Chapter Text
“Thank god you’re alive!” Samira said, rushing to hug you near the edge of the counter of the nurses station.
“Sam, you know I came back from the party at like 1 am today” you groan, hugging her.
“Well, you know you’ve partying too much nowadays and its getting very excessive.. I’m worried about you.” Samira said looking at you with her ’ worried and sick’ look
“I know I know and I promise I’ll lower it plus I do workout to keep the balance.” You said, resting your hands on the counter of the nurses’ station.
Dr Robby was busy looking at charts of the patient’s admitted while you and samira kept conversing on how you need to stop drinking and partying all night.
“Well well well look who woke up from her coffin.” Langdon said walking towards you, smiling teasingly.
“Dr cannabis, are you high again?” you said seductively, facing towards him.
“Unless you want to be too, I can hook you up with some in the supply closet after the shift.” he said in a way flirty way.
“Ah-Ah-ah.. we’ll talk about it later” you said playfully and jokingly, maintaining eye contact with him while Samira giggles at how you two have one thing in common- smoking pot.
Dr. Robby turns towards you three, giving Dr Langdon the most terrifying death stare like He’s about to murder him on sight.
“Looks like papa bear is angry, alright I’m gonna go and uh.. I’ll see you guys later” Langdon said, backing up nervously and chuckling.
You turn around and look at Dr Robby. “You do know that he and I were joking, Robby..”
“I don't enjoy the fact that he's such a bad influence.” He said, very seriously, very unlike him.
“What has gotten into you?” you said question him, feeling confused.
“Uhm, I’m gonna go check on my patient. I’ll meet you later.” Samira said looking at you and left with her patient’s chart in her hand.
You and Robby sliently look at eachother amidst of the ER, with no breaks in the eye contact.
“I think Dennis needs my help.. I’ll go find her.” You said turning way and breaking eye contact, feeling a weird sensation and increased Heartbeat.
“Alright..” Robby said, watching you leave, feeling extremely disappointed in himself.
You see Dr.Fruitcake here has..a huge, undeniable, very noticeable crush on you but low and behold you never noticed because you were too trashed or hungover to begin with.
--------------------------------------
You spot Dennis from across the room and walk towards, trying to forget the awkward situation that you just dealt with.
“Hey hucklecutie, need any help?” you said playful ,walking in the patients’ room Dennis was in.
“Hey..Uh, yeah I could really really used some help..” he said nervously, lifting his head up from the chart, looking at you with his sad puppy eyes.
“Alright, What do we have here?” you said, crossing your arms.
“15 year-old female, ice figure skater, swelling on her left knee because she trying to attempt a very dangerous back filp and landing on Ice incorrectly causing the swelling.” Dennis said, looking at the chart.
You crouch down beside the skater, brushing your fingers lightly over the swollen knee.
“Alright, kid, listen up. This isn’t the end of your world, it’s just your body throwing up a red flag. Ice, compression, elevation — the holy trinity. You treat it like gospel, and you’ll be back on the rink before you know it.”
The girl looks at you nervously. “But what if it doesn’t heal?”
You smirk, leaning back against the counter like you own the room.
“Then you don’t force it. You give it time. ACLs are stubborn — push too hard, too fast, and you’ll be limping through prom instead of skating championships. Physical therapy is your best friend now. Stretch, strengthen, repeat. Think of it like training, but for patience instead of medals.”
Dennis raises a brow. “That’s… surprisingly motivational.”
You shoot him a look, half playful, half sharp.
“Don’t sound so shocked, Huckleberry. I can party all night and still know how to keep someone from wrecking their knee. Balance, remember?”
The girl giggles, reassured, while you stand, brushing off your hands.
“Bottom line? Respect the injury, respect yourself. You’ll heal. And when you do, you’ll skate smarter, stronger, and maybe even land that flip without breaking your bones next time.”
You step out of the patient’s room, the sound of skates clattering faintly behind you as Dennis reassures the girl with your advice. The ER feels heavier now, buzzing with monitors and clipped voices. You rub the back of your neck, trying to shake off the awkward tension that still lingers from Robby’s stare earlier.
“Hey, superstar,” a voice calls from down the hall. It’s one of the orderlies, Malik, balancing a tray of supplies. “We’ve got a new admit in bay three. Guy tried to play hero in a bar fight, ended up with a busted lip and a bruised ego. Thought you’d enjoy the show.”
You smirk, striding toward the bay. “Sounds like my kind of patient.”
As you push the curtain aside, the man sits slouched on the bed, ice pack pressed against his jaw. He looks up, wincing but trying to grin. “Doc, you ever get into a fight?”
You raise a brow, leaning against the counter. “I prefer cocktails over combat. But judging by your face, I’d say the other guy won.”
The patient chuckles, then groans. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t just stand there. He was twice my size.”
You grab a pair of gloves, snapping them on with deliberate flair. “And now you’re twice as swollen. Let’s clean this up before you start auditioning for zombie movies.”
Malik snorts from the doorway. “You’re brutal.”
You flash him a grin. “Balance, remember? Brutal honesty, gentle hands.”
As you begin tending to the man’s lip, you catch sight of Robby across the ER, watching again. His expression unreadable, but the weight of it presses against your chest. You force yourself to focus on the patient, but the awareness lingers—like a shadow you can’t quite shake.
--------------------------------------------------
You step out of the bay, stripping off your gloves, and catch Robby watching you from the nurses’ station. His arms are folded, his expression unreadable, but his eyes don’t leave you.
You smirk, walking toward him. “Careful, fruitcake. If you keep staring at me like that, I’ll start charging rent.”
His lips twitch, almost a smile. “You’d overcharge.”
You lean against the counter beside him, deliberately brushing close. “Depends on what you’re paying with.”
He exhales, shaking his head, but his gaze lingers. “You’re impossible.”
You tilt your head, teasing. “And yet, you keep looking.”
The silence stretches, playful but heavy, the kind that makes your pulse quicken even as you grin.
You lean against the counter beside Robby, brushing close, pulse quickening as the silence stretches heavy between you two. His gaze lingers, unreadable but magnetic, and you’re about to say something reckless when a familiar voice breaks through.
“Look at my favorite troublemakers,” Heather Collins says, strolling up with that easy grin that always makes the air feel lighter. She props her hip against the nurses’ station, arms folded, eyes flicking between you and Robby with a sparkle that’s more amused than judgmental. “You two look like you’re cooking up mischief.”
You grin, caught but unbothered. “Heather, you wound me. We were just… discussing rent.”
“Rent?” she chuckles, shaking her head. “Sweetheart, you can barely keep track of your laundry, let alone rent. Don’t try that line on me.”
Robby clears his throat, lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. “We were—”
Heather waves him off, relaxed as ever. “Save it, Doc. I don’t need the details. Just remember, this ER doesn’t run itself, and I’d hate to explain to the chief why my kid and her shadow are too busy making eyes to notice the chaos.”
You roll your eyes, playful. “Mother figure privilege means you get to embarrass me whenever you want, huh?”
“Exactly,” she says, patting your arm with a grin. “Now, bay five’s calling. And trust me, it’s a lot more exciting than whatever rent scheme you two were cooking up.”
She saunters off, leaving behind her usual trail of warmth and mischief. Robby exhales, shaking his head, and you smirk at him. “See? Even Heather thinks you’re my shadow.”
He chuckles softly, but his eyes linger on you all the same. The moment’s broken, but the hum of it still clings, like static under your skin.
---------------------------------------
Bay five was chaos the moment you stepped in. The patient’s vitals were crashing, blood spilling faster than anyone expected.
“Pressure’s dropping!” Princess shouted, her voice tight as she tried to keep the monitor steady.
Perlah fumbled with the IV line, panic in her tone. “I—I can’t get the vein, it’s collapsing!”
“Focus, Perlah!” Mel King barked, snapping on gloves. “We don’t have time for mistakes.”
Langdon was at the bedside, straining to hold the patient down. “He’s thrashing like a bull—someone get me restraints before he takes my arm off!”
You pressed gauze against the wound, but the patient jerked violently, sending blood spraying across your scrubs, your arms, even your face.
Heather’s voice cut through the chaos, calm but commanding. “ steady. You’ve got this.”
But the blood kept coming, soaking through your gloves, dripping down your wrists. The room froze for a heartbeat, everyone staring at you drenched in crimson.
“Holy hell…” Langdon muttered, eyes wide. “You’re covered.”
Princess reached toward you, horrified. “ you’re bleeding—”
“It’s not mine,” you snapped, voice sharp, adrenaline surging.
Heather stepped closer, her tone softer now. “Sweetheart, step back. Let me take over.”
But you couldn’t stay. Not like this. You ripped off your gloves, chest heaving, and shoved past them.
Perlah called after you, voice cracking.
“Wait!” Princess shouted, but you were already moving.
Langdon cursed under his breath. “She’s bolting—”
Heather’s voice rose, firm but worried. “Let her go. She needs air.”
You pushed out of the room, the ER lights hitting you harshly as you stumbled into the hall, blood streaking down your scrubs like war paint. Without looking back, you rushed toward the emergency fire escape staircase, shoving the door open. The clang echoed behind you as you disappeared into the stairwell, alone, the metallic scent of blood still clinging to your skin.
-----------------------------------------
The clang of the fire escape door echoed as you bolted into the stairwell, blood streaking your scrubs, breath ragged. You gripped the railing, trying to steady yourself, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Tears blurred your vision, hot and relentless, spilling faster than you could wipe them away.
Robby calls out your name.
His voice was sharp this time, urgent. You turned just enough to see Robby rushing toward you, his stride purposeful, his expression carved with worry. He didn’t hesitate—he closed the distance in seconds, his hands catching your arms before you could retreat further.
“Hey, hey—look at me,” he said, voice low but commanding. His grip was firm, grounding, and the moment his eyes locked on yours, the panic inside you faltered.
“I can’t—” you choked, tears spilling harder. “I almost lost him, Robby. I almost—”
“You didn’t,” he cut in, his tone rough, steady. “You saved him. You did everything right.”
Your chest heaved, sobs breaking free, and before you could stop yourself, you collapsed against him. His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you tight against his chest. The warmth of him, the strength in his hold, made the stairwell feel smaller, safer.
“Breathe,” he whispered against your hair, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
You clung to him, tears soaking into his shirt, but the longer he held you, the heavier the silence became. His hand lingered at your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse spike. His breath brushed your temple, warm and intoxicating, and suddenly the comfort blurred into something else—something odd , something that suddenly felt like you wanted this.
You tilted your head, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were molten, unreadable, but they didn’t move from yours. The stairwell was quiet except for your ragged breaths, the thrum of your heartbeat, and the way his arms refused to let you go.
“Robby…” you whispered, the word trembling, half‑plea, half‑confession.
His lips parted, his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before snapping back to your eyes. The tension was unbearable, the kind that made every reader ache for what might come next. He didn’t kiss you—not yet—but the way he held you, the way his thumb traced slow circles against your waist, made it clear: he wanted to. And so did you.
His arms tightened around you, steady and unyielding, and though your tears still burned hot against his chest, the weight of his gaze made your pulse race with something far more dangerous than fear—something that promised the night wasn’t finished with them yet.