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"Wait," Javadi said, her wide eyes fixed on Robby's left hand as he adjusted his stethoscope. "Dr. Robby... is that a wedding ring?"
Ah. He'd known someone would notice eventually, just... not this quickly.
"Uh..." Robby hesitated, his thumb brushing absently over the band. "Yeah. It is."
Whitaker craned his head toward them. "Wait, really? You're married?"
Javadi's eyes somehow grew even wider, curiosity practically radiating off her, as Robby parted his lips to answer–
"Who's the lucky lady?" Whitaker asked.
There it was. The heterosexual assumption. Hardly surprising at this point.
Still, fuck. Robby wasn't sure if he could just correct it.
The thing was, he and Jack had never really talked about telling people at work because, through a combination of good timing, bad timing, and sheer dumb luck, the subject had simply never come up. Plus, they'd always been professional enough to keep (most of) their personal lives separate from work.
It wasn't as if their marriage was a secret or anything. The long-time staff who knew, knew. The newer hires didn't, but only because they'd never had a reason to ask. Robby rarely wore his ring on shift; it wasn't exactly practical, so it usually stayed at home or, in his locker.
Yesterday, though, had been their anniversary, and Jack had teasingly suggested he should start wearing it more often. So when Robby woke up that morning, he'd figured... why not? Jack, after all, had never taken his own off. Robby could humor him for a day.
Maybe that had been a mistake.
He glanced at the three expectant faces in front of him, opened his mouth, deciding what the hell, maybe he'd just tell them–
"Don't pry, Whitaker," Jack's voice came from behind him, tone laced with mock admonishment. "Dr. Robby keeps his domestic bliss off the record. Right Robby?"
By the time Robby turned, Jack had already slung an arm lazily over his shoulders. He could almost feel the smug little smirk burning into the side of his face.
"That's–"
"I’m just saying," Jack continued, turning to the student doctors, "he’s a very private man. You shouldn't pester him about his lucky lady."
"I didn't say–" Robby started, but Santos already barged into the circle, catching the tail end of the conversation.
"Holy shit. You have a wife?" she gasped, laying it on a little thick, though the surprise on her face was clearly genuine. "Since when?"
"I don't–"
"He's bashful about her," Jack cut in smoothly, throwing Robby a sideways wink and punctuating it with a firm pat on the shoulder. "Works here, actually. Keeps a low profile."
The little shit.
"Jack," Robby warned.
But it was too late. The trap had already sprung.
The wide-eyed trio stared at them like they'd both sprouted second heads. Then, almost simultaneously, they exchanged a look, the unmistakable glint of a shared conspiracy lighting up all three faces.
Ten minutes later, hand-offs finished, Robby cornered Jack in the break room just as he was about to head home.
"What are you doing?" Robby demanded, throwing his hands up. "Why didn't you just tell them?"
"Tell them what?" Jack asked innocently, stepping into Robby's space. "That you were too flustered to correct three Gen Zs when they assumed you were straight?"
"I wasn't flustered– you interrupted me!" Robby shot back, though Jack's grin was already dragging a reluctant smile out of him. "They're going to spend the rest of the day trying to figure out who my imaginary wife is."
"Good. Let 'em have their fun." Jack's eyes danced with amusement. "Hell, we should start our own pool. How long you think it'll take before they realize your 'wife' is actually me?"
Robby crossed his arms, giving it genuine thought despite himself. "End of the shift."
Jack snorted. "You overestimate them. They've got tunnel vision. If it's not on an EKG, they're not gonna get it. I give them a week."
"Fifty bucks says they figure it out by Friday," Robby countered. The damage was already done. Might as well have some fun with it.
"You're on," Jack said as he leaned in to steal a slow, chaste kiss.
When he pulled away, he took Robby's left hand in his own, their wedding bands clicking softly together. Jack rolled their joined hands until the back of Robby's hand faced upward and regarded the ring with a fond little smile. There was something so fucking tender in his eyes, like Robby had just handed him the moon or something instead of wearing their wedding ring for once.
Jack didn't say a word about it, though. Didn't tease him with some smug comment. Which made Robby feel oddly sheepish.
"See you when I see you, Misha," his husband said eventually. "Try not to miss me too much."
Robby huffed a laugh. "Love you."
"Love you too."
Then Jack was gone, and with him went the last of Robby's optimism for a normal rest of his day.
A few hours into the shift, the ER was still peaceful. And by "peaceful" Robby meant there had been no mass-casualty events, no GSWs, no code blues (miraculously), and not even one family member screaming at him yet. He was beginning to entertain the possibility that the day might actually stay normal.
"Why's everybody askin' me who your wife is?" Dana asked as he neared the nurses' station.
Robby sighed. There went his brief bout of optimism for the day. "Who's 'everybody'?"
"Half the hospital, seems like."
Right. He'd only told three people, but he knew better than to underestimate how quickly gossip traveled around here.
"So," Dana started, tipping her chin down and fixing him with a look over the rims of her glasses, "do you have a secret wife I don't know about, Robinavitch?"
Her brows shot up when Robby lifted his left hand and wiggled his fingers. "Would you look at that. Finally bringing your bling to work."
"Someone saw it and assumed I was married to a woman," he explained. "Abbot ran with it."
"'Course he did" Dana shook her head. Then, lowering her voice, she added, "Happy anniversary, by the way."
"Thanks, Dana." Robby smiled. "You didn't tell any of them yet, did you?
The nurse gave him a look that could only mean are you fucking kidding? "Where's the fun in that?"
Robby stepped out of Trauma 2, working sanitizer between his palms as he headed down the hall. He passed Princess and Purlah, who were walking in the opposite direction and murmuring something to each other in Tagalog. Both pairs of eyes followed him as they went by.
"Hey, got a sec?" McKay called, matching his brisk stride.
"Yeah."
"Uh. 47-year-old woman, slipped in the bathroom with a distal-radius fracture," she reported, voice tight and professional. "Epistaxis, non-focal neuro, denies head trauma. But her affect keeps changing every time I check on her. My gut's telling me something's off."
Robby paused, looking at her attentively. "Your play?"
"Start with a head CT," McKay replied. "If that's normal, LP – rule out encephalitis."
He nodded in agreement. "Put in your orders. Has she been here before?"
"No."
"Have you called the family to rule out any psychiatric history?"
"Not yet, but I will."
Instead of walking away, McKay kept following Robby down the hallway, hovering near his elbow.
"How old is she?" she asked suddenly.
Robby slowed his stride. "What?"
"Your wife."
He stopped walking completely and turned to stare at her. "You're in on this too?"
"Figured I could use the distraction," she admitted with a shrug. "Santos and Javadi think she's in her mid-thirties. Whitaker went with late twenties." She rolled her eyes before continuing, "I think she's around your age."
Robby raised his brows, equal parts incredulous and amused. "Why?"
"You don't seem the type to marry someone significantly younger."
"That's a hell of an assumption."
McKay looked almost horrified. "Am I wrong?"
Robby opened his mouth.
"You know what? Don't answer that," she waved him off, "I'd rather not know."
"Not…" he said anyway, "…significantly younger."
McKay's eyes narrowed, smiling now. "So she's around your age?"
"I… didn't say that."
Her smile widened. "Noted."
Robby huffed, shaking his head. "I can't believe this is an actual conversation we're having."
But hell if he wasn't enjoying himself a little.
Halfway through the shift, Whitaker, Javadi, and King were huddled around a desk, their heads bent together in concentration. Robby slowed as he passed, curiosity getting the better of him, and craned his neck just enough to see what had them so invested.
At the top of the iPad screen, in large, hastily scrawled letters, was:
WHO THE HELL IS DR.ROBBY'S WIFE???
Below it was a web of names, departments, and wildly inaccurate bullet points.
Robby had to bite down on a surprised laugh.
Right then, Santos was making her way back toward her desk and caught his eye. He immediately lifted a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture. She paused, glanced at the scene, then gave him a slow, exaggerated nod, her expression deadpan save for the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes.
If she'd been involved in the first place, she certainly wasn't going to be now that Robby had caught them, so she wisely sat down and returned to her charting.
"Dr. Paulson from Cardiology?" Javadi was saying, tapping a blue line next to 'Internal Medicine'. "No. I don't think she's married."
"Yeah, well, we didn't know Dr. Robby was married either," Whitaker pointed out.
"It has to be someone in Peds," King decided.
Robby couldn't help himself and chimed in, "Could be a nurse."
King nodded. "Yeah, that's true, but–"
All of them turned around almost in unison.
"Oh." King cleared her throat. "Uh. Dr. Robby."
Robby crossed his arms, glanced between them and the iPad, making no attempt to hide his mirth. "Who've you got so far?"
The three exchanged a quick look. There was a brief hesitation before Whitaker seemed to decide there was no point pretending anymore.
"Okay, fine," he sighed. "Dr. Paulson. Jenna from Radiology. One of the Peds attendings. We thought maybe one of the OB nurses?"
"Nope." Robby shook his head at each name, and their faces fell a little more with every answer.
"Has she been working here a long time?" Whitaker asked carefully.
"Yes."
"Do you guys work together often?" Javadi jumped in.
"Sometimes."
That clearly wasn't enough to work with. The three exchanged another look.
King glanced between the others, probably trying to salvage the investigation. "Does she, uh... work nights?"
Robby hesitated. That felt like it might be giving too much away. But there was something oddly satisfying about watching them try to piece it together, so.
"…Yes," he answered eventually, earning brightened looks from all three faces.
"But," Whitaker said, "that'd mean you barely see each other."
Well, that was and wasn't true at the same time. He mostly saw Jack at shift changes, sure, but then there were days off, and every other hour they weren't trapped at work. Despite being chronically overworked ER attendings, both of them still managed to spend a good deal of time together.
"We make it work," Robby shrugged.
"Oh, is she a social worker?" King perked up.
When Robby shook his head, Whitaker tried, "Lawyer?"
"Alright," Robby raised his hands. "Enough with the sleuthing. Don't you have patients?"
Whitaker opened his mouth, thought better of it, and clamped it shut.
"I– need to check on Mrs. Vernell," Javadi suddenly announced, already walking away. "See if her... nausea's getting better."
Robby watched her go, then looked back at the other two doctors, who were suddenly very intent on making themselves busy.
"I hope you guys take emergency medicine at least half as seriously as you take figuring out who I'm married to."
He glanced toward Santos and found she was already looking at him. She promptly averted her gaze the moment their eyes met and went back to dictating her charts.
With a bemused shake of his head, Robby walked on, wondering what other harmless clues he could get away with giving his bright-eyed fledglings.
It didn't take long for him to realize it'd take a hell of a lot longer for them to figure it out.
By that weekend, they still had nothing.
Though, Robby had to admit that he'd been having fun keeping the mystery alive, and he didn't mind losing the bet. It was a nice distraction from the general chaos and bullshit of the Pitt, and he was genuinely impressed that not one of the staff who knew had ruined it for them yet.
He'd even been wearing his ring every day since this started, waiting for someone – anyone – to put two and two together and notice that their two attendings were wearing the exact same rings.
They hadn't.
Wow. Thank God they'd become doctors instead of detectives. They'd be shit at the latter.
At some point, though, Robby's amusement had given way to something approaching offense. Because sure, maybe they were terrible at putting clues together. Fine. He could forgive that. But what the hell did it say about him and Jack that nobody had looked at them and thought they might be together?
Did they really give off so little married-couple energy that nobody had made the connection? Was everyone blind? Or, and this was really fucking concerning, had Robby somehow failed to make it obvious that he was so hopelessly and disgustingly in love with Jack?
He shook his head, trying to shake the thoughts off.
No. It was all because everyone thought he had a wife, damn it.
"What're you thinking so hard about, Mikey?" came Jack's raspy voice from beside him. He'd rolled over in his sleep, so when Robby turned his head, he was met with his husband's dazed smile.
"Do we not look in love?" Robby asked, fully aware it was a rather unhinged question for six in the morning.
Jack chuckled that warm rumble of his, and Robby felt the familiar rush of affection wash over him at the sound of it. Seriously. How the fuck did nobody see this?
"I don't know," Jack mumbled. "Are you sick of me already?"
Never.
"Yeah."
Jack gave him an affronted look. "Damn. After everything we've been through?"
"Tragic, I know."
"And here I was thinking we had something special."
"We did."
"Did?" Jack snorted, then leaned in and kissed him, slow and lazy. Robby smiled into it, unable to help himself.
"Maybe..." Jack murmured between kisses, "I can change your mind."
"Mm. Tempting." Robby let himself enjoy it for another few seconds before reluctantly pulling back. "But unlike you, I don't have two days off."
"Sounds like a you problem."
"Go back to sleep," Robby ordered as he pushed himself up. "Enjoy the rest while you can."
"I'll try," Jack said, already settling back into the pillow. "Might be difficult without you, though."
"You'll manage."
It was well over a week now, and Robby decided he'd had his fun. If anyone actually came up and asked him outright, he'd just tell them; he was done caring about Jack's new goal of seeing how long they could keep everyone guessing.
The problem was, nobody asked.
By noon, Robby had heard three new names, two new departments, and one increasingly elaborate theory involving a urologist he'd never spoken to in his life.
And from then on, the only questions he got were about patient care (aside from occasionally getting cornered by Gloria about the goddamn patient satisfaction score, because apparently that was his other great burden in life). Which, objectively, was a good thing. This was an ER. It was good that everyone was focused on trying to keep people alive rather than gossiping about their attending's marriage.
But really?
The one time he was willing to make things easy, they all suddenly developed a sense of professional decorum?
Fuck this.
If nobody was going to ask, Robby would just have to create an opportunity himself.
After sending a trauma patient up to Surgery, he made his usual rounds through the department, poking his head into rooms and checking that everything was going smoothly. It was perfectly normal attending behavior. Nobody would know that half his brain was occupied with his marital dilemma – namely, how to speed the whole thing along and whether he somehow wasn't looking at his husband like a lovesick idiot often enough.
He eventually found Whitaker doing a debridement on a burn blister in North 5. Once he made sure there wasn't anything else he needed to be dealing with, Robby wandered into the room and planted himself nearby under the extremely respectable pretense of "supervising."
The teenager on the bed seemed far more interested in whatever was on his phone than what was happening to his arm. Perfect. Robby had a pressing matter to discuss, and he'd been conveniently handed a patient who was too busy doomscrolling to give a shit about any of it. He took that as a sign that he had a captive audience – or, at the very least, a Whitaker who couldn't escape.
“We've gone through everyone,” Whitaker complained at one point, his attention intently fixed on the task at hand. “Every department, every age bracket, every woman we've ever seen you talk to. You've said no to all of them.”
Robby nodded gravely, as if this were a serious clinical matter, because it was.
“Does she even actually work here?” Whitaker asked after a moment.
"Yup."
"Then I'm out of ideas."
Robby hummed in thought. "Maybe you should rethink your list of candidates."
"What?" Whitaker frowned, looking up at him. "What am I missing?"
"You've been looking for a woman."
"Well, yeah," Whitaker said slowly, as if stating the sky was blue. He stopped what he was doing altogether, which made the teenager glance up from his phone and look between them with mild curiosity. Robby gave the confused med student his most innocent smile.
It took a moment, but then Whitaker froze, understanding dawning across his face with almost painful slowness. "Are you– what– are you saying we've been looking for the wrong… gender?"
"Now you're getting warmer."
"But Dr. Abbot said–"
"Nope." Robby shook his head. "You assumed it. Abbot just went along with it."
The realization crawled across the kid's face; it took its sweet fucking time, but eventually his eyes widened.
Robby braced himself for outrage. He'd spent over a week letting these people search for a nonexistent wife, after all. Surely he was owed at least one you've got to be kidding me!
What he got instead was a look of… giddy delight?
“Holy shit,” Whitaker breathed. “That's why Myrna calls you Fruitcake.”
Robby let out a surprised huff. "…Yeah."
"How did she know?"
Robby's brain immediately cycled through the obvious answers. The rings, for one. He could say something along the lines of she has eyes, Whitaker, she probably saw us wearing matching wedding rings. But he couldn't just hand them the answer. Nope. One step at a time.
Or, Robby could just say he didn't know.
Which would be one big, fat lie.
Because he knew. Oh, he knew exactly how Myrna knew.
As it happened, there had been one unfortunate occasion when he and Jack had been talking in the stairwell – or had started out talking, anyway – before things had become somewhat less… conversational. Neither of them had noticed the woman sitting on the landing above them, having a smoke.
Robby had only found out afterward from Myrna herself, at which point he'd made a personal decision to never, ever discuss it with her, or anyone else, again.
"No idea," he finally settled on. There was no way in hell he was telling the kid that. Nuh-uh.
"Okay," Whitaker said, grinning. "So now we have to figure out who your husband is."
Which, judging by their track record, would probably take another week, and Robby wasn't sure he had another week in him.
Still, a tiny, deeply misplaced sense of triumph crept in anyway. Because finally, they'd gotten somewhere.
The triumph died young.
The next day, it was like all hell broke loose. They'd barely caught their breath between traumas since before noon, then a code STEMI and a code Hula-Hoop happened simultaneously in chairs, and, to top it all off, West Penn went on diversion after a tanker truck jackknifed on the interstate, sending more than three dozen patients their way an hour before the shift ended.
So much for making progress. Whatever tiny breakthrough they'd managed the day before was promptly buried, and there was no time for anyone to get anywhere – geographically or otherwise. This was going to take much longer than Robby had initially, foolishly thought.
"Time to go home, cap," Dana told him, prompting him to check his watch.
It was already a quarter past eight. The day shifts had been kept running longer than usual; they couldn't exactly leave when the shit hit the fan. Jack had been called in to help when the diversion came through, so Robby figured he'd wait and head home with him once things settled down. Now that most of the patients had been stabilized and sent upstairs, they could finally get out of there.
"You seen Abbot?"
"Last I saw him, he was in trauma with you," Dana replied as she shrugged into her jacket. "Want me to get him?"
"No, you go home. I'll get him," he said. "See you tomorrow."
"See ya."
Robby found Jack and several of the day shifts across the road from PTMC, in the same spot they'd unofficially claimed as their post-shift decompression zone. It was close enough to the hospital to be convenient and far enough away that, for a little while, they could drink without having the ER's chaos bleeding into everything.
Javadi, Whitaker, Santos, and Donnie were already scattered across the benches, beers in hand, their conversations drifting lazily between them. Robby reached the circle just as McKay, Mohan, and a few others were already getting to their feet, apparently ready to call it a night.
"Nice of you to finally join us, Boss," Donnie called, tossing a can to him.
Robby caught it one-handed. "Sorry. Was waiting for Abbot."
"It's supposed to be my night off, man," Jack complained with a sheepish shrug as Robby dropped onto the bench beside him. "Couldn't wait to get outta there."
Noticing Javadi picking absently at the label on her empty can, Robby couldn't help but teased, "I take it you're a regular now?"
Javadi looked down at the can as if it wasn't even hers. "Oh, no. I'm not. I don't drink– Uh... guess I just needed it tonight."
That earned a chorus of tired agreement. A few heads bobbed, everyone too exhausted to do much more than lift their beers in solidarity.
After a moment, Robby popped open his can and took a sip before turning to glare at the man beside him. "Why didn't you wait for me?"
"I did," Jack murmured back. "I waited for, like, five minutes."
"You have the patience of a fucking toddler."
"Coming from you, Mike, that's just fucking rich."
"Oh yeah?" Robby turned to face the other man properly. "Name one time I wasn't patient with you."
“Sure you want me to answer that one?” was Jack's retort, accompanied by a smug look Robby knew far too well.
They held each other’s gaze for a beat, the joke passing silently between them, until Robby became acutely aware that they were no longer alone in the conversation. Several pairs of eyes had lasered in on them.
"You two seem really close," Santos observed, eyeing them both. "How long have you known each other?"
"Longer than we haven't," Robby replied, taking another sip.
"So what, since the fifties?" she quipped, earning a few chuckles, including Robby's.
"Yeah," Jack said. "We go back to Normandy."
"We're not that old," Robby protested, unable to keep the smile off his face.
"These joints would disagree." Jack gestured toward himself, lingering briefly on his prosthetic.
He hadn't taken it off tonight, which probably meant it wasn't bothering him too badly. Still, Robby made a mental note to dig out the massage gun when they got home. Jack had been complaining about it more than usual lately, though he'd been stubbornly refusing to admit he needed anything.
"Dr. Abbot must know your husband very well," Javadi assumed innocently, and Jack full-on snorted into his beer.
Robby elbowed him, trying to swallow his own laughter. "Oh, he does."
"Better than anyone," Jack added, that stupid grin still firmly in place "I was at the wedding and everything."
Letting out a long, bemused exhale, Robby turned his attention to the rest of the circle and gestured vaguely with his beer can. "Alright, speaking of, where are we at with the guessing?"
They looked around at one another, suddenly much less eager to volunteer what they knew.
"Come on," Robby encouraged. "Jack’s right here. He can field your questions."
Javadi was the first to give in. "Well, we know he works nights, he's around your age, he's been working here forever, and you work together occasionally..."
"I heard from Princess that he's likely an attending," Santos offered.
"Oh, and Robby just told me he's a veteran!" Whitaker chimed in excitedly.
At that, Jack slowly turned his head and fixed Robby with a What the hell, man? You gave it away? glare, to which Robby returned with a Who? Me? look.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable so much as suddenly very interested. Robby almost held his breath, watching the pieces begin to fall into place.
"Oh my god," Javadi breathed, pushing herself up to her feet. "It's him."
"What?" Whitaker straightened in his seat, following her wide-eyed gaze straight to Jack.
"It's Dr. Abbot, isn't it?" she asked, though it sounded far more like a verdict than a question. Her tired expression was now brightened with vindication.
A beat of pure anticipation hung over the group. Santos and Whitaker looked back and forth, completely lost, while Donnie's eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
Jack opened his mouth, clearly trying to find a way to brush it off, but then he caught Robby's helpless shrug, followed by a thoroughly unrepentant grin as he took the last sip of his beer.
Jack slumped back with a defeated sigh. “This is no fun, dude.”
"Am I right?" Javadi pressed, her patience entirely gone.
"There's no fucking way," Santos objected.
"Is that true?" Whitaker looked thoroughly unconvinced, but needed to make sure. "Are you... the husband?"
Seeing that Jack wasn't going to be the revealer of truths, Robby set his now-empty can down, reached over, and took Jack's left hand in his own. He turned their joined hands outward, lifting them high into the air to put their matching wedding bands plainly on display.
"It's true," he announced. "Jack is my husband. We've been married ten years. Together…"
"Since the dawn of time," Jack finished for him.
"What the hell?" came Donnie's high-pitched voice after several long seconds of silence.
Robby looked around at everyone's stunned faces, at the way Javadi, Whitaker, and Santos immediately erupting into a chorus of I fucking told you and No, you did not, all three of them talking over each other while still looking like they couldn't quite believe they'd finally cracked the case.
They were arguing, celebrating, and staring at their two attendings in equal measure, and the whole thing was so absurd that Robby couldn't hold it in anymore. His laugh broke free, quickly followed by Jack's, until the sheer ridiculousness of it got the better of everyone else.
It was finally, finally over.
Well, he and Jack would probably have to deal with the news spreading like wildfire across the Pitt by tomorrow morning, followed by the rest of the hospital by lunch. There'd be questions. A hell lot of them.
But Robby could hardly give a shit anymore.
Not when he looked over and saw Jack still laughing, head tipped back, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Not when he felt that same familiar pull in his chest he'd been feeling for years. Long before he'd known what it meant. Long before he'd understood that he was, in fact, completely and utterly fucked over this man.
He was still, and always would be, completely and utterly fucked over Jack.
No amount of anyone's failure to see it or Robby's own failure to show it, could take that away.