling into his expression.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said lightly, “you were upset because you thought I was dating Dana, right?”

Jack stilled.

“Not,” Robby continued, one corner of his mouth twitching, “because you thought Dana was dating me. Because if that were the case, I’m guessing you figured out by now that she’s off the market. Married. Kids. Whole deal.”

Jack let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh if it had more air behind it.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m aware. Now.”

Robby nodded once, satisfied. Then, after a beat, “Okay.”

The word carried weight—not relief exactly, but recognition.

The silence that followed was different. Less guarded. Less braced for impact.

Jack flexed his fingers inside his pockets, the cold seeping into joints that never quite forgot old injuries. He stared out over the city, feeling the familiar pull toward retreat—toward letting this settle back into something safe and undefined.

And then he didn’t.

“I’m still on nights for a couple more weeks,” he said, carefully casual. “Schedules are a mess.”

Robby hummed. “Tell me about it.”

“But,” Jack continued, eyes still forward, “the next time our days off line up… would you want to grab a drink? Sports bar, maybe.”

Robby turned toward him fully, brows lifting just slightly.

Jack inhaled and turned to meet his gaze. “I mean that as a date.”

There it was.

Robby’s surprise lasted all of half a second before something warm and unmistakable spread across his face.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “I’d like that.”

Jack searched his expression for hesitation or second thoughts. There were none.

“Good,” Jack said quietly.

Robby smiled, small but genuine. “Good.”

They stood there a moment longer, the wind curling around them, the cold sharp but bearable. Nothing had been rushed. Nothing had been promised beyond what Jack could actually give.

“I think we should go back inside,” Robby said. “You’ll probably be needed soon.”

Jack nodded, and they turned toward the door.

“For what it’s worth,” Robby added, hand on the handle, “I’m glad we finally talked like two responsible adults.”

“Me too,” Jack said, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Dana will be delighted to know we figured it out completely on our own.”

Robby snorted and held the door open.

They headed back inside together, the heavy door closing behind them, warmth rushing in.

A year and a half in, Robby had stopped being surprised by how normal it felt to have Jack by his side. It hadn’t become boring. Nor dull. Just… settled. Like something that had clicked into place and stayed there without needing constant adjustment.

They were on days again. Properly aligned. The ER was loud in that familiar, grinding way—controlled chaos, stretchers rolling, voices overlapping, the low hum of a place that never really slept.

Trauma came in fast.

Motorcycle versus guardrail. Helmet on. Conscious. Adrenaline high, pain just starting to register.

Robby took the head of the bed automatically. Jack was at his side, steady as ever, gloved hands already moving. They worked the way they always did now—no discussion, no second-guessing. Just shared instinct.

The patient laughed a little too hard when Robby leaned into his line of sight.

“Man,” he slurred, eyes flicking between them, “I get busted up and they send me the two hottest docs in the building?”

Robby snorted before he could stop himself.

Jack didn’t even blink. Just glanced at the monitor, then back at the patient.

“Sorry,” Jack said, deadpan but not unkind. “We’re both taken.”

The patient blinked. Then laughed. “Figures.”

They moved on. Airway clear. Vitals stable. Orders flying. The moment folded neatly back into the work as quickly as it had arrived.

Robby had pretty much forgotten about it when Jesse flagged him down.

“West 14’s asking for a doctor,” he said. “Again.”

Robby sighed. “I’ll handle it.”

West 14 was where the trauma patient had been moved while waiting for the OR. Busted wrist, dislocated pelvis, and a little too much charm for someone on pain meds, according to the nurses. All things considered, he was doing remarkably well.

When Robby stepped back into the room, the patient brightened immediately.

“There he is,” the guy said, grinning. “Dr. Robby. I was starting to think you ditched me.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Robby replied dryly. “What’s going on?”

The guy hesitated, then leaned in conspiratorially. “So, uh… I gotta ask. Earlier when I asked about it you said you were taken. That true?”

Robby blinked. Then smiled.

“Yeah,” he said easily. “Very taken.”

The patient deflated. “Damn. I knew it. I told myself you were just letting me down easy.”

Robby patted the chart. “Afraid not.”

“Is she cute?”

“Well,” Robby said thoughtfully, “cute isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe Dr. Abbot. But he has his moments.”

“Oh shit,” the guy said, nodding solemnly. “Yeah, he’s super hot. Not cute.” He paused. “The two hot doctors together… makes sense.”

By the time Robby stepped back into the hallway, Jack was waiting for him near the hub, arms folded, expression faintly amused.

They headed toward the ambulance bay for a break—their granola break. Jack had started it during his first month back on days, claiming it was “preventative medicine,” and somehow it had stuck.

Jack leaned against the wall and pulled two bars from one of his scrub’s pockets, handing one over.

“Let me guess,” he said, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. “West 14?”

Robby laughed, doing the same. “He flirted with you too?”

“Relentlessly,” Jack said. “I had to pull out the big guns.”

“Oh?” Robby raised an eyebrow, taking a bite. “Who’d you use?”

Jack shrugged, completely unbothered. “Thought about saying my handsome boyfriend. Decided to go with Dana instead. For old time’s sake.”

Robby chewed, nodded thoughtfully. “A classic choice. Though now he might think one of us is lying.”

“Why?” Jack asked.

Robby swallowed. “He asked if us saying we were taken earlier was just letting him down easy. I told him no. Then he asked if my partner was cute, and I said my boyfriend, Dr. Abbot, very much was.”

Jack snorted, nearly choking on his bite. “He’s on pain meds. He barely remembers his name, so I highly doubt he’ll remember that we both chose different people.”

Robby hummed thoughtfully, chewing the last bite of his bar. “True.”

Then he tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a touch, like the thought had only just occurred to him.

“Either that,” he added, “or he didn’t have the heart to tell me you were cheating on me with the charge nurse.”

Jack huffed a laugh. “I would never.”

“I know,” Robby said solemnly. “She’s married. And terrifying.”

That did it.

They laughed, leaning shoulder to shoulder against the wall, the noise of the ER washing around them—voices, alarms, the steady churn of a place that never paused for long.

Jack finished his bar first and crumpled the wrapper in his hand, then reached out without thinking, fingers brushing Robby’s wrist. Easy. Familiar.

“No one’s looking,” Jack murmured.

Robby glanced around theatrically, then smiled. “You sure?”

Jack leaned in anyway.

The kiss was brief. Warm. Completely unremarkable in the best way—like something they’d done a hundred times before and would do a hundred times again.

They pulled apart just as Dana cleared her throat pointedly nearby, cigarette in hand.

“Get a room,” she muttered. “Or at least a supply closet like normal people.”

Robby laughed, bumping his shoulder into Jack’s as they tossed their wrappers and headed back inside.