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The yearning!!! 😭🥹

Companionship | pt. 9

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You try to move on, until your phone rings.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: Y’ALL ARE SO NICE TO ME!! I may not be able to answer everyone (especially on reblogs), but I appreciate you all so much😭💜

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: age gap, angst, foul language, panic attack, feelings, talk of death (adamson)

not beta read

Every thought screamed for him to turn around and run back into the apartment. It clawed at his insides that he had majorly fucked up. The pieces of the Visa card dug into his palm, sharp and unforgiving. You had cut it up. He had thrown your agreement and your payment in your face and you had already cut the Visa card up.

Michael kept walking, and walking, too embarrassed to turn around. Hot feelings buzzed in his chest, torn between guilt and something that burned unrequited.

Had it really been unreciprocated when you had basically admitted to it? Shame flushed through Michael’s system.

He had wanted to be a good person and not allow someone far too close to half his age to get tangled in his mess. In him. It would not be fair, to you most of all. He had just wanted to walk into your apartment, check to see if you were okay and then end the agreement, even when not having you in his company was the last thing he wanted.

He ended up tearing any hope to shreds. It was not even fair for him to have had any hope, but if you had pushed? I would have given it a chance, the thought stung and bile churned in his stomach. But he had been a fool and fucked it all up anyways.

The thoughts racing through his head felt jumbled and chaotic. Guilt and shame for how it had ended, for how he had hurt you, and something like relief. If you hated him, then there would be nothing to pursue and you would move on. Move on. It felt like acid in his mouth.

This was all for the better, he tried to tell himself. He could hardly imagine anything working between you anyways — between the age gap, the swirling insecurities he had with it, and all the skeletons in his closet. Not to mention his general avoidance of his feelings, or the kind of emotional intimacy long term relationships required. He fucked up anything serious he had ever found himself in. You would have gotten hurt regardless. It was better to rip the bandaid off early and let you go.

A longing sat heavy in his chest, an itch to reach out. A call. Just a call. Just to hear your voice and bathe in the way you had a knack for calming him. Was it weird that he wanted to seek you out even after all he had said? Over some stupid impulsive words strung together by his insecurities over the whole thing. A complete instinctive response to shield his heart from something real. Something that might matter. Something that might hurt.

But he had made it hurt all on his own.

—

Days blurred together, the pain in your hand acting as the only buoy that kept you tethered to your reality. You wanted to sink beneath the waves, let your heartbreak drown you, but the thoughts made you feel even more pathetic.

I didn’t even really know him, your mind sneered. How can you mourn what wasn’t even there?

Perhaps it had been that fact that you had grown to trust him, or the feelings flickering in your heart and in your belly at the very thought of him. Something had clearly been brought to life in your late night conversations, wandering eyes and lingering touches and you hated yourself for it. For the butterflies that still invaded your insides at the thought of his lips against yours, bubbling up your throat until you wanted to scream.

You had to kill the feelings and move on. You only allowed yourself one more day of misery before trying to pick up the pieces.

Every time you caught sight of your hand, edges stitched together, you thought of him. Of how you wished your heart had been more cleanly cut so the jagged edges did not get caught on any wandering thought, forcing you to feel it even more. Forced his stupid handsome face to center stage in your head, the way his eyes softened—

You wondered how the hell you were going to stitch up that wound.

Marsi came by after you had ignored her texts for a few days, showing up with a bottle of wine and junk food.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but it might make you feel better?” Marsi asked when you opened the front door.

You frowned, but let your friend in.

“I texted Erin since she might’ve been able to help with this sort of situation, but apparently she’s in Greece right now. With Craig The Hedgefund Guy.”

“Good for her.” You said monotonously.

Marsi raised an eyebrow, “So…did he not want to cancel the agreement in favor of anything else?”

“No, he wanted to cancel the agreement.” You huffed out.

Marsi waited patiently.

“He just didn’t want me.” You shrugged. “Thought I was just interested in his money.”

“Well, he has been—”

“I know, Marsi. I know.” Your throat got tight in embarrassment. “I just want to forget about it.”

“I’m happy to distract you with my poor excuse of a love life and my dumb professor.”

“Please.”

—

It had been a week. More than a week. Your healing cut was beginning to itch. You had scheduled an appointment with Dana back when you had been in the ER, but you did not want to go back. You had called up your PCP to schedule to get them removed instead. You just had two more days and you could put it all behind you.

There had been distractions in the end of year exams that you had been able to lose yourself in. Late nights became even more common, studying and trying to forget. Your heartbreak had yielded to anger, though the lines between them blurred enough that one was the other and you had a hard time figuring out which was which.

You sat on your bed, hoping that you would perhaps get so tired that you would pass out so you would not have to be alone with your thoughts. The anxiety of your exams was just increasing your turmoil even more.

Time is healing my hand, time will heal this too.

Sitting criss-cross on your bed, your laptop in front of you, you tried to focus on the numbers on the spreadsheet. They blurred together due to the late hour.

Your phone buzzed beside you, and your eyes flickered to see who it was. Your heart lurched into your throat at the sight of Michael’s name.

Heart already beginning to pound, a small amount of heat lighting your skin on fire, your hands beginning to grow clammy. You stared at it, before taking a long blink and rubbing your eyes. Surely, your eyes were playing tricks.

Opening them again, his name still sat there and the buzzing continued. It was late, nearly midnight, and a fear took root. Why is he calling?

With slight hesitation, you reached to answer it before it went to voicemail. The silence of your room was suddenly invaded by the sound of Michael crying. Heavy breathing trying to find rhythm, and panic bloomed from your fear.

You swallowed and just listened. Words got stuck in your throat, and the red hot anger that had been biding its time made you flinch to hang up. How dare he call you out of all people when he was in the middle of a panic attack. Did he not remember the scathing words he had said? Completely ending your agreement, your obligation to talk to him?

Had it been obligation? Or had it been care? Your mind whispered somewhere in a dark corner.

“I-I’m sorry—” he whispered, his voice cutting through the hyperventilated breaths like a siren’s call across the sea of your uncertainty.

Your heart thudded, but you let out a long breath, your edges softening.

“Just take a deep breath, Michael.” You said, trying to pull any sort of emotion from your voice. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not o-okay.” He hiccuped on a sob. “Fuck, I don’t even know why—”

You hushed him.

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry. I had to take a patient off a ventilator—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “He was—he was gone, but fuck—I didn’t—it felt like—” He resorted back to his tears.

The sound of his desperation clawed through the heat of your anger, finding the soft spot beneath and latching on, sinking its teeth deep. Your own tears welled up. All the frustration, the sorrow, the anger, the heartbreak and your own brutal desperation tangling together in your throat, tears burning your eyes. You cried with him.

With your cheeks wet and sobs crashing through your body, you held your phone tightly to your ear, wishing instead it had been Michael you were holding close. Stupid, foolish girl.

“It brought me back to having to let Adamson go…it felt like I was reliving it all over again.” His breathing still came quickly. “I had to give up on him to save a little girl…and she didn’t even make it.”

Your own sadness bled into your empathy, “Michael…I don’t know what you need me to say. I’m sorry.” Your voice was hoarse. “Just breathe with me.”

You tried to take a deep breath through your nose and back out through your mouth, but it got caught somewhere in your chest. You cried harder.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t—fuck. Today was rough. It was bad. I—I didn’t know who else to call. I needed to hear your voice.”

A part of your heart warmed and you rubbed your eyes. Your thoughts blurred with a thousand questions and a million protests.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping. I should—”

“No…stay.”

The line grew quiet, but it didn’t cut off. You had the fleeting thought to hang up and not allow any of it to get any more complicated than it already was, but you could not bring yourself to. You held onto your phone like a life preserver in the storm.

It took several minutes before your breathing began to slow and the tears to dry, and rational thoughts seeped back in. He took a long breath in on the other side.

“I’m really sorry for everything I said.” Michael whispered. “Fuck, that was so wrong of me to do to you.”

“It really hurt.” You told him simply. “I thought—I just—is that really what you think of me?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, it isn’t. I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings, or how the agreement was making me feel. And I took it out on you. That was incredibly unforgivable of me.”

You swallowed, “It was getting complicated, that wasn’t what you signed up for.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He agreed. “It still doesn’t absolve me for everything I said.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He sighed, “Thank you for picking up anyway.”

You stayed silent, unsure exactly what you wanted to say.

“But the agreement is over. Nothing more to tie us together.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t want this…distance between us. Even if that means we’re just friends. But I can understand if you want nothing more to do with me.” He said.

You bit your lip, “I can’t just forget what you said, not yet. But I don’t want you to go anywhere, either. I want to figure this out.”

He paused on the other end, “Did you get your stitches out yet?”

“No. I have an appointment with my PCP.”

“Come by the hospital instead? We can start there?”

You thought about it, about seeing him. About the possibility of finding sturdy ground with him again and the possibility of letting something grow without the hindrance of an agreement. Or any external pressure.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“I originally scheduled to come by tomorrow after work.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Something like hope grew back in your chest.

[ Next ]

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

Should I write a little some some for Jack abbot even tho I’ve never seen the show. The fics I read on here are scrumptious and have left me inspired

Samira Mohan x reader…just gay shit. Yeah…thinking thots rn.

@ovaryacted now hold on-

Mission Impossible AU…but with Jack Abbot. Oouuuu.

thinking about night shift reader getting jealous when a pretty temp nurse or patient won’t stop flirting with jack

YESYESYES!!🤭 i need that imagine him trying to convince her/ console her and she’s actually so jealous and mad w him

the squeal heard around the world. i loved writing this. i am soo sorry i am terrible at writing about the girl we are supposed to be jealous of, even though this was my own damn idea. i hope you like ♡ this is about 3.6k. oops

jack abbot is great at being your boyfriend, and he's even better at being a doctor.

he's the kind of boyfriend you spent all of your youth dreaming about, as though he had read the scribbles in your journals growing up, like he'd been right next to your friends when you'd tell them about what you want in a relationship.

sweet, devoted, caring. he takes care of you in ways that you didn't realize you needed to be cared for—does it so effortlessly that you're left wondering how it comes so easily to him. you know he's been in more relationships than you—he was married, and that is something you don't take lightly. he had already found the person he was going to spend forever with, and because of some cruel twist of fate, he ended up alone again.

you can't imagine that. you've been on the night-shift maybe six months, which means you've been official with jack for coming on four months now, and you can't even imagine what a single day without him would be like.

(you've experienced it in the broadest sense of the word—he once got called in at three in the afternoon on a day you both had gotten off. the two of you had only woken up an hour or two ago, and had spent the following time indulging in an afternoon delight, and when his phone went off, you were about to drift off to sleep again against his chest, to the sound of his heart. you still hold a grudge against shen for that day, and you know what it's like to be without him when you're so spoiled by what it's like to be with him—you were miserable until he came back home at ten that night.)

jack abbot is a great boyfriend. he surprises you with your favorite flowers, makes you breakfast because he worries about you not eating enough, and even though he's an old man, he replies to your texts as soon as he gets them, as soon as he can. (but he doesn't really need to, since you're always together anyways.)

but sometimes, your boyfriend is really fucking oblivious.

there's a travel nurse taking over for one of your favorite night-shift nurses' maternity leave. you were sad about it already, being without her, though it's hard to stay upset when she sends you photos of her cute baby napping and videos of him realizing he has fingers.

and you are nothing if not sweet, if not welcoming. you had been the newbie not that long ago, and even though you've settled into a great routine (that only partially includes jack, because despite the fact that the scheduler loves you, you don't get every shift with your boyfriend. that would just be wrong. and distracting, you think), you still remember how hard it was in the beginning.

so you beam at her with your smile, ask her about her hobbies and give her recommendations for the best coffee nearby. you do all the things you'd do if it was anyone else, trying to make sure she feels welcome. (jack told you once that you have a complex about making sure people like you. you told him to shut up.)

the first few shifts with her were fine. you've been on with shen and ellis for a week—that's just the way the schedule was. you and jack both have a golden weekend coming up soon, and there was another couple of days he took off to go visit his sister upstate, so you knew it would be a mildly sad few weeks without him there every night with you. it would be worth it for the forty-eight hours you had been daydreaming about, all of them in jack's apartment, not a single one outside of his bed.

but she'd been on with you every night you'd been there, and nurses only work three times a week—that's what's running through your head when jack comes in for his first shift this week with you. he'd come from his apartment, calling you to tell you that he'd made it back home safely and that he was going to sleep before heading in. you had ended the call securing a promise to get breakfast at the diner after tonight's shift, your usual routine.

but you feel sick to your stomach at eight-thirty, staring at the new nurse and your boyfriend, standing in front of a patient's bed.

jack looks good—he always looks good. his hair isn't as messy yet, his scrubs are still clean. he shifts his weight a little because he's had a long drive back from his sister's, and he didn't get to sleep that much, another reason why you are so excited for this empty weekend. were so excited.

you didn't even think you were the jealous type. how could you have known—with no one ever being so close to you that you had any reason to be jealous? you try to rack your head through a couple of first-dates and your sweet but boring short-term college boyfriend. no, you conclude, you've never been the jealous type.

except now, you suppose, watching the pretty nurse lean in a little too close to jack, showing him something on the tablet in her hands. she stares up at your boyfriend, and he stares at the tablet, and then the patient, and you stare at them. and then you see it—he looks at her and stays something, and she laughs. loudly, flirtatiously. you know that laugh, you see it all around you in a hospital full of flirts. and before either of them can catch you staring, you turn around and find a patient to take care of.

you tell yourself for the next thirty minutes that being jealous and getting angry is awfully immature of you, while stitching up a man with terrible knife skills who had secured his visit tonight during a failed attempt at making hibachi for dinner. you don't even hear him when he asks you when he should return to get the stitches out, and the nurse helping you looks at you in confusion. you never zone out while talking to patients, never leave them hanging. she fills in for you, telling him two weeks while you meander back to central.

and you feel a white hot ball of anger burning in your chest again. she's talking to him again. god—don't they both have jobs to do? she's doing the thing again, leaning in towards your boyfriend, looking at him with an expression that is entirely too familiar to you. it's the one that's constantly on your face—the one that the other night shift crew are probably sick of seeing by now. it's something like adoration and reverence and paying attention to every word he says so you don't miss anything. but hers isn't like yours, there's something else there too.

jack is talking to the patient now, taking a step closer to the bed and away from the nurse, and your thudding heart calms down for half a second before the nurse follows right behind him. and she touches his arm. not a tap, not a poke to get his attention. she wraps her fingers around his bicep, holds on for a little too long, and your boyfriend turns to look at her, and that's when you realize you need a moment.

you shut your eyes. it's times like this that you realize how green you really are when it comes to the whole 'dating a really handsome, really smart guy' thing. but jack has never given you a reason to be worried, has never said or done anything that even made you think he would entertain something like this. you know he wouldn't, he's too good for that, too nice of a boyfriend for that.

but it still stings. and so you turn away immediately, heading back to the desk and leaning against it. you report the two cases you dealt with to ellis, who asks you questions that take you too long to answer. you try to avoid staring at either your boyfriend or the nurse for too long, a storm cloud brewing inside of you when you see her trailing right behind him again.

you haven't even talked to him tonight yet, you think bitterly. miserably. and that nurse has been with him for two hours.

and unfortunately, you're also pretty green at hiding the fact that you're upset too. not to your patients—though you do let shen and ellis run the incoming and settle for debriding and wrapping up a burn instead, sitting behind a shut curtain so jack couldn't find you, if he was looking.

(of course he was looking. you're just caught up in your own head.)

and after that, it's almost ten. jack has a cup of coffee waiting for you, if he can find you. he tells the nurse who's been following him around all night if she can track you down for him, and then the patient with the chest pain he's been monitoring wants to speak with him, so he walks away to do that, stretching his neck to see if you're at one of the beds nearby. you have a pair of pink sneakers you wear, though every single person in your life had told you to buy black ones, him included. you don't listen, and times like this he's thankful, searching for the bright shoes under a few beds before giving up. maybe you had just walked away, maybe he had just missed you.

you're back at central, sending in an order for antibiotic gel and finishing a note. you're not a mean person, it doesn't come very naturally to you, but you do have to try really hard to resist the urge to roll your eyes when you see the nurse walking towards you.

you've been nice to her every day so far. it would be obvious if you started being mean—whatever your version of mean is—now. but it doesn't seem like she would notice, with that same love-sick expression as she sits in the empty chair next to you.

you're grumpy and tired and frankly too busy to deal with this, but when she starts talking, you listen anyways. (screw jack and screw your goddamn complex. you need to learn how to be mean.)

"how is this the first time i'm meeting him?" she asks, and you bite your cheek so hard you think it might be bleeding. you keep typing your note, looking in her direction and forcing a smile—stupid. complex. "he's so handsome."

"what's that now?" you grit, the screen in front of you not making much sense anymore. you backspace and delete the last two sentences that are filled with gibberish and abbreviations that don't exist.

"dr. abbot," she says to you and you think even your fingers are trembling. you are so, so incredibly bad at this. and you don't even realize why—so much anger and sadness pooling inside of you. normally you'd be caffeinated enough for a clear mind on this side of ten o'clock, but you've been avoiding your boyfriend, and therefore avoiding the cup he makes for you every shift.

the nurse rambles on, your heart beating faster with each word she says. dr. abbot is cute and nice and charming and, like, so funny.

i know, you want to yell. i know he's funny! you just met him three hours ago.

but you stay silent, stay nice, no matter how much it's eating at you. you are being extremely immature but everytime you think of how close they were standing and the fact that some other girl touched your boyfriend's arm, you want to black out.

she keeps rambling and you stay silent, trying for the most part to ignore her, until you hear it at the end of one of her sentences.

"he wears a wedding ring, though, i noticed it earlier when we were with that other patient. but i mean, he's a doctor right? they never care about-"

the thoughts you're thinking would get you put into the psych ward, you think.

"-oh, he was looking for you. you need to report to him, right? we were over by bed ten, i think, the guy with chest pain. we were-"

we, we, we. it's all she says.

"he was looking for me?" you repeat, tired of listening and frankly, a bit tired of the weight of your own emotions.

yes, you might be stupid for getting jealous about something like this, but if that's the case, then you accept your own stupidity. you would never touch some nurse's arm like that, not unless you were trying to give someone a hug after a bad loss. and you would never lean in close like that to anyone, no one besides jack. well, jack and that older radiologist who speaks very softly, so you always need to get real close so she doesn't have to keep repeating herself.

you guess you thought jack would feel the same about not doing those things for you. maybe he doesn't care, maybe it's nothing to him. but it's not to you, not right now, not while listening to a temp nurse gush about him all night.

"oh, there he is now. do i look okay? that other incoming was coughing up blood and we-"

you look up, meeting your boyfriend's pretty hazel eyes while he leans on the other side of the counter from you.

"do you need anything, dr. abbot?" she pipes up from next to you, and this time you do roll your eyes. fuck—you're really bad at this. jack sees it happen, shaking his head at her and turning his attention to you.

a few hours ago, this would have made you perfectly happy. but it keeps replaying in your head—the arm grab. maybe it's because you have your own complex about jack's arms, but it's not okay. and you won't pretend like it is either.

jack sets down your yellow mug by your hand. it's filled with a light colored coffee.

"here's your cream and sugar with a side of coffee." you stare up at him blankly, forcing a small smile.

"thank you," and then you turn your attention back to the screen. jack looks at you, confused with furrowed eyebrows. you can feel the nurse's eyes going between your yellow mug and jack. "i discharged hibachi guy with fifteen stitches. and the forearm burn wants to pick up the gel from his local pharmacy, i guess he knows the tech there or something-"

"you okay, kid?"

you release a breath you've been holding all night. when you turn to your side, you see the nurse is still staring, but not at you, just at jack. you turn your attention back to him.

"yeah."

you watch it happen in front of you. he turns to the nurse, and she beams, just like how you always do.

"would you mind giving us a minute?" he asks her, and you can see her deflate a little. you get a smug feeling, which you immediately curse yourself for. that's mean of you, and you don't like being mean—though you are very pleased he said that. she nods and gets up slowly, making sure to ask him again if he needs anything before she goes. and she walks somewhere away, though you're sure she can still see him.

"hey," he starts, and you do have to look up now. you can't ignore jack if you tried. "what's wrong?"

"nothing," you lie through your teeth, ignoring how weepy you feel inside.

you don't know how to handle being jealous, and you want to say something mean and biting but you can't really think of it. so you settle for the next best thing, staying silent.

"c'mon, kid. don't lie to me. i haven't seen you all night."

"i was on chairs," you say, eyes flicking between jack's arm resting against the counter and the cup of coffee he brought you. and then you look at the recently emptied seat next to you. "and you were clearly busy."

jack hasn't been dating you for that long, but he still knows you better than you know yourself sometimes. knows that you're too nice, knows about the new nurse that replaced your pregnant friend—distinctly remembers you telling him about it on the phone last week. he knows that he's never seen you like this, that you haven't given him that smile that makes his knees weak and his heart thud all night. that he was waiting for it after a few days without you.

you chew your cheek again, taking a sip of the coffee. it's perfect, just like every other night.

(you had once confessed to jack at three am during the first month you two were officially dating that your coffee always tastes better when he makes it. it's what he thinks about when he makes it for you—here, at your place, at his place, at the diner.)

"thank you for the coffee," you say quietly, briefly flickering your sad eyes to him. jack leans in, holding your hand that just set down your mug.

"hey," he starts quietly, and you try to wrestle your hand away, though he doesn't budge. "hey. what's going on? did i-did i do something?"

you stay silent, though he notices your eyes getting watery. it's so stupid, crying over this like you've just lost a patient or something. but you can't help it. jack abbot makes you feel every emotion like it's your first time feeling it all over again. your eyes look at the chair next to you again.

"i saw her touching you," you admit quietly. saying the words out loud lights a fury inside of you, getting angry all over again at the very idea that he didn't realize what was happening.

"oh, kid, i-"

"d-don't. you asked, i'm just telling you." it's hard for him to listen when he notices your chin trembling a little, thinking about how this might be the first time he's messed up in your short relationship.

he comes over to the other side of the desk, taking the seat next to you and holding onto your hand again.

"please tell me this is not about that-that nurse," jack starts, and you want to walk away from him so badly. "sweetheart. i have absolutely no interest in her, even if she does. i told her to find you for me, so i could get your coffee-"

"but she touched your arm," you say, not realizing just how sad that had made you. but jack realizes, knows that you must have seen it from somewhere where he couldn't see you. knows you didn't see him brushing her off, standing by the patient, figuring out how to get rid of his new shadow.

"hey, i'm sorry, okay? i would have made sure she understood that i'm very happily taken if i had known-"

"but you should have known," you say, though the words are covered with a tiny sob. "i-i'm not crying because i'm sad, i'm angry, i just don't know how to stop crying when i-"

"hey, it's okay. c'mon, let's go on a walk."

"no, i need to finish my notes-"

"sweetheart, come on." jack takes both your hands in his, turning you towards him. he stares right into your eyes and you feel slightly better—slightly. "i need to apologize to you and then i'm going to kiss you. and i know how you feel about me doing that sort of thing in front of everyone, so-"

"i don't know what you're talking about," you snip back. "i don't have any feelings about doing any sort of thing in front of any sort of people-"

and jack wants to laugh, not sure if you entirely understand how cute you are like this. he'll tell you all about it tomorrow morning, when he's got you in his bed, after he apologizes every single way he knows how, after he proves to you how little temp nurses mean to him when he's finally got you.

he leans in close, knowing he's got eyes on the two of you.

"is that so?" you have a habit of shutting your eyes when you know a kiss is coming, and your body does it automatically, despite what your brain is thinking. "so you're not gonna mind if i-"

and he bridges the gap, kissing you at central until he has to pull away to let you breathe. your eyes blink open, staring at hazel until you hear it from behind you—the charge nurse, clearing her throat, suppressing a laugh.

"doctors? if you're about done, we have an incoming mvc-"

"coming, bridget. thanks." jack speaks for both of you, and a little dazed, you stand up with him, still staring.

"i'm still upset."

"i know."

"she still touched you-"

"and i think she's gotten the message by now, but if she hasn't, i will make sure she understands."

"i haven't worked with you since last week." the last part you say sadly, realizing how long it's been since you've seen your boyfriend.

"i'll make up for it in the morning. promise." you take one last sip of coffee, knowing it'll be cold by the time you come back to it, following jack to the trauma bay. you walk right by the temp nurse, who you catch watching as you tie jack's gown and he ties yours, and though you really shouldn't, you beam your friendliest smile at her as she waits with you and the other nurse outside.

"you look great, by the way. and he is cute, isn't he?"

Do I write a fake boyfriend!robby situation? It’ll be very fluffy and very cute.