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It’s one of the busier days in the ER, people rushing about the halls, incoming trauma every half an hour, the dull roar of patients even louder than usual. The stress is palpable, a tension in the air that reaches everywhere, making mistakes more likely than usual. And that’s how Robby manages to smash his head against an overhead lamp whilst treating a critical.
The patient is a 16-year-old with an open tib-fib fracture after a car accident, gnarly, the kid screaming his head off until he’s doped up on morphine. It’s a common case, nothing new for Robby, autopilot kicking in, which is probably how he manages to hit his head in the first place. He’s leaning over the gurney, trying to stabilise the leg enough for the techs to cart the kid off to CT for more imaging, when Garcia moves the lamp around so Robby can get a better view. Usually he’d catalogue this, remember to duck when he stands back up, but his mind is half at home, already wondering what to order for dinner, and this time when he stands up, his head crashes into the lamp. It sends him reeling for a second, stumbling backwards as the pain ricochets around his skull, before fading into a dull throbbing ache. When he focuses again, the x-ray techs are wheeling the kid away, and everyone in the room is looking at him.
“I’m fine.” Robby sighs, exasperated, “Nothing new. Everyone back to work.”
“You’re bleeding.” Santos tells him, eyebrow raised. He brings a hand up to the back of his head and winces at the sting as he feels the open cut, fingers crimson when he pulls them away.
“Oh, for fuck’s-“
The door to the trauma room opens and Dana walks in. You’re following skittishly behind her, more nervous than you probably should be after three months in the same hospital.
“Robby, 12’s open.” He moves to argue but Dana holds up a hand, raises her eyebrows at him, and he acquiesces almost immediately, years of experience telling him it’s better just to follow her orders. As he moves to leave, she turns to you, expression settling into something warm, “You wanna go check him out? Good practice if he needs stitches.”
You titter nervously, “Wouldn’t it be better if someone more- uh- senior does it?” It’s not that you’re new to suturing, you’ve stitched up plenty of wounds, both during your med school hospital rotations and the past few months. No, instead what’s making you nervous is Robby, and the crush you’ve had on him since you first walked into PTMC. The crush that has you avoiding him as much as possible, gluing your eyes to the floor when he talks to you, ducking your head when he looks at you during debriefings. The crush that has you feeling like you’re in high school again with the way your hands shake around him, stomach whirling with butterflies.
“You can handle it, kid, I’ve seen your sutures. So has Robby actually, so I’m sure he won’t mind. It’s probably just a small cut anyway, ‘lotta blood vessels in the scalp.” She sends you off with a pat on the shoulder and a smile and you shuffle away despite the anxiety still bubbling away inside of you.
When you open the door to the exam room, Robby is sat on the end of the bed. He’s one of the tallest doctors in the ER, but it’s raised high enough that his feet still hover above the floor a little. It’s incredibly endearing. He looks up when you enter, and offers you a sheepish smile, hand rubbing at the back of his neck, lips pressing together.
“Guess Dana dumped me on the intern, huh?” He asks, but his tone is light, and the small smile is still there. Mostly he just seems embarrassed, like the hit to his head knocked his ego a little too.
He’s making eye contact expectantly, so you nod and duck your head quickly, busying yourself with organising the supplies you’ll need. Just saline and gauze for now, but you could end up needing steri-strips, staples, glue or sutures depending on how bad the wound looks. Once you have your supplies set out neatly on a tray next to Robby, you pull one of the chairs in the corner over and motion to it, “Could you sit here? I can’t really reach your head when you sit on the bed.”
“Good idea.” He tells you, and you flush a little at the tiny bit of praise. Obviously it’s nowhere near the reason you got into healthcare in the first place, but you’d be lying if you said the little compliments from your attendings didn’t consistently motivate you to work a little harder, pay a little more attention.
Robby gets up and moves over to the chair, sitting up straight for once where he’d usually slouch. You wheel the tray over to him and then snap on a pair of latex gloves, steeling yourself for the task ahead. Okay, yeah, it shouldn’t be that bad, you’re only touching his scalp for Christ’s sake, but your attempts at avoiding contact with Robby for the past couple of months have so far been successful and you’re slightly worried you could spontaneously combust at this first touch.
“Um, okay, so first I’m going to check the wound to make sure there’s no debris or anything… which there shouldn’t be because you hit it on a light...”
“Always good to check though.”
“Yup…” You’re focused, fingers probing his head. Shockingly, you’re not freaking out too much despite the close proximity, but you can feel your hands shaking, so you breathe deeper, trying to slow them.
The laceration isn’t that bad, luckily, and you tell Robby as much, reaching for the bottle of saline, “So now I’m going to irrigate the wound with a little bit of saline solution – this might sting a little but it’s important I clean the wound to prevent infection after I close it.”
“Good, perfect explanation. What are you using to close?”
“Uh, lac is about an inch, so I’ll just be using Dermabond?”
“No notes, go right ahead, Doctor.” The blush creeps back onto your face at his words and the encouraging tone accompanying them. You’re glad the lac is on the back of his head instead of the front, the flush on your cheeks would've made you seem so odd.
You focus on cleaning the wound, squirting the saline as carefully as possible and then dabbing at it a little with some gauze to make sure it’s dry for the Dermabond. Your hand is holding the side of Robby’s head to steady him and the intimacy of it is a little intimidating considering how often you’ve thought of actually cradling his head, brushing your fingers through his hair, holding him when he’s had a bad day, embracing him when you kiss.
“Okay so now that I’ve irrigated the laceration, I’m going to apply the glue. I have to hold the wound closed for a couple of seconds which might be a little sore, but it shouldn’t be too bad.”
He makes a noise in assent and you get started, picking up the Dermabond's packet and popping the tube out onto the tray. You pick up the tube with your gloved hands and squeeze it, allowing the glue to flow through. Then, you turn to Robby and start applying it along the laceration, before using both of your hands to hold him still until the wound is secure. Finally, you tape a small piece of gauze over the cut, just to make sure it stays untouched.
"Okay I'm all done!" You can't help feeling a little proud despite the simplicity of the procedure. Really, anyone could do what you just did, but considering how nervous being this close to Robby made you, you're surprised you didn't fuck up somehow, dropping the glue out onto the floor and breaking the sterile field or something.
Robby stands up and turns towards you, a soft smile on his face, "Great job. Do you want to test for a concussion? I feel fine but it's good practice."
"Uh-" It's hard to think with him looking at you like that. The softness he's exhibiting really would be better suited to someone saving his dog, or buying him some flowers maybe, not you just doing your job. "I'll uh- yeah. Sit back down for me?"
This is going to be hard. A concussion test is kind of personal, at least with the feelings you have. It's a lot more eye contact than you're used to with most people, let alone Robby. But he's right, it is good practice. Not only for your medical career, maybe after this you won't feel like you need to avoid eye contact with him so much. Maybe it'll stop you going red, or forgetting what you're doing when he looks at you.
There's another chair in the corner of the room that you pull over in front of Robby's and sit down on. The distance is safe on purpose, but probably too far for the tests you need to do, and Robby knows that. He surprises you by reaching down between your legs and pulling you forward by the edge of the chair, leaving your knees in the middle of his, and when you look up for a second, his face close enough that you can see the freckles beneath his eyes.
This wasn't what you prepared for. You were going to sit away from him, look in his eyes as little as possible, avoid touching him again. Now there's nowhere else to look, nowhere to move, every shift in your seat meaning your knees brush together and a bolt of lightning runs down your spine.
"Do I make you nervous?" Robby asks, breaking you out of frozen state. You look up from your hands and you can feel your cheeks going red again, both from the embarrassment that he's actually noticed the impact he has on you, and from the renewed eye contact, his questioning look.
"No- well- I mean-"
"Is it- have I ever done something? To make you uncomfortable? Or to scare you?"
You flail a little at this, "No! You've never done anything, I'm just- I don't know-" God, why can't you think? Why do his gorgeous brown eyes just completely stop your neurons in their tracks, words disappearing from your mind as fast as they usually appear?
You try and look away, to gather yourself, regain the ability to speak, but he captures your chin with his hand and you can practically feel your brain falling out of your ears. He doesn't look concerned anymore, he looks almost happy? Pleased?
"You're blushing, your pupils are dilated," his other hand takes yours, turns it over, presses two fingers to your wrist, "Your heart is racing."
He's not angry. He's not pitying you, the young resident with a crush, not laughing either. No, he's… preening? Those brown eyes are soft, he can barely control the smile spreading across his face.
"I thought it might've just been wishful thinking, but…"
He tilts his head a little and now it's just… all soft. Eyes crinkled, mouth tilted up a little at the corner. He's still holding your wrist and you know he can feel your heart rate become even faster.
"You like me, right? I'm not reading this wrong?"
You shake your head, "You're not."
And then he leans in. And his lips are so soft, and your spiraling thoughts are all quieted as soon as they touch yours. He's a little hesitant still, mouth basically closed, so you reassure him, pressing inwards, opening up, bringing your hand to hold the nape of his neck. He responds in kind, the hand on your wrist moving to your waist, the other cradling your cheek.
It's cliched but it really is the type of kiss that makes your body feel like molten lava, fireworks flaring everywhere he touches you. You feel dizzy with it, never want it to stop, would freeze this moment like a film if you could. It's the type of kiss you read about, the type you always want a date to end in but never get. It's grounding and electric all at once.
You pull away first, needing a second to breathe and remind yourself that yes, you are actually a human being on a planet and not just a star in the endless universe. In fact, you are not only a human being, but a human being practically in the lap of their attending, in the middle of the hospital where anyone could walk in at any minute.
"Uh-" What do you even say to him? Your fantasies never included the logistics of making out in a hospital, let alone the repercussions of Robby being your superior.
"Was that okay?" He's a little nervous again, running his hand over his beard, one of the ticks of his you've noticed before.
"More than. But- um- we should probably get back out there. Y'know, before someone comes looking for us."
You see the concern leave his body at your words, "You're right, I don't think I can handle the gossip that would come from this. Can I-" He's rubbing the back of his neck, "Can I ask you on a date? Coffee before work, or dinner, or something?"
You duck your head, feeling shy, before remembering that you just kissed this man in an exam room, "Yes! Yes, anything is okay with me, no preference."
He grins, finally, one of his rare full face smiles, crows feet fully on display, pointed eye teeth visible, "I have your number, I'll text you tonight?"
You nod, finally at ease, not blushing (as hard) and turn to leave the room, taking two steps before he grabs your arm and turns you around, "Wait-"
The kiss is more chaste this time, but you still melt into it, letting yourself be swept away by the feeling of his lips on yours. It only lasts a few seconds before he pulls away, and this time it's not just you blushing, Robby's cheeks are ruddy, eyes twinkling, "Sorry, I just- yeah."
It's a little comforting to see him feeling nervous, makes you feel more self-assured, "I'm gonna-" You point behind you with your thumb, "Yeah."
You both laugh a little breathlessly and you finally walk back out into the ER, imbued with new confidence and an excitement that lasts for about 3 hours, until another god-awful case comes in. The soft sideways glances and quick brushes of Robby's hand on your back get you through though, which is more than you can say for any other day in this job.