Chapter Text
“… and this is Dr. Mia Robinavitch. New intern” Dr. Robby’s voice stayed even as he introduced her last. The group standing near Central went quiet, not openly shocked, just the kind of silence that means that everyone is paying closer attention.
As she stepped forward, Michael shifted slightly, his hand hovering briefly at her back – not touching, just guiding her into the space beside him before dropping again as he realized he’d done it. She pretended not to notice, but the feeling stayed with her longer than she wanted.
Dana caught the brief moment and looked down at the clipboard instead of reacting. She’d already knew everything. This wasn’t news. Just confirmation that neither of them knew how to act normal yet.
Mia felt every pair of eyes on her and Robby.
She forced a smile. “Hey. Can everyone call me just Mia? I think it will make things easier. But if someone yells ‘Dr. Robinavitch’ I will probably answer too. Seems safer.” That got a laugh.
Some people relaxed. Others just watched, curious, trying to figure out what exactly is happening. Mia could practically hear the questions forming.
Michael gave a short nod, already moving the orientation forward, like nothing unusual had happened.
Which somehow made it feel more unusual.
-12 months earlier-
Mia contacted Robby twelve months ago, shortly after her mother died.
While going through old boxes in the attic, she found photographs — one of them showing her as a baby in a man’s arms she didn’t recognize at first. Her mother, Linda, had always said she would tell her about her father “when the time was right.” The time never seemed to come.
Linda wasn’t easy to grow up with. She loved Mia in her own way — supportive when things were good, harsh when they weren’t. Some days warmth, other days anger. Mia learned early how to take care of herself.
The photo stayed in her head. The man looked familiar.
After some digging, and a little late-night courage fueled by bad decisions and cheap alcohol, Mia realized her name matched a physician listed on the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center website.
Dr. Michael Robinavitch.
She wrote him a letter. Direct, almost blunt. No emotional framing, just facts, that she thought he might be her father and she wanted to meet. She included her email and waited, expecting nothing.
He replied three days later. Short. Professional. He suggested they meet near the hospital.
It was awkward from the start. Both careful. Both guarded.
Mia brought the photographs as proof and Michael studied them quietly, confirming the man was him, younger, thinner, almost a different person. Neither knew what to say next because the possibility hung in the air between them.
Eventually Michael suggested a paternity test. Practical. Neutral. Something they could both hold onto. So he took her to the hospital after hours. A charge nurse — Dana — helped them quietly, taking the samples without asking questions. The whole thing felt strangely clinical.
Two days later, Michael texted her. Short message:
Dinner. Same place.
When Mia arrived, Dana was there too, holding an envelope and Mia suddenly wished she had never wrote him.
“Do you want to open it, sweetheart?” Dana held the envelope out toward Mia.
“Honestly? Not really ma’am.”
Dana smiled softly. “Then I will. And call me Dana — no ma’am. Makes me feel old.” Mia almost smiled back.
“Robby?” Dana glanced toward him.
Michael shook his head once, jaw tight. “You open it.” His voice was calm, but his fingers were restless against the table — tapping once, then stopping.
Dana slid a finger under the seal slowly. She cannot possibly open this any slower, Mia thought, elbows on the table, hands covering her face.
Paper rustled. Silence stretched.
Dana looked up, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Well… looks like we’ve got another Robinavitch around here.”
Mia lowered her hands slowly and looked at Michael.
He wasn’t smiling. He just stared at the paper for a long second, blinking like he was trying to catch up with something that had already happened. Which, technically, he was.
Mia swallowed. Okay. So that’s real now.
Dana laughed lightly, trying to ease the tension.
“As if one Robinavitch wasn’t enough trouble for this hospital.” This time Michael almost smiled.
Mia watched him carefully, noticing how still he had gone, like he was afraid moving too much might break the moment.
Nobody said anything for a few seconds.
Not because they didn’t know what to say but because suddenly there was too much to say.
After that nothing really changed, yet everything changed. They didn’t suddenly become closer, instead they circled around each other carefully. Robby started checking where her rotations were, pretending it was about scheduling and Mia started showing up in the ER more often than her assignments required, always with an excuse ready.
They spoke mostly about medicine. Cases. Exams. Sleep deprivation - safe topics. Sometimes they shared coffee between shifts, standing in the hallway instead of sitting down, like sitting would make it too personal.
Mia learned quickly that Robby listened more than he spoke. He learned that she joked when she was uncomfortable.
She told him bits and pieces about her life, but never in order — a story here, an offhand comment there, usually disguised as sarcasm. He never pushed for more.
Robby eventually explained what happened — briefly, awkwardly. He and Linda had been friends, close once, for a short time. When she told him she was pregnant, she said the child wasn’t his and he believed her. After Mia was born, Linda drifted away.
Their relationship grew in small ways instead. He remembered her exam dates without mentioning it, she started texting him stupid medical memes late at night, he stopped calling her “the student” and started saying her name.
-6 months earlier-
6 months after Mia met her dad, during one of their weekly dinners, she seemed to be unusually tense. Robby noticed. He noticed how she pushed her food around the plate, how she didn’t down her first drink like usual, she wasn’t her usually chatty self, her hands were trembling. She was shutting down.
He didn’t push. She wouldn’t talk to him and he knew it because he does the same. So he waits.
Mia looks down at the table. “I’m a little behind on my rent. I got laid off from my part time job last week because I couldn’t come to shift during my exam. I told them I will have that exam like 3 weeks in advance.” She tries to make it sound casual. It doesn’t work.
She laughs once. “It’s fine, I’ll figure it out.”
Robby doesn’t answer immediately. He feels something. Guilt. Anger.
“You can stay with me.”
She blinks, surprised. But he keeps going.
“I have a spare bedroom with it’s own bathroom. It’s close to the hospital.”
“You don’t even know me.” Mia laughs defensively. It’s terrifying. Too intimate.
Robby stays quiet for a second. “I’m trying to get to know you.”
They both stay quiet for some time. Mia is the one to break the silence.
“Just until I figure things out”
“Sure.” He know that’s as close as he will get her to say yes.
It’s her move in day. Mia shows up late, with just a duffel bag and a back pack. That’s all she owns. She knocks and Robby opens the door almost immediately, awkwardly.
“Your room and bathroom are down the hall.”
Mia noods “Thanks. Again. For this.” It sound strange coming from her.
She walks to the room, her room, and notices a few little details. Some extra hangers on the bed, a phone and watch charger, new sheets.
And a desk with lamp already plugged in. On the desk is stack of colorful sticky notes and pens. Exactly the brand she uses. He remembered from dinner when she complained about cheap ones smearing ink.
“You didn’t have to do this.” Mia says almost too quietly.
“I wanted you to be comfortable.” Robby answers without thinking. They don’t speak for the rest of the night.
The morning is quiet, except for the coffee machine brewing. Robby is already awake, hospital bag packed.
He smells something. Cigarette smoke. He walks towards the living room where he sees Mia standing in an oversized t-shirt, hair a mess, window cracked open and a cigarette between her fingers. He wants to say something, yell, he hates smoking, especially indoor, he even hates when Dana comes from outside smelling like cigarettes. But he stays quiet.
She sees him. ”I opened a window.” Mia is prepared for an argument, instead he hits her with a not and “Mm.” and gets back to his coffee in the kitchen.
She’s surprised, almost terrified. She stubs the cigarette quickly and follows Robby into the kitchen. “I’d rather if you didn’t smoke inside.” Robby says kindly, Mia just acknowledging him with silent nod. She pours herself some coffee to the mug that Robby prepared for her. The rest of the morning is quiet.
Robby grabs his keys, heading to work and pauses in front of the door.
“Lock up when you leave.”
-the night before-
The ER was shifting into that in-between rhythm where one day ended and another quietly began, the energy changing as tired day-shift staff finished charting while the night team filtered in with coffee cups and practiced exhaustion written across their faces, and Jack walked through the doors carrying the familiar heaviness of starting another long night, dropping his bag beside the station while Michael finished his notes nearby.
They greeted each other with the easy nod that came from years of working side by side, conversation slipping immediately into handover mode, voices low and efficient as they discussed patients and loose ends that would stretch into the night, the background noise of monitors and movement filling the spaces between sentences.
Michael looked tired, more tired than usual, and Jack listened carefully, organizing the cases, already planning who might crash and who would probably stabilize before sunrise.
When the last chart was done, Michael didn’t leave immediately. He lingered, leaning lightly against the counter as if remembering something.
“Mia starts tomorrow,” he said casually.
Jack’s hand paused briefly over the notes before he forced himself to keep writing.
“Yeah?”
“First real shift,” Michael said. “Orientation’s done. She’ll be on day team.”
Jack nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward the patient board even though he already knew what it said, because tomorrow suddenly felt more specific, not just another handover, but one where she would be standing there, listening, learning, trying to act like she wasn’t nervous.
“She’ll do fine,” he said quietly.
Michael gave a tired half smile.
“She’ll pretend she’s fine,” he corrected. “That’s different.”
Jack almost smiled at that because it sounded exactly like her and the thought settled a little too warmly in his chest before he pushed it aside. He had noticed her more than he should lately. Nothing inappropriate. Nothing deliberate.
Just small things, her sharp observations during rounds, the way she argued without backing down, the sudden laughter that caught him off guard sometimes.
He reminded himself it was normal to notice talented interns. Still… it felt different in a way he refused to examine too closely.
Michael zipped up his bag.
“You’ll hand over to us in the morning,” he said. “Try not to scare her on day one.”
Jack smirked faintly. “I’m always nice.”
Michael snorted softly, clearly unconvinced, but there was warmth in the exchange.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, heading toward the exit.
Jack watched him leave, the doors shuting behind him, and the ER suddenly felt louder than before, the reality settling slowly over him.
Tomorrow morning she’d walk through those doors as Dr. Mia Robinavitch, intern, standing beside her father while he gave report, and he would have to be just another attending, calm and detached and entirely professional.
Which he would be. Of course he would.
He exhaled slowly.
It wasn’t a problem. People noticed people all the time. He just needed to keep it simple.
Professional. Predictable.
Still, as he turned back toward the department, preparing for the long night ahead, he realized with mild annoyance that he was already thinking about the morning, about explaining cases while she listened carefully, about seeing whether she would look nervous or confident or both.
And that was probably more attention than he should be giving an intern.
Jack rolled his shoulders, forcing himself fully back into work mode. The night hadn’t even started yet and already he was thinking about tomorrow.
-the morning of-
The apartment still felt half asleep when Mia woke up, the early light barely slipping through the blinds, turning everything pale and quiet, and she laid there for a long moment staring at the ceiling while the reality of the day settled slowly over her chest like weight.
First shift.
First real handover.
First time walking into the ER as someone expected to know what she was doing.
Her stomach twisted.
By the time Robby came into the kitchen, she was already at the window, cigarette between her fingers, cold air slipping through the small opening she’d cracked to let the smoke out, the city just beginning to wake outside.
He stopped when he saw her.
Not because she was smoking, he’d learned that arguing about it rarely changed anything, but because the ashtray beside her already held two finished cigarettes.
Too many for this early.
He said nothing at first, just started the coffee machine, moving quietly around the kitchen while the familiar hum filled the silence.
Mia took another drag, exhaling slowly.
“You’re staring,” she muttered.
“I’m not,” he said automatically.
She smirked faintly, but the movement felt forced, her hands trembling slightly as she tapped ash into the tray.
He noticed. Of course he did.
He poured coffee and slid a mug toward her without a word, and she wrapped her hands around it, grateful for something warm to focus on.
“I’m fine,” she said before he could ask.
That made him glance at her briefly.
“Didn’t say anything,” he replied.
Her mind drifted toward the day ahead and she thought briefly about the night shift attending she’d be meeting in the morning.
Jack Abbot.
She didn’t think about him in any personal way; he was just another senior doctor, experienced and sharp, the kind who probably noticed every mistake in real time, and the idea of standing there during handover while he rattled off cases made her nerves spike again.
She wanted to prove herself.
Not impress anyone specifically, just survive the shift without embarrassing herself in front of her father’s colleagues.
She crushed out the cigarette harder than necessary.
Robby noticed the movement but stayed quiet.
At the door, Michael paused.
“You’ll be fine,” he said quietly.
She rolled her eyes automatically, defensive reflex kicking in.
“I know.”
He nodded like he believed her, or maybe like he needed to believe it for his own peace of mind, and for a second she saw not the attending physician but just a tired father trying not to hover.
They stepped out into the morning air side by side, the quiet between them familiar but not uncomfortable, and Mia felt the nerves settle into something manageable as they walked.
Whatever happened today, she would figure it out.
That was what she always did.
And as the hospital came into view, she straightened her shoulders slightly, preparing herself for the long day ahead, for surviving her first real step into the world she’d worked so hard to join.
-now-
“… and this is Dr. Mia Robinavitch. New intern.” Dr. Robby’s voice stayed even as he introduced her last. The group standing near Central went quiet, not openly shocked, just the kind of silence that meant everyone was paying closer attention.
As she stepped forward, Michael shifted slightly, his hand hovering briefly at her back — not touching, just guiding her into the space beside him before dropping again as he realized he’d done it. She pretended not to notice, but the gesture lingered longer than she wanted.
Dana caught the moment and focused on the clipboard instead of reacting. She already knew everything. This wasn’t news — just another reminder that none of them had figured out how to make this feel normal yet.
Mia felt every pair of eyes on her and Robby.
She forced a smile. “Hey. Can everyone call me just Mia? I think it will make things easier. But if someone yells ‘Dr. Robinavitch’ I will probably answer too. Seems safer.” That got a small laugh.
Some people relaxed. Others stayed curious, trying to figure out how the dynamic would work. Mia could almost feel the questions forming, hovering just under the surface.
Michael gave a short nod, already moving the orientation forward like nothing unusual had happened.
Which somehow made it feel even more noticeable.
The group shifted naturally as day shift took positions, charts exchanging hands, monitors chiming steadily in the background, and only then did Mia notice him.
Jack.
Standing opposite them, clearly tired from the night shift but steady, posture relaxed in that practiced way physicians developed after years of overnight work, his expression neutral and focused.
Their eyes met briefly.
Acknowledgment.
Nothing more.
Both nodded slightly and returned their attention to the handover without hesitation, slipping easily into professional roles.
Michael stepped beside her, glancing toward Jack.
“Alright,” he said. “What do you have for us?”
Jack nodded, voice calm and precise as he began walking through the overnight cases, listing labs, imaging results, and ongoing concerns, his tone steady and clinical. Mia focused carefully on taking notes, concentrating on the information rather than the people speaking, determined to follow everything without falling behind.
He occasionally clarified details when she asked a question, speaking the same way he did to any new intern - clear, straightforward, focused on teaching rather than testing - and she appreciated the simplicity of it.
The handover moved smoothly, efficient and practiced, Michael asking occasional follow-up questions while Mia listened, absorbing the rhythm of how experienced attendings communicated in real time.
When Jack finished, he passed the last chart toward Michael.
“That’s everything,” he said, stepping back slightly.
Michael nodded. “Alright. Day team, let’s move.”
The group broke apart almost immediately, everyone scattering toward assigned patients, the energy of the ER lifting as the day officially began.