Chapter Text
So, I guess, that it’s true. Time can heal even the worst of wounds. And the clichés I knew, seem so commonplace when I saw you. Let’s just walk in the dark, hop the fence in the park, baby boy, honeybee. God, I love the way you look at me.
Michael Robinavitch did not think he was worthy of love. When his mother left when he was young to his father passing and leaving him with his grandmother, he thought that everyone would leave him eventually. He did not think he was worthy of anyone’s attention or being the center of anyone’s universe. People needed him, of course, at work or to help them with something. But he thought once they had what they needed of him, they’d leave. And they did. He had been dealt the worst cards time and time again as he aged and thought that each time someone left, that was normal. Girlfriends would come and go, telling him he was too hard to deal with or too emotionally closed off. He figured he would get ahead of the curve and earned himself the title of Mr. 7-week itch, even in his own emergency department. If he left those he loved before they could leave him, it softened the blow. Or so he told himself. However, every night when he’d come home to an empty apartment filled with the silence of his own decisions – he pushed down the thoughts that maybe he was wrong.
That was until this past spring – when he met you. You’d come in as his shift was about to end. 6:42 pm the clock read. You were bringing in your ‘aunt’/godmother as you called her. She’d cut her hand pretty bad preparing dinner for you and your ‘cousins’ and you drove her to the ED as fast as you could. He huffed and puffed as Dana told him he’d have to pick up the two newest cases, one being yours, right as he was supposed to leave because Abbot and Shen were both tied up with a trauma. Dana assured him the cases were simple, one needed stitches and the other was a consult about a stomachache. Once he walked into that room in South 15, he knew he was done for. There was something about you that drew him in. You spoke so kindly, trying your best to keep your aunt calm, who seemed beyond squeamish about the blood soaked towel that was pressed against her palm. There was something so sweet about the way you held her arm, trying your best to distract her from what was happening while also answering all the questions Robby asked you. He truly had no idea his heart could flutter the way it did, as he was a grown ass man, but he felt like a teenager again.
Since he was always on thin ice with Gloria, he figured what else did he have to lose by asking for your phone number after he finished suturing your aunt’s palm.
“I think I’m going to go find the bathroom,” your aunt said as she looked down at her newly stitched up hand, pulling the curtain back and heading into the main ED.
“Sorry if that was unprofessional,” Robby spoke softly, staring at the suture tray in front of him.
“No, no not unprofessional, I mean you’re…” you slowly dragged out your words, ushering at him. Robby made a face, one of a slightly crooked smile and a look in his eyes of genuine confusion.
“A hot doctor,” you blurted out. Robby’s eyes went wide and he did his best to hide the chuckle that escaped his lips.
“Sorry now I’m being unprofessional,” you laughed.
“I’m the one who asked you out…. or I guess more accurately for your number.” He said, his eyes meeting yours.
You fumbled grabbing your phone out of your purse, grabbing almost everything in the mess of it besides your phone before you felt the metal square at the bottom.
You held your phone out and unlocked it, open to the messages app. Robby took it and typed his number before shooting himself a text so he’d have yours. He ignored the buzz of his phone in his pocket knowing exactly what was now on it.
You smiled at him, hating the way you felt the blood rising to your cheeks. Robby knew from that moment on, he’d do anything to see that smile and be the one who caused it.
The next few weeks, Robby found himself wearing a smile into work more than he had in the past decade. He planned dates with you almost twice a week, taking you to every restaurant he’d been recommended over the years, any museum he heard you mention, and even a surprise date to Phipps Botanical Gardens.
People were noticing his new attitude and he couldn’t stop the jokes hurled his way every shift. But knowing the smile and mood was because of you – made him ignore it all and feel the bliss that was a new relationship.
Robby was not new to this feeling. He had it before with girlfriends and knew that it usually didn’t last. But after three months of weekly dates, movie nights, and constant texting and calls, he was feeling something different. He was feeling the way love could feel if you let it in.
He upped his therapy to twice a week. Wanting to be able to work through anything that came up. He did have dark thoughts and feelings. Especially around 7 weeks in when he was used to his relationships ending. However, this one didn’t.
At 9 weeks, the spark only grew and Robby found himself continuing to add you into his life, into his daily routine in any way he could.
One night last week, he had asked you to come over for dinner. He figured he would cook, buy a fancy bottle of wine, and indulge in your company and let the stress of work melt away. It had been exactly three months since he asked for your number in the ED.
He spent every second after his shift working on dinner, preparing chicken cutlets and spaghetti to try and woo you. He told you to come over around 8 giving him at least a sort of head start on cooking.
He heard a knock on his door, panicking looking at the clock now saying 8:06 pm. He was nowhere near far enough in the cooking process.
He rushed over, seeing you standing at the door in a short black dress with black ballet flats. The dress wasn’t tight but not overly loose either. It hugged your figure and made you look gorgeous with no effort. Your makeup shined brightly and the pink on your cheeks was almost glittery. Your hair fell naturally over your shoulders in a way that looked easy but also put together. His eyes darted to the overly large purse hanging from your shoulder, different than you usually carried. Then he noticed the big bouquet of flowers in your hand.
“For you, sir.” You said, handing him the flowers and standing on your tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek.
He felt the heat rising to his cheeks as he took the beautiful bouquet of wildflowers from your hands and saw the smile crossing your face. Nobody had given Robby flowers before. Not since his grandmother died. He was usually the one at the florist, trying to pick out the best bouquet for whatever date he had and inevitably regretting the decision when the relationship fizzled the next day.
You constantly showed him in little or big ways that he was worthy of being loved. It was a new lesson for him. The phrase – you can’t teach an old dog new tricks did ring in his mind as every moment you made him feel special, his mind tried to ruin it. However, he was determined for this old dog to learn new tricks.
You followed into the apartment behind him and as he reached for a vase in his cabinet to put the flowers in, he noticed the bag you placed on the floor next to the kitchen island. It wasn’t a purse but almost a duffle bag? There were clothes spilling out the top, he stared into it as you walked and grabbed two wine glasses.
He wasn’t paying attention as the water overflowed into the vase which made you chuckle. You placed the wine glasses down on the island before pouring the bottle into both. Robby snapped back into his right mind as he dumped water out of the vase, placed the flowers in, and turned back to you. Seeing you sit so casually at his kitchen island, like you belonged there, maybe even could live there made his heart dance in his chest.
“So what’s for dinner, Michael?” you asked innocently, raising the glass to your lips. Robby stared flustered, almost forgetting you were talking to him.
“Um, yes..dinner, um, chicken cutlets and pasta? Is that okay?” He asked, turning back around to stir the pasta and look into the oven to check on the chicken.
“Absolutely,” you said, taking a sip of the wine. You closed your eyes and made a small noise at the taste. He been bugging Abbot about recommendations for the past week, wanting to impress you and that he’d spend any amount of money on it. Abbot was a wine snob so he had prepared for some bouji response but Abbot ended up choosing some red wine from a vineyard a little outside the city but assured Robby he’d grab it since he had the next upcoming day off. Abbot noticed the insistent texts and wanted to know why Robby was so in his head about, of all things, wine but figured he’d rather let that one go.
Robby smiled to himself as he continued cooking and plating everything when it was done. You carried both plates to the dining table that was seldom used. Robby had just started dusting it after one of your dinner dates at your place – realizing he would need to use it.
You both sat silently, sipping wine and beginning to eat. Everything felt good. Normal. Domestic. Something Robby was not used to but was determined to be. He had beaten the 7 week problem and was now working towards…well however long you would have him.
“This is really good – do you have to be good at everything?” You asked, giggling. “You can’t be a good doctor AND a good cook – what’s next, you can fix that weird sound in my car?”
Robby chuckled. “I’d like to think I could,” He retorted.
“I’m gonna need to see some flaw then if you can somehow do everything,” you said jokingly.
Robby’s thoughts clouded as he heard it. You didn’t mean it in the way he heard it. He knew that. The fact you thought he was perfect. Good at everything. Capable of anything. The voice in his mind told him you’d see those faults soon enough, you’d run for the hills when you did.
Instead, he picked up his wine and took a sip, trying to ignore the voices in his head.
The conversation stayed on track, felt natural, and all the sudden the food was gone and the wine glasses empty. Robby felt a weight off his shoulders, forgetting about the many traumas and two deaths on his shifts this past week.
You grabbed the plates and began cleaning them in the sink as Robby went to refill the wine glasses.
“I have to ask, what’s with the bag?” He asked, pointing towards the large black blob on his floor.
“Oh,” you said questioningly turning around, rag in hand.
Robby just stared back at you.
“I just thought,” you mumbled. “We’d been seeing each other for a minute, I thought I’d maybe…stay over?” You said, staring over at him.
“You…want to stay over?” He asked, taking a sip of wine.
Robby knew this was good. He knew he should want this. His therapist told him many times that there would a person for him. There would be someone who wanted to be around him. As much as Robby fought his therapist because of his past, he wanted her to be right. He also knew if he didn’t let you in, you’d leave. His therapist had warned of that many times. Robby refused to listen in the past but right now, with the dim light of the kitchen hitting your face, softening all your features, he knew his answer. So, he swallowed all the urges to tell you ‘no’, placed his wine glass down, and walked over by your side.
He took the rag from your hands and put it down by the sink. You were staring at him all doe-eyed and nervous. Before you could answer what he asked, he placed his hands on either side of your face before bringing you in for a kiss. You kissed him back so tenderly, so soft, and so longing. That was all the answer he needed.
As the night progressed and you watched a movie, snuggled close together on the couch to brushing teeth together and inevitably laying in his bed side by side, Robby was thankful for you. He was thankful to himself for pushing out any bad and letting in good. You were his good and he was determined not to lose that.