Work Text:
It’s 1979 and Dana’s confused.
The new boy — the one who showed up at the playground yesterday — is bleeding but he’s not crying. Most of the boys in her class still fight back tears when they fall from monkey bars and bruise their knees. Her younger brother took a tumble down the stairs last week and wouldn’t stop crying for what felt like hours.
At eight years old Dana is an expert in playground medicine. Having two younger siblings, she knows it’s best to let them cry it out. She knows you should wash the wound first, even with regular water. She carries a tin of band-aids in her backpack.
The new boy isn’t crying, though. He’s sitting against the tree that he just fell from, and he’s unsettingly calm. His legs are drawn up to his chest and he’s looking at his bloody knee with curiosity, not fear.
She approaches the boy with curiosity, slow enough as to not spook him. He doesn’t even look up at her until she’s looming over him.
“What happened?”
The boy shrugs, then glances at her and looks back to his knee. “I jus’ wanted to watch the birds,” he mumbles, tracing a finger over the scraped skin.
“Stop touching it!” Dana says, swatting his hand away. “Let me see.” She kneels down next to him and opens her backpack.
She can feel his eyes on her as she digs out a bottle of water, some tissues and the band-aids. Wordlessly, she sets about her task, grabbing the boy’s leg and extending it. Dana tries her best to be gentle as she’s tending to his wound. The boy doesn’t even squeak when she runs a damp tissue over the torn skin. When she looks up she sees him stare at her hands. His own are tightly clenched into fists at his sides. Weird.
For good measure — and in hopes of cheering the boy up — Dana picks out a nice, colorful band-aid for him.
Once she’s done with his knee, she takes a proper look at him, checking if the rest of him is okay. He seems fine, she decides, as she glances over his other leg, his elbows, and his face. There’s some apprehension in the boy’s eyes when he looks back at her, as if he’s still unsure as to what’s just happened.
After a beat Dana breaks the silence that has settled over them. “You’re new,” she says, equally a question and an assumption.
“Mhm,” he confirms and looks away. “I just moved here with my bubbe.” He glances down on his knee, now adorned with a dinosaur print band-aid.
“Cool. I’m Dana, by the way.”
“‘m Michael.”
For the first time since she sat down next to him, Dana smiles and surprisingly, Michael smiles back at her.
“You wanna come see the snail house I’m making, Michael?” she asks as she gets up. She extends her arm to him. He eyes her curiously, his brows furrowed, as if he’s not sure the request is genuine. “Come on,” she urges. “You can help me decorate the living room.”
That seems to encourage Michael enough. He puts his hand in hers and lets himself be pulled up. There’s a slight limp in his step, and briefly Dana wonders if he’s really okay. But she doesn’t push her luck by asking — she’s noticed he hasn’t really talked to any kids at the playground yesterday.
Dana doesn’t let go of Michael’s hand until they reach her snail house.
It’s 1985 and Robby feels weird.
He lies on the floor of Dana’s room and his hand is roaming over the fluffy carpet. Her room looks different now that her younger sister has moved in with her, having to give up her own room for their new youngest brother. It’s stuffy, full of dolls and toys Dana already grew out of, but her sister still hasn’t.
The house feels really crowded, but Robby’s grown to like it.
He likes it when Dana’s mom invites him to stay for dinner, or when Dana’s brother asks Robby to play with him in the backyard. He’s not sure how it happened — him being an integral part of Dana’s family life — but he can’t complain.
He let Dana drag him along to play with her that one time, and things just continued on from there. When later that year she found out they’re in the same school she made him sit next to her during every class they took together. From the beginning of second grade they’ve been inseparable.
Now middle school is about to be over and they’re supposed to be working on their final project for History — a presentation board, or a poster, or something. Robby wasn’t really listening in class. He was too focused on the conversation he overheard after PE.
“Robby.”
His eyes roam over the posters that Dana put over her bed. Newman. Redford. De Niro.
“Robby.”
He thinks about those films his bubbe loves watching so much — damsels in distress being swept up in strong arms, grand love confessions in the rain.
“Mike!”
Something soft hits his head, cutting off his vision. He jolts up from the floor, pushing the pillow off of his face. “What?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“No– Yeah. Sorry,” Robby winces. “I’m just distracted, is all,” he offers, but he can hear the insincerity in his own voice.
Dana props her head up on her hand and narrows her eyes at him. He knows that stare very well, the Don’t bullshit me stare. He knows there’s no way he can hide anything from her, especially not when she’s eyeing him like this. And besides, why would he want to keep a secret from her? They’re best friends after all, right? He knows he can tell her everything; he always has.
The thing is, they’ve never talked about things like that before. Things that are whispered between cupped hands into blushing ears. Things like crush or date — words that Robby overheard passing by Lisa and Nicole from English Lit as they huddled by their lockers with their backs turned to the corridor.
He wouldn’t have paid them any mind if it wasn’t for the fact that somewhere between cute and nice eyes Robby heard his own name. Okay, yes, maybe he shouldn’t have slowed down his step and leaned in to listen in. But he’s never heard anyone talk about him like that before. And it felt… weird? Nice? He doesn’t know yet.
What he does know is the new, warm — and again, weird? — sensation that’s been brewing in his belly ever since.
Trying to make sense of it, he takes a deep breath and retells the whole situation to Dana. Dana whose face turns a new shade of pink, one he hasn’t really seen on her before. It reaches the bridge of her nose and the tips of her ears. Huh.
“What?” Robby asks, propping himself up on his elbows. “Why are you making that face?”
Dana rolls her eyes. “Lisa likes you.”
“So what? You like me too.” Robby shrugs. “What’s the big deal?”
He watches Dana groan and drop her head down onto her pillow. She’s out of his sight but he can hear the gears turning in her head. “Well?”
“You are so stupid sometimes, Robby,” Dana scoffs. Why does she sound angry all of a sudden? “She has a crush on you. She wants to ask you out on a date.”
Oh. Right.
Robby considers Dana’s words for a moment. Lisa is nice. She sits behind him in class and lends him a pen whenever he needs one. “Do you think I should go? If she asks me out?”
There’s a pause. Dana jumps off the bed and starts rearranging things around her desk, with her back turned to Robby. “You can do whatever.”
“Are you angry with me?”
She still doesn’t look at him. “Nope. Why would I be?” she throws over her shoulder.
“Dunno. Feels like you are.”
At that, Dana visibly softens. She pushes herself away from the desk, her arms full of craft supplies, and plops down on the floor, across from Robby. She looks down at her lap for a moment as if she’s trying to collect her thoughts before bringing her eyes up to him. Robby watches her intently, trying to decipher the emotions rolling over her face. Eventually there’s something gentle — resigned? — that arrives at her, settles over her features.
“I think– I think if you like Lisa.” Dana swallows hard. “If you like Lisa, then you should go out with her.” She offers Robby a tight smile. “She’s nice. And real pretty.”
Robby smiles back, trying not to look as confused as he feels. “Okay. I guess I will then.”
“Good,” Dana says, more to herself than to him.
The air in the room becomes stuffy, heavy with an uncertainty that Robby’s never known before, at least not with Dana. He watches her, sitting criss-cross on the beige carpet, engrossed in what seems to be cutting out an acorn hat out of dark blue paper. It doesn’t escape him — the way she worries her lip between her teeth, the shaky inhale of breath, that weird tension that’s returned to her shoulders.
“We’re going to need regimental coats,” Dana says flatly, not looking up at Robby.
Obediently, he picks up his own pair of scissors and a sheet of red paper. “You know,” he begins. “We uh– we pranked Jason today. Well, Daniel and Kevin did, mostly. I was there to keep watch, but still,” Robby rambles, trying to fill the silence.
Dana has moved on to the white buttons.
“The guys took Jason’s backpack and they– well, we– they– they took everything out and turned the backpack inside out and they– we– we put his stuff back in it and zipped– we zipped the backpack back up.”
After a quiet moment Robby dares to sneak a look at Dana who’s looking right at him with her mouth slightly open. Her lips curl upwards.
Caught, she looks away. “So stupid,” she mumbles. She tries to stop a smile from spreading on her face. But Robby can hear it anyway; he can sense the change in the tone of her voice.
Then, (Robby can almost see it, the way it travels from her chest to her throat; how it collects in her round cheeks) a laugh escapes Dana. It’s short, and then it isn’t — it’s one of those full body laughs, that makes your tummy hurt and your shoulders shake. Dana drops the scissors to her lap and covers her mouth in excitement.
The warm feeling is back in Robby’s belly. But this time he welcomes it; he sees it for what it is — he’s always so happy to make Dana laugh.
It’s 1989, and Dana’s numb.
The buzz of the fluorescent lamp, combined with the cold light it gives off; the harsh scent of antiseptic and the ever-present smell of the linoleum floor; the sounds of wheels rolling down the corridor and orders being shouted in the trauma bays — they all make for a nauseating mix.
It’s the first anniversary of her mother’s passing, and Dana is in the emergency room of PTMC again.
It’s better this way, she tells herself. It’s good that she’s here — she feels closer to her mother. And maybe it’s selfish, too, being here instead of at home, with her still grieving father and her siblings, comforting them. She tells herself that maybe if she’s in the hospital she’ll help save a life tonight — not watch it drain from someone’s eyes.
The fast pace of the emergency room is not what it normally is, though. The night shift is calmer than usual, as if to spite Dana; as if to grab her by her face and tell her — slow down and sit with your feelings; why are you back here again?; why do you still hold on so tightly, she’s gone.
The volunteering shifts are supposed to help; they’re supposed to fend off those thoughts. And they usually do. There is always someone with a pain greater than Dana’s. Better, too — it’s curable. Wounds can be stitched, bones can be reset. Dana has learned to find comfort in seeing people be put back together.
The night is quiet — so far; there’s always hoping — but the day was charged with excitement. From the early morning there was chatter filling the backs of the classrooms, the excited whispers about dresses and suits and sneaking booze under the bleachers. The day of the senior prom has come at last.
Right. Senior prom. Robby.
He’s probably getting ready now, Dana thinks, fumbling with his bowtie. Or maybe he’s putting a corsage on Julie’s wrist, as her parents stand on the staircase and watch them, teary-eyed. Or maybe he ended up taking some other girl.
It’s whatever. Dana’s itching for a cigarette. Anything to dull the weird feeling pooling low in her stomach. It’s not jealousy. She’s not twelve.
She’s not even the same girl she was a little bit over a year ago, realising that she might be developing a crush on Robby. And what a stupid fuckin’ thing that was.
It was stupid because it wasn’t real. It was nothing more than the power of suggestion; it was months and months Stacey and Amy talking Dana’s ear off about how cute Robby was, and how tall, and God, have you seen him run on the track? Does he ever talk about me? Should I ask him out? Do you think he’d say yes?
Suddenly she caught herself noticing — yes, there was something different in the way Robby carried himself now; confidence maybe? self-assuredness? And yes, maybe it did make him stand a little taller. Maybe there was a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before, the source of it unknown to Dana.
Maybe she was curious what it felt like, when she watched him lean against the lockers and hover above Julie, and she wondered if they– No. Dana didn’t let her thoughts wander that far. It was no use. She shoved the strange new feeling — not jealousy, remember? — down, into a small box buried deep in her chest, one that she never looked into.
But the feeling wouldn’t go away; it caught her in the most inconvenient of times – when they walked home from school and their hands brushed on accident, or when Robby would shoot her one of his stupid smiles when playing basketball during PE. Dana’s stomach would somersault — the small box would tip open, almost — and she had to avert her gaze, afraid that her eyes might give her away.
Besides, it doesn’t matter how she feels — felt! — about Robby. They barely talk anymore. He doesn’t try to catch Dana’s attention in the corridor, and doesn't offer to walk her to the bus stop. And it’s fair, Dana supposes. She’s the one who started going straight home after class and stopped showing up to their study sessions at the library.
It was understandable at first — she needed to go home, help around her sick mom. Then, when mom was gone, there was always some kind of disaster, big or small, that needed Dana’s intervention — Stan was falling behind in maths class; Kathy was experiencing period cramps for the first time. Hannah needed new shoes. Joshua’s teddy bear lost its eye. Dad forgot to pay the water bill again.
It’s no surprise that Robby’s patience ran thin. Dana had no patience for herself so why should he?
And so what if it’s been just over a year, and sometimes her stomach still flips when she sees him tower above literally everybody else walking down the school corridor? So what if sometimes — entirely by accident, it’s almost on the way — she finds herself walking past his house when she goes home from the hospital, wondering if he’s inside?
It. Does. Not. Matter. Dana loved her mom and her mom is gone and it feels like part of Dana went with her, and won’t ever come back. So excuse her if she’s not so big on the whole love and feelings thing right now. She will come around one day, maybe. But for now it’s easier to keep everyone at arm’s length. It’s safer.
Adamson’s warm voice takes Dana out of her spiraling thoughts. She doesn’t look up at him — the sympathy and the compassion in his eyes is too much to take tonight.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dana mumbles, looking at her feet. “Just catching some fresh air.”
“Are you sure?” He asks, sitting down next to her on the curb in the ambulance bay. “You can still go to prom if you want, Dana. We’ve got plenty of staff for tonight.”
Dana knows it’s a lie. She overheard Monica complain about three nurses calling in sick last minute.
“I’m sure,” she says decidedly. “I want to be here tonight.”
She swallows the tears that threaten to fall. “It’s for the best.”
It’s 1997, and Robby is about to win another game of pool.
It’s a warm June evening. The air in the bar is stuffy, rough with cigarette smoke. There’s people crowding around the pool tables, their voices mixing with the music.
Robby feels good. It’s the third game he’s going to win, much to his date’s delight. There’s a cocky smile on his lips as he aims for the 8 ball. He stretches across the edge of the table and draws back the cue stick when–
“Ah, fuck! Sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Someone bumps into his hip, and Robby sends the cue ball right into the pocket. His first instinct is to snap in annoyance but then he turns around and suddenly he’s facing… Dana?
Surely, his eyes must be deceiving him.
But no, here she is, same pale round face, and same blonde hair. Same twinkle in her green eyes.
“I can’t believe what I’m seein’!” Dana exclaims. She closes the distance between them and loosely wraps her free arm around Robby’s shoulders. It’s a half-assed hug, one that’s usually reserved for colleagues you meet in the street, but he’ll take it.
Over Dana’s head, he notices there’s a man leaning against her pool table, looking Robby up and down. He’s tall, almost as tall as Robby, but not quite. He’s handsome, Robby supposes, with light brown hair and brown eyes, framed by tortoise shell glasses. As his gaze travels downward, Robby notices a plain gold band around the man’s finger, where his hand is gripping the cue stick.
Immediately, Robby’s eyes dart to Dana who’s watching him expectantly. He takes a quick glance at her hand, and there it is — a wedding ring. Wait. What?
“Robby,” Dana says, bringing him back to reality. She places a hand on the man’s chest. No. “This is Benji, my husband.”
Blood is pounding in his ears so loudly he’s not sure he heard Dana correctly. What the fuck? — being not the only, but definitely the loudest question in his head right now — almost slips through Robby’s clenched jaw.
His manners, where are his manners?
With an effort that feels almost herculean Robby extends his hand and grabs Benji’s in a firm handshake.
“Michael Robinavitch, but please, call me Robby,” he says, and why is his throat dry all of a sudden?
“Benji Evans,” the other man answers, with a smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “Good to finally put a face to a name.”
An awkward pause hangs in the air as the four of them stare at each other, crammed between the pool tables.
“And you are–?” Dana’s voice cuts through the music.
“Oh! Right!” Get a grip, man. “This is Alicia, my–” Fuck. Robby falters, and his arms drop to his side. What she is, exactly, he’s not sure. Yes, they went out on a couple of dates, and he likes her, she’s nice and all, but Robby never knows, even at twenty six, when casual dating crosses over into something more serious.
It seems the girl has decided for him though, when she grabs Dana’s hand and shakes it gently. “I’m Alicia, Mikey’s girlfriend.”
Dana’s eyes snap to Robby’s immediately, and he wants to wipe the smug smile off her face the moment the nickname lands. Don’t start, he tries to signal to her, narrowing his eyes. Dana bites on the inside of her cheek and turns away. He can still see the curve of her face extend in a smile.
By the time the evening turns into night Robby has found out that Dana and Benji have been married for four years now, and they have a three year old girl Mary, named after Dana’s mom. He learns that tonight is the first time in two years they managed to go out on a date night, thanks to Benji’s mother. He also learns that they live in a small house in Perry South, but they want to move to a bigger place. Benji says they’re trying for a second kid. Maybe a boy this time.
And sure, Robby’s happy he bumped into Dana; relieved, really, that she seems to be doing okay. And it’s good to know what she’s up to now, sure, but it’s not at all the things he wants to know. What he wants to do is grab Dana by her shoulders, and shake her, and ask: Where the hell have you been? Where’d you get this guy? Why did you give up on me?
Instead, he suffers through the polite conversation, his arm slung loosely around Alicia’s shoulders. He answers Benji’s questions, asks his own in return. He laughs when a joke is told, and nods along when the conversation gets more serious. He feels like he’s outside of his body, watching himself, pulling the strings on a Robby-shaped puppet.
All through the night he can’t shake the feeling of Dana’s gaze burning through him.
On his way home from the bar, with Alicia’s hand tightly gripping his, her goodbye words are ringing in Robby’s ears. We have to catch up for real sometime! Dana had said. He knows it’s a polite thing to say, with its vague promise of interest. And he feels silly hung up on it but he can’t help it. It’s such an adult phrase. It’s something he’s heard his bubbe say to the half-strangers she meets in front of the temple.
There’s a strange unease in his bones, mixed with melancholy when it dawns on Robby that sometime along the way, between playgrounds and school hallways, he and Dana became adults. Adults who have apartments, and spouses, and children. Adults who catch up.
Alicia’s voice rouses Robby from his thoughts. “Mikey?”
“Mhm?” he hums, not looking up from his feet. He kicks a stray pebble off the sidewalk.
“You haven’t told them about moving to Louisiana in the fall.”
Ah.
Robby considers his words for a moment. Then he shrugs. “Just didn’t come up, I think.”
It doesn’t matter, anyway. They haven’t even exchanged phone numbers.
It’s 2001, and Robby’s about to be late.
He speeds down the road in his pop’s dingy car, and fuck he really should have left the house earlier. Or at least check the route before his drive. The city feels familiar and strange at the same time — he recognizes the streets; he vaguely knows which buildings to expect when he rounds the corners. He only makes two wrong turns. Everything feels odd; smaller where he remembers it big; more desolate where he remembers life.
It’s PTMC that feels brand new. And it is, Robby supposes. He’s never really been here before; never really had to, until now; until his bubbe– until she insisted that he come home, now that there’s nothing holding him in New Orleans. He’s never been able to say no to her.
Which is how he finds himself slightly out of breath, trailing behind Dr. Montgomery Adamson, the Chief Attending of PTMC's emergency department. He nods along as the man explains the inner workings of the place; the layout, the structure.
“And here we’ve got The Hub, where nurses—”
“Oh my God, Robinavitch?”
For a brief moment Robby stares dumbly at Dana; at her rigid posture, with her back straight and her arms crossed over her chest. In the harsh fluorescent light he sees small wrinkles forming around her eyes and her mouth. He notices the first strands of gray peeking through her blonde hair.
Their eyes finally meet, and Robby’s breath catches.
Dr Adamson looks between Robby and Dana, clearly amused at the shock painted on their faces. "You two know each other?"
I know the smell of your childhood home, and the taste of your grandmother’s cooking. The time your family threw that barbeque in May.
I know the weight of your hand in mine. The time you grabbed me in the park, and we ran to hide from the rain.
I know the scar on your thigh. The time your neighbour’s dog bit you, and you showed me the stitches the next day.
I know you used to want to be a dancer. I know you're allergic to honey. I know you’re scared of horror films.
I know you.
But Robby can't say that. He settles on the simplest truth.
"Yeah, grew up in the same area," he says, dropping his gaze.
There’s a bitter laugh somewhere deep in his throat because that really sums it up, doesn’t it? At this point Robby’s not even sure how to name what he and Dana have. Best friends is definitely not something he’d call them. Hell, even friends might be wrong. Do friends go years and years without exchanging a word?
Childhood friends then. Colleagues now. Acquaintances, maybe.
The relentless pace of the emergency room doesn’t give Robby much room to dwell on the status of his relationship with Dana. Soon he finds himself by the side of a rolling crash cart, listening to EMTs explaining the situation — female, forty years old; car meets telephone pole; head meets dashboard, causing intracranial bleeding — and he disappears into Trauma 1.
Above the sound of the wheels rolling, above the cries of the woman’s husband there’s Dana’s voice — rougher now, more firm than he remembers it. She moves through the trauma bay with ease, firing orders one by one, and if someone’s life wasn’t in Robby’s hands right now, he’d stand back and watch her, fully mesmerised.
Robby feels like a jackass when he leaves the hospital with a grin on his face but he can’t help it. It’s not a bad first day, he decided, when the clock struck 9PM and his charts were complete, the trauma rooms were empty, and the hand-off went smoothly. He feels comfortable. He feels at home.
And isn’t that insane? To feel so at ease in a new place, to know that you belong, just after a twelve-hour shift? Hell, for all he knows, he might arrive to work tomorrow and despise the place. But that’s not going to happen, and he knows it. Not when he’s got Dana by his side.
He stops in his tracks when he sees her on the rooftop parking, perched under the NO SMOKING sign. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she says when she notices him, leaning against the tan brick wall. She takes a long drag of her cigarette. “Thought you’d disappeared on all of us.”
She’s teasing but Robby can sense the accusation in her tone. And he supposes he deserves it. But then anger rises in his chest, because the fuck is she talking about, all of us? Who is “us”? Part of him wants to jab his finger at Dana and tell her to admit it; admit that she missed him, admit that she’s talking about herself. To own up to the fact that she too disappeared without a word.
But the fight dies in Robby when he sees something slip through her mask; that way she bites the corner of her lip; how she fidgets with her fingers. He doesn’t want to finish this day with an argument. Instead he shrugs and takes out his own cigarettes. He can feel Dana’s eyes follow his movements and for a flash of a moment he feels like a small child caught redhanded before the strange tension dissipates.
There’s a multitude of answers rolling around his head. Bubbe’s sick and pop can’t take care of her by himself. I got homesick. I felt like I was losing myself. Alicia dumped me.
He settles on one that he supposes is the most true. “There wasn’t much keepin’ me in New Orleans.”
Dana hums in understanding and Robby knows she senses there’s more to the story, but she doesn’t pry. She never did.
“What’s with the mane?”
Robby huffs out a laugh and runs his palm along his jaw.
“Ah, well.” He shrugs. “Thought I could use a change.”
Maybe he’s imagining things — he probably is; it has been a long shift, after all — but he’s almost sure Dana flexes her fingers, as if reaching out for him; for his face. She stuffs her hand in her pocket instead.
“It suits you,” she says, and wait— Is she blushing? He can’t be too sure; everything is bathed in the soft yellow glow of the parking lot lamps. But selfishly, he hopes he’s right.
“Yeah?” Robby chuckles. “Thank God. Bubbe said I’ll never find a wife, lookin’ like a grizzly bear.” He hears Dana choke on her cigarette as she starts to laugh. “Good to know there’s still some hope.”
Suddenly, Robby feels a weight lift off of his chest, and it’s weird — he hasn’t really noticed anything there before; he supposed it was just his default state, this tension following him wherever he went. Now, standing next to Dana, watching the moon rise over Pittsburgh, he breathes a little bit easier. He quite likes the feeling.
It’s 2005, and Robby’s exceptionally calm.
It’s been a peaceful day so far (yeah, yeah, never say that, he knows), peaceful enough that he manages to sneak away for a short cigarette break. He’s been cutting back, he really has! Especially now that Dana, his smoke break buddy — is it too presumptuous to go back to calling her his best friend? — is not there to smoke with him.
“Nuh uh,” she said when he offered her one. She shook her head. “Not for the next nine months.” She grinned when she saw the realisation dawn on him.
Their friendship is not the same as it was; of course it isn’t. They don’t spend hours listening to music on Dana’s living room floor. They don’t doze off at the kitchen table, too tired to study for their tests. But that old familiarity manages to wedge its way into their friendship anyway. There’s days where Dana worldlessly tosses Robby a sandwich and he knows it’ll be his favourite. There’s moments where Adamson tells them to quit goofing around and go back to work, goddamit. There’s that flicker of joy he feels only when he’s with Dana.
Robby finds himself missing it now, missing her, and isn’t that silly? She’s been gone for just two weeks, and thank God that she has — there was no room for discussion when Adamson cornered Dana and ordered her to take some time off before her due date. She’s an exceptional charge nurse but she’s been in no condition to run the emergency department when the nausea wouldn’t let up still and the back pain made her eyes water.
The sudden wail of the ambulance siren interrupts Robby’s break. He stubs out the rest of the cigarette and snaps back into focus, adjusting the stethoscope around his neck. There’s that familiar sound of the ambulance door swinging open, the signal to jump into action.
Ground seems to move from under Robby’s feet when he realises who’s lying on the gurney.
Robby feels as if he’s under water — he hears the medical terms fly above them but they don’t register. All he can focus on is her face. The sickly shade of her skin. He looks at her blue lips, obscured by the oxygen mask.
He follows the EMTs inside, into the ED. Adamson is by the crash cart in an instant, looking at her, then at Robby, who’s clutching the edge of the gurney.
“It’s Dana,” he says weakly when their eyes finally meet.
“Somebody call her husband!” Lena pipes up from The Hub.
Dana’s sister — Fuck. Kathy? Hannah? — appears on the other side of the crash cart. “I called him and he’s coming but he’s upstate, on a job. He– She wasn’t due until next week; there was supposed to be more time–” she rambles, gripping the strap of her purse with both hands.
There’s more noise — Trauma 1 doors opening, wheels rolling and shoes scuffing on the linoleum floor. Tubes and trays and scrubs, and fuck, it’s all so loud and distracting, and Robby needs to think, he knows he needs to focus but he can’t, but if he won’t then she’ll—
“Robinavitch, out!” Adamson’s voice cuts through the room. And Robby hears him but he can’t— she looks so small, and so pale, and he can’t lose her, he just got her back—
“Michael!” There’s a firm hand on his shoulder now, tearing him away from the crash cart and pushing him out of the trauma bay.
“Please, please–”
“Michael, look at me.” Adamson grabs Robby by the sides of his face. “She’s going to be okay. We’re gonna stabilize her and send her upstairs. I know she means a lot to you but you need to calm down.”
Robby’s vision swims but he nods, trying to slow down his breathing, and wills himself to trust Adamson’s words.
“Take five in the staff lounge. Then go check on your patients. Don’t just sit there and spiral.”
There’s a few pairs of curious eyes following Robby to the lounge but he tries to ignore them. In the quiet of the room he goes through the motions of making himself a cup of coffee. It’s a futile attempt at normalcy — he won’t be able to stomach the drink anyway.
If Dana were here, she would laugh at him; at the amount of creamer he poured in — What the fuck is this? A milkshake? — and fuck– why does he think about her as if she’s gone already? She’s fine, she’s fine, he tells himself, banging his palm against his forehead.
Seeing as coffee won’t help, Robby adjusts the stethoscope around his neck and braves the busy ED again. The world doesn’t stop for anyone. There’s patients to be seen, so he sees them. One by one he goes down the board. Writes out prescriptions. Orders tests. Comforts a crying teenager.
After what feels like hours, Adamson appears in the corner of Robby’s vision, just as he finishes suturing a wound — an easy one: metal fence meets forearm, don’t trespass through people’s gardens, kids, especially when they have a big dog.
“Obstetrics gave us a call. She’s okay, the baby’s okay,” he says with a gentle smile. “Finish up here and you can go see her.”
It’s only three floors up so once Robby is done with his patient he bolts through the door and onto the staircase, conquering two, three steps at a time.
Dana doesn’t register Robby’s presence at first, too occupied with the swaddle in her arms. He stands in the doorway quietly for a moment, taking in the sight. It still sends a shiver down his spine, seeing her enveloped by the hospital bed, hooked up to all the monitors.
But he looks a while longer and notices that color has returned to Dana’s cheeks, and to her eyes. There’s a smile spreading across her face, one that he knows is reserved for her precious daughters. She’s okay.
He approaches the bed gingerly, not wanting to disturb the peace that’s settled in the room. Dana looks up and when she sees it’s Robby her smile takes on a different shape. It’s wide and unguarded, but still laced with tiredness.
“You wanna hold her?” she asks, angling her daughter towards him.
“Can I?”
She chuckles. “Of course.”
Dana leans forward and places the swaddle in Robby’s arms. He feels the steady weight of the baby, the small breaths she takes; how she wriggles, sensing a different pair of arms holding her.
“Hello, baby–,” he whispers, and glances up at Dana in a silent question.
“Louisa.”
Robby looks at the swaddled newborn again. “Hello, baby Louisa.” He takes a few steps around the room, gently rocking the baby. “Hiii,” he coos. He can feel his face stretch in the biggest of smiles.
“You scared us, you know? Yeah, you did.”
As if offended by the accusation, Louisa’s tiny face scrunches up, and she cracks her eyes open, barely, and if Robby’s breath wasn’t stolen away by her chocolate brown eyes, he’d laugh at the almost annoyed look she throws at him.
For a brief moment Robby allows himself to want; to wonder. To imagine what it would be like, to hold something so precious in his arms, a life, and know that he took part in creating it. He imagines a house, a proper one, with a porch and a swing in the garden, and two tiny feet running around, stumbling over toys; a heap of blonde hair—
The door to Dana’s room opens with a quiet whoosh. “Dr. Robby?” a nurse peeks her head in. “Dr. Adamson wants you back downstairs.”
Reluctantly Robby hands the swaddle back to Dana. She gives him a warm but tired smile. “I’ll be back as soon as I finish my shift,” he says and squeezes her shoulder.
By 8PM Robby finds himself with his back to the staircase door, thanking Adamson over and over again, both for what he did earlier and for letting Robby clock out an hour before the end of his shift.
“Just go,” Adamson smiles and pushes him towards the door. “Before I change my mind.”
Robby’s cheeks start to hurt from smiling by the time he reaches the final landing and pushes the door leading into the obstetrics ward, more quiet than it was when he came up here a couple of hours before. It’s only when he reaches Dana’s room that his grin falters.
The privacy curtain is pulled back, and looking inside Robby sees all the people that have gathered inside. Dana’s sisters, Dana’s daughters. An older couple who Robby assumes are Dana’s in-laws. And Benji. Perched on the edge of the hospital bed, holding Louisa close to his chest with an assuredness of someone who already knows what it’s like to be a father.
There’s something heavy settling beneath Robby’s ribs and tears spring to his eyes because fuck, he should be happy for her, and he is, he really is. And he’s glad there’s so many people by her side. People who love her like she deserves to be loved, and support her like she needs to be supported.
But part of him thinks about his empty apartment, about the bed that’s too big. He thinks about Julia, about Alicia. About Susan. He thinks about how none of them stuck, and hell, maybe they were right to. Maybe families just aren’t meant for everyone — he’d know a thing or two about that.
Maybe he’s just meant to be alone.
It’s 2017, and Dana’s feet are slowly starting to kill her.
She really shouldn’t have let Grace and Louisa talk her into wearing stilettos. But Dana letting them dress her up for the party was the most fun they’ve had in days, given how most of the Evans household was bedridden with a nasty case of the flu. Irresponsible parents and coughing kids is the reason why Dana ends up attending the annual Pittsburgh For Healthcare Fundraiser by herself, with Benji staying at home to take care of their sick daughters.
It feels wrong to admit, but Dana finds herself enjoying the night immensely. She doesn’t remember the last time she left the house outside of her working hours without the company of her husband or her kids. This — a huge function full of elegantly dressed people and an open bar — is a very nice change. Dana has a pleasant buzz going as she sits with Dr. Abbot and his wife at their table, watching people as they come into the ballroom.
“Oh yeah, he’ll be here,” Jack says when Liz asks if Robby is coming or if he’s made up an excuse to bail. “He's bringing the girlfriend with him tonight.”
As if on cue, there’s a slight commotion by the entrance, a loud Michael, hey!, and the three of them whip their heads around to see what’s going on. Sure enough, it’s Robby — glad you could make it, man! — and Janey, entering the venue hand in hand.
So this is Robby The Boyfriend, Dana thinks to herself, as she watches them. This is Robby who places a reassuring kiss on Janey’s hand; who draws her chair back when they arrive at the table. Who chuckles at Janey’s jokes and wraps his arm around her shoulders whenever he gets a chance.
And sure, yes, Dana is happy for him. He deserves happiness. He deserves to have someone by his side, to not go through this life alone.
But seeing him and Janey; seeing them be this happy, giddy couple, it makes something curl deep in Dana’s stomach. She tries to reason with the strange feeling. Maybe it is jealousy. So sue her. It’s not her fault that her marriage has become devoid of affection. Right–? It’s just that she’s always tired when she comes home, and so is Benji, and there’s dinners to be cooked and homework to be helped with and chores to be completed.
Life gets in the way, Dana supposes but looking at Robby and Janey, it doesn’t ring so true. Seems that even if you’re an extremely busy chief attending of a Level 1 trauma center, or a working single mom, there’s still room for romance. So maybe it’s just Dana who’s fucked up.
“Didn’t know he had moves like that,” Jack says, interrupting Dana’s train of thought. He points his glass towards the dancefloor.
Dana follows the direction of his hand, and her eyes fall on Robby. Robby who’s tipping Janey back, much to the woman’s delight.
The weird feeling comes back. It’s hot and it’s ugly, and surely it’s all thanks to the fourth glass of wine she’s had tonight. And it’s exactly that, the inappropriate amount of alcohol, that makes Dana lean back in her chair, and say,
“Yup. I taught him those.” She points her finger to the floor, just as Robby brings Janey back to an upright position. “In 1985.”
Against her better judgement, Dana’s eyes remain glued to Robby and Janey. It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, Dana tells herself as her fingers curl around the stem of the wine glass. It shouldn’t affect her like this.
She takes another big swig and silently curses her younger sister for being nosy almost thirty years ago.
It was Kathy who plopped down on the kitchen counter when Dana and Robby were sitting at the dining table, buried deep in biology homework, and asked Robby whether he had a date to the winter ball. And Robby’s to blame here too, for indulging Kathy and saying that yes, actually, he got asked out by Christie from 11th Grade but he’s scared shitless because he’s never danced with a girl before.
Of course, because she had always been a pain in Dana’s ass, Kathy was the one to suggest that Dana teach him a couple of moves to impress his date.
So it was a joint effort between Kathy and Robby, really, that led the three of them to push the living room furniture apart, creating a makeshift dancefloor.
And it’s their fault entirely that all Dana can think about now is Robby’s hands trembling when she placed them on her waist; his shoulders tensing where her palms rested; his warm breath on her cheek when he looked down on their feet sweeping across the carpeted floor.
But that’s all ancient history, Dana tells herself, as she peels her eyes away from the dancefloor, only to find Jack looking at her intently. She can see the gears turning in his head, his eyes roaming over her face with that soldier's precision of his. Maybe it’s the flush in her cheeks, or the smile that doesn’t reach her eyes that makes Jack’s expression soften and extend his arm to her.
“Come on, Dee. Can’t have a pretty girl like you sitting here and sulking,” he teases.
Dana laughs, and it’s humorless and dry but she gets up anyway, grabbing him by the hand. She pats Liz on the shoulder in a silent thank you for lending me your husband and lets Jack lead her to the dancefloor.
For a moment, as they sway to Springsteen, Dana feels like a child. She thinks of her youngest sister throwing a tantrum because her brother hid her dolls. She wonders if Hannah had felt as silly as Dana is feeling right now.
Jack squeezing her hand brings Dana’s attention back to their dance. “Care for another number?” he asks, and she knows that tone, that you’re sicker than we thought but we’re not sure how to break it to you yet tone, smoothed over with a small smile.
And fuck that, Dana thinks to herself. She’s here to have fun. She will not waste that night by wallowing. So she smiles back at Jack. “Thought you’d never ask.” She leans in conspirationally. “But the next one is for Liz. Don’t want all the ladies here gettin’ the wrong idea,” she teases with a wink.
Almost in spite of herself, Dana does have fun. She dances with Jack, she laughs with Liz. She befriends a charge nurse from Presby’s as they swap crazy stories from the ED. The evening floats around Dana, and turns into night before she notices it. It’s only when Liz lets out an uncontrollable yawn that she realises how late it’s gotten.
“You sure you’re gonna get home safe?” Jack asks Dana when the three of them step outside. “Liz and I can drop you off, no problem.” There’s genuine worry in his voice and Dana feels her cheeks get hot because Jack must have noticed her weird state tonight. And if Jack has noticed, then– Nope. Get a grip.
“No! Oh, honey,” she says, trying for a light tone. “Thank you, but my husband’s picking me up! He should be here any minute now.”
Husband. The word feels sticky in Dana’s mouth. Benji. Sweet, patient Benji, who shows up when he’s needed. Who’s an okay dancer; who hates these kinds of gatherings.
Standing on the curb, Dana waves goodbye to Jack and Liz as they drive off. Knowing Benji’s still five minutes out, she lights a cigarette and watches the people leaving the party — couples walking out hand in hand; old buddies clapping each other on their backs, their wives already gossiping about the night as they wait for the valet.
Then, in the steady flow of people Dana sees them; watches as Robby leans down and whispers something in Janey’s ear, something that makes her throw her head back in laughter. Dana sees her shoulders shake and realises she’s wearing his jacket.
For one blessed moment Dana thinks they haven’t noticed her. But she’s not that lucky; of course she isn’t. Janey waves at her excitedly — the jacket flops around her wrist — and makes a beeline for Dana. Robby follows, just a few steps behind.
“You kids had fun?” Dana asks. She will not bear another question about husbands and rides home. Not from the two of them.
It seems Robby knows better not to ask, anyway. He places his hand on Janey’s back as she smiles at Dana.
“Oh, of course,” she chuckles and glances at Robby. “Haven’t danced this much since my– well, since ages ago,” is what she settles for. “It was a really nice evening.”
“What about you, Cap? When’s the last time you danced your heart out?”
Something crosses over Robby’s face. It narrows his eyes and pinches his eyebrows together. For a moment — she’s not even sure why — Dana mirrors his expression, waiting for his response. But just as he opens his mouth (say it, please say it) a car horn blares right by them and the three of them spin around to see Benji leaning in through the rolled down window.
“Ah, that’s my ride,” Dana says, probably a bit too cheerfully. “See you Monday, Chief?”
She slides into the car before he can answer.
“So that’s Janey, huh,” Benji asks once they’ve driven off. “They look nice together. He looks happy.”
“Mhm,” Dana says, looking down at her phone. “She’s nice.”
Silence falls in the car as they drive through the city. Dana leans her head against the window, her eyes tracing the street lamps. She tries to keep them open. Every time they fall closed, images of Robby’s palm on Janey’s back flash though her mind.
After a long pause, Benji bites. “Okay, what’s wrong with this one?”
The thing is, there is nothing wrong with her. Janey seems great — a kind, smart person. She feels like a great partner to Robby; patient, with a sense of humor that matches his perfectly. She’s very beautiful too; tall and blonde. They look very good together.
Dana’s pride doesn’t let her say all this though. She shoots her husband a quizzical look, keeping up with the charade.
“I dunno,” Benji shrugs, and looks at her. “You always seem to find something wrong with his girlfriends.”
Can this night be fucking over, Dana thinks as she sinks into the car seat. Her palms feel clammy. Her head is spinning.
“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, Benny.” She closes her eyes and presses her cheek into the headrest, effectively cutting the conversation short.
If Benji picks up the hard edge in her voice, he doesn’t comment on it. They drive home in silence.
It’s 2020, and the world is crumbling around Robby.
The world in general, yes. Too many patients, too many bodies. Not enough resources. Never enough resources, but now especially. Now, when they’re stuck in the hospital for shifts lasting up to sixteen hours, when there’s not enough staff, not enough masks and gowns, and not enough space for the bodies. Fuck, the bodies—
Robby’s world has crumbled today. Utterly, irreparably crumbled. Adamson’s gone. The sole father figure of his life is gone, and it’s all Robby’s fault, he– he should have done more, he should have tried harder; maybe there was something he had missed, something he could have done to save him, but he didn’t. He failed.
“Robby. Robby, listen to me. That is not true. You know that’s not true.” Dana’s voice rustles through the phone clutched in his hand. He realises he’s said all those things out loud.
“What am I gonna do now, I don’t know what to do– Fuck, I–” Robby sobs into the phone. “He– he was like a father to me, Dana, I–”
“I know. I know.” Her voice is steady. An anchor. “I’d hold you if I could.”
“Yeah,” he sniffles. “I know.” He closes his eyes, feeling his damp eyelashes brush against his skin. Almost on its own accord, he hugs himself with his free arm, brushing his thumb against his elbow. The rhythm’s familiar — he recognizes it in the way Dana used to comfort her siblings after they fought. It’s that same gentle movement she uses when reassuring a patient. Or used, back when it was still possible. Robby squeezes his eyes harder.
There’s a faint rustling on the line, like something brushing against the microphone. “You’re outside?” Robby asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Mmm, it’s still warm,” she hums. “Feels nice to feel real air on my face.”
Despite his mood, Robby feels his lips curve into a faint smile. In his mind’s eye he sees Dana splayed out in her backyard, wriggling her toes in the grass.
“C’mon. Lay down with me.”
Reluctantly, Robby gets up from the couch and moves through the living room. He can hear Dana’s breathing through the phone. He imagines she listens to his steps, waits for the telltale sound of the patio door sliding open.
Part of Robby wants to be annoyed at the fact that it’s working — that the moment he feels the damp ground against his back and the grass blades tickling his neck he can feel his whole body start to loosen. He closes his eyes, feeling the wind sweep softly across his face, how it moves through his beard and over the indentations on his cheeks left behind by the N95s. He threads his fingers through the grass. When he squeezes his eyes hard enough, he can almost believe that Dana’s right beside him.
He turns his head, glancing at the imaginary version of her lying by his side.
“Tell me a story,” he asks.
Dana seems to consider his request for a moment. “Have I ever told you the story with the hamster?” she asks.
Robby shakes his head, but then remembers Dana can’t see him. “Nuh uh,” he mutters into the phone.
There’s a slight shift on the other end of the line.
“We must’ve been– oh, I don’t know, ten? Maybe eleven? Kathy was eight, I think. It was the first year they introduced the class pets, and her class got a hamster. Jesus, Robby, if you saw that thing.” Dana laughs into the phone. For a moment Robby tries to remember what her smile looks like.
“What about him?”
“It was the chunkiest hamster I’ve seen in my life. And he had those huge, creepy eyes, I couldn’t look at it! But anyway, Kathy was obsessed, she’d come home and talk my ear off about the damn thing. And I thought sure, we’ve never had a pet before at that point, so I didn’t pay her that much mind– You know what she did, Robby?”
“Mhm?”
“Next thing I know she opens her backpack in our room and takes out the fuckin’ hamster, could you believe it?” Robby can hear her smile on the phone. “She takes out that fat thing and says that it looked so sad in the cage, that she couldn’t let Albert be all sad and alone in that classroom.”
Before he knows it, a laugh escapes Robby’s chest. “Albert? The hamster was named Albert?”
“Mhm,” Dana hums. “They were on some sort of Nobel Prize roll, I think. Stan’s class pet was a guinea pig called Theresa.”
“After The Mother?”
“Yup. After The Mother. Anyway– Kath took that horrible, horrible hamster home and begged me to let her keep him in our room, told me all about how we could pet him and play with him, and take care of him. And you know her, you know she doesn’t take no for an answer, so I got roped into the whole damn secret pet operation. To Kathy’s credit, she did a decent job for, oh I don’t know, three, four days?”
“Oh yeah? What happened after that?” Robby asks. Surprised, he realises his breathing has returned to normal.
“I think eventually Albert got sick of being locked in our room and getting fed with grass from our backyard,” Dana sighs dramatically. “Kathy forgot to shut the door once. He made a run for it the moment he smelled the chicken soup cookin’ downstairs in the kitchen. Mom caught him trying to crawl behind the cabinets. He was quick, but nothing was quicker than mom’s reflexes.”
“She wasn’t mad?” he asks.
“She was! She was mad as hell, tellin’ us we’ll both be grounded for Lord knows how long. But I could tell she was bluffin’.” Dana’s voice takes on a gentle edge. “She’s always had a soft spot for Kathy.”
“Honestly, I don’t think I ever saw my mother try to contain her laughter this hard.” Dana chuckles, and it’s the most pleasant sound he’s heard in what feels like years. The warmth of her voice, the rasp in it — Robby feels it spread around his limbs like honey.
The line goes silent for a moment. Robby looks up at the sky, at the clouds sliding beneath the stars, at the old apple tree that grows in his neighbors’ backyard. He thinks of Dana’s old house — of the swing on the porch that her dad had built; of the makeshift goal he and Stan made from two metal poles.
“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly.
It sounds like Dana shifts her head on the grass. Behind his closed eyes Robby can see the rise of her eyebrows. “For what?”
“For not being there for you when your mom passed.”
There’s more silence on the line, and for a moment regret and anxiety slices through Robby, making his face heat up. He shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have brought it up; Dana never has so what right does he have?
On the other end of the line, she swallows. “Well. It’s not like I let you.”
“No, but– I dunno. I should’ve tried harder, I– I could have just… shown up. I don’t know.” The grass rips easily under Robby’s fingers. “I wish I hadn’t let you push me away. I’m sorry.”
“‘S okay,” she says after a moment. “For what it’s worth, I never held it against you.”
It’s 2026, and Dana’s heart is hammering in her chest.
It feels like it’s been going at this frantic pace non stop since July; since she came down from the roof and saw Robby’s bike gone from the ambulance bay.
At the age of fifty five Dana has stopped counting the times she was stressed out of her mind, but few things have come close to what she’s been feeling these last three months. Her mother’s death. Her daughter’s first pregnancy.
Hell, even the early stages of her ongoing divorce haven’t put her through it like Robby’s sabbatical has.
Dana would replay his last shift in her head over and over again, beating herself up over how angry they were with each other. There were moments when she caught herself wondering if there was anything she could have done differently that maybe could have changed his mind about going. But nothing came to mind.
Still, she was so angry. Angry at him, for refusing help. Angry at herself, for not catching the signs earlier. At last, angry at the system, for being as fucked up as it was.
At some point — it seemed her mind really refused to grant her any kindness — Dana remembered being in pedes, watching Robby gently pick up Baby Jane Doe. She felt like she was back in that hospital room, twenty-odd years ago, watching him hold Louisa like she was the most precious thing in the world. She remembered thinking that he looked so right with a baby — her baby — in his arms and how for a split second there she thought they got it all wrong, all of it, but it wasn’t fair to anyone to dwell on it. She made her choices and so did he.
But there are new choices to be made, Dana thought to herself one night, fueled by a glass of wine, or two. She was free to do what she wanted; she was free to go after what she wanted. It was a heady feeling, knowing that instead of wishing the past was different she could make the future into what she wanted it to be.
She fished out her phone from between the couch cushions. Seen any cows with their heads smashed yet? she typed out a text to Robby.
His reply came minutes later, in the form of pictures — rocky cliffs and dense forests; a moose drinking from a creek; the jade-green water of Lake Superior. Nature so wild and so full of life that it stole Dana’s breath away.
Soon, one-line texts and pictures of landscapes turned into phone calls that would keep Dana awake long into the hours of early morning.
Robby told her about the freedom he felt along the way. How he rode through the fields and saw an eagle floating on a gust of wind. “You better keep your eyes on that damn road,” she said. He chuckled, low and gruff, and promised he would.
Dana told him about the freedom she felt finally getting rid of those awful greige recliners Benji loved so much. She bragged about getting a new coffeemaker; one of those fancy ones, milk frother and all. “What I’m hearin’ is: better coffee, shittier armchairs,” Robby teased. Dana laughed and promptly told him to fuck right off.
The phone calls were usually like this — easy and warm, making Dana feel a little bit lighter. They would avoid the topic of work, save for occasional gossip, so when a month into his trip Robby called her at almost midnight her time, and brought up PTMC and that 4th of July shift, she was surprised. He told her about his conversations with Jack, and with Langdon. How they both told him he needed help. He told her that looking at that cliff edge in Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump made him realise that they were both right.
“So.” Robby took a deep breath. “There’s this, uh, center in Montana. They have this six-week treatment program, it’s geared towards medical workers actually. I think– I think that could be good. It could be a good start”
“Yeah. I think so too,” Dana said.
Now, a month and a half later there’s a message notification that reads The eagle has landed, accompanied by a sunglasses emoji, burning bright on Dana’s lockscreen as she speeds through the streets of Pittsburgh. Her heart feels like it’s about to ram through her ribs and splatter on the headboard.
The door to Robby’s house swings open after the first knock.
For a moment Dana just stands there and takes in the sight before her. Here’s Robby. Here’s his face, more tanned and freckled than she’s ever seen it. Here’s his hair, the longest it’s been since God, probably somewhere around 2006, only this time there’s silver dusting his temples. Here are his eyes, big and dark, sparkling with something that she can only describe as hope.
In hindsight, maybe Dana should have thought about what she’d say to Robby; maybe she should have rehearsed a line or two. Maybe then she would have come up with something a little bit more eloquent than “thank fuck” muttered under her breath before she lunged forward and pulled him down by the front of his t-shirt.
But present Dana doesn’t care about big words and grand love confessions (yes, love because what else would you call the hell she went through while he was gone?). Right now the only thing Dana cares about is the press of Robby’s lips against her own, the way he pulls her deeper into the house and slams the door shut before crowding her against it.
He smells of laundry detergent and shower gel — squeaky clean, brand new — but there’s a faint scent of leather and the wind still clinging to his skin, some part of the road refusing to let go of him. Dana breathes it in, then gasps when she feels his tongue swipe against her top lip. Goodbye, nights spent wondering what it feels like to be kissed senseless by Robby. Hello, being pressed against the cool wood of the door as he holds Dana’s head with both hands and licks into her mouth. Strong, possessive. Better than she imagined.
Dana would happily stay here for hours, running her hands along his broad back, feeling the warmth of his body against her own.
But suddenly they begin to move down the hallway. Out of the corner of her eye Dana sees Robby is walking them in the direction of his couch. It’s a very nice couch, yes, wide seats and soft leather. But Dana thinks about her bad knee, and how it started aching again last week; she wonders about Robby’s legs, and how strained they must feel after the long drive.
Reluctantly, she frees her mouth from Robby’s. “Nuh–uh.”
It’s hard to focus when his lips find purchase on the pulse point below her ear.
“Robby–” She presses her palm into his cheek. “Bed. Now.”
Dana’s stomach flips at the grin that breaks out on Robby’s face. She feels lightheaded, giddy with excitement.
He takes her by the hand, and guides her upstairs. Somewhere between the landing and the second run of stairs he loses his hoodie and his t-shirt. Dana’s sure her sweater hangs somewhere over the railing.
It’s only when they cross the threshold of Robby’s bedroom that it hits Dana — the weight of the last forty-odd years of their friendship; the gravity of what’s about to happen. The intensity with which she wants it; him.
In the last couple of years of her marriage, sex for Dana has become a set of practiced motions, a sequence to follow. A familiar body, a familiar feeling. Sex with Benji was fine.
This – the sensation of Robby’s calloused hands as he caresses her back under her t-shirt, the hunger in his eyes as he takes it off of her – is new and exciting. And, Dana admits, slightly unnerving.
Her hands tremble as she undoes his belt buckle.
“‘V’rything alright?” Robby asks when he notices.
Dana swallows thickly, and her eyes drop from his face. She presses her forehead against his chest, trying to hide her flushed cheeks.
Just been a while, is all is the easy cop-out, one that she can’t bring herself to use. And it’s not a lie exactly. The last few years have been… uneventful, to put it mildly. But it’s not that, it’s something else entirely, some weight that’s making Dana’s chest cave in on itself.
Not trusting her words, she nods shyly.
“Hey– hey, Dana,” Robby whispers, his hands travelling from her waist to her cheeks, turning her face to his. “It’s just me.” He puts a strand of hair behind her ear. “‘S just you and me.”
Dana wants to laugh. It’s just me. Jesus.
That’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s Robby. Her coworker of twenty five years. Technically her boss. A piece of her everyday life; someone who makes working in the pitt a little bit more bearable.
But it’s also Michael. The boy with the bleeding knee. The boy who spent countless hours explaining maths homework to her. The boy who understood her like no one else. The boy who let her go when she needed him to. The man who came back to her.
“Yeah,” is what she settles on, as she hooks her arms around his neck, and captures his lips in a kiss again.
Dana can feel herself relax into Robby’s touch as he makes quick work of getting her out of the rest of her clothes and her underwear. She focuses on the feeling of his lips on her neck and collarbone; his large hands roaming everywhere – her waist, her breasts, the curve of her ass.
Her heart starts beating faster when she feels him gently lower her down onto the mattress. Lying naked on top of his sheets, Dana’s first instinct is to cover herself, suddenly shy under Robby’s intense gaze as he stands over her, his chest heaving. But she pushes the silly feeling away and scoots back on the bed, making space for him between her knees.
Because Robby’s right. It’s just them. Yes, it’s strange and it’s new — being with him like this, but there’s a layer of comfort and understanding she’s never experienced before. Dana sees her best friend in the way Robby gently grazes her bare hip with his fingers, and in the warmth in his eyes as he looks up at her from her navel.
There is also a whole new side of him that she’s learning: the little wrecked noise he makes when she tightens her grip on his hair and pulls, experimentally at first, then deliberately, drawing a moan out of him; the sensation of his beard scraping against her abdomen and his teeth nipping the sensitive skin there.
In the many years of their friendship Dana's heard her name fall from Robby's mouth thousands of times, in thousands of ways. Thousands of tones: exasperated, tired, excited.
Always Dana, come here; Dana, wait; Dana, watch this.
But never like this, never this breathy and strained. Never this sweet.
Dana, fuck, murmured into the skin of her inner thigh when he settles between her legs and gets the first taste of her.
Dana, please, groaned into her temple, followed by a bite of her earlobe, when she rakes her nails over his stomach and finally dips her hand into his boxers.
Then, her personal favourite, the broken Dana, baby, I’m— whimpered into the side of her neck as he presses his hips into hers and shudders, coming apart moments after she does.
“If I knew I’d get such a warm welcome home, I would have turned around before I even crossed over to Canada,” Robby says jokingly as they lay side by side, facing each other. Dana traces her finger over the curve of Robby’s bicep, and the letters of his tattoo. Amor Fati.
She appreciates it, his attempt at keeping the atmosphere light. It makes her think of the early days of their friendship; of the way he always managed to make her laugh, even when she was dead set on being in a bad mood. It makes her think back to the time when both of them were lighter, before life brought them down again and again.
Dana smiles back at him and considers her words for a moment.
“When I realised you’d really gone on that trip, I was sure I’d never see you again. I was sure I’d lost you,” she whispers, caressing Robby’s cheek with the tips of her fingers. “It really messed me up, you know. The realisation that I might have to live the rest of my life without ever getting to do this,” she says, swiping her thumb over his lower lip. “To have this.”
Robby turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to Dana’s palm. “And now that you’ve done it?” he asks, and his tone is so hopeful that it makes Dana’s heart ache.
She props herself up on her elbow. Her hair gently falls over Robby’s face as she leans down and brushes her lips against his. “I think I could get used to it,” she says, smiling into the next kiss.
The million dollar question of what now? hovers above the bed, hangs in the stuffy air of the bedroom. But Dana lets it. She nestles under it, pressed into Robby’s side; her arm slung around his waist, her legs tangled with his.
She closes her eyes. For the first time in three months, a peaceful slumber meets her halfway.
It’s 2027 and the afternoon is unseasonably warm for May.
Jack knows he’s arrived early. The invitation message in the group chat said 7PM, but he just couldn’t help himself.
He straightens his back as he rings the bell on Robby’s door. There’s commotion inside, a muffled You go get it! and after a long moment Jack is being greeted by Dana’s wide grin.
“Come on in,” she says, stepping aside.
Jack follows her into the house. The place is familiar by now, thanks to the many hours he and Robby spent splayed out on the couch, Pens game on, and beer in hand. Everything is in its place, just like Jack remembers it. But as he advances down the hallway, and into the dining room, he notices all the subtle differences – the curtains hang neater, the chairs at the table stand straighter. For the first time since he’s known Robby, Jack can hear the music coming from the fancy record player in the living room.
In the kitchen Jack notices a fancy coffeemaker in place of Robby’s old dingy pour-over. He notices the lack of usual clutter by the sink. He gets a glimpse of a fully stocked fridge. He looks at Dana and marvels at the ease with which she commands the space. Her swift and precise movements, like her body knows the space by heart.
“I didn’t know he owned pots and pans,” Jack says dryly, leaning against the kitchen island.
Dana wipes her hands on a towel. “He’s full of surprises,” she says with a smile. Her cheeks pink slightly before she turns back to her task. “He’s outside, on the deck,” she throws over her shoulder.
Jack knows when he’s being sent away, the get out of my kitchen message clear in Dana’s teasing tone. He moves through the living room to the patio door.
Sure enough, Robby’s tall figure is looming over the barbeque. In all the years of their friendship Jack has never seen the man look so relaxed. But then, he supposes, maybe that’s partially thanks to the cigarette hanging from his lips.
“What the fuck man,” Jack says, making his presence known to Robby. “You were supposed to make her quit, not pick that shit up again!”
“‘S just one, I promise,” Robby says and ashes the cigarette just outside the deck. “Feelin’ nostalgic today, is all.” He tries for a light tone, but Jack can sense the raw edge in his voice.
“Hey.” Jack steps closer. His arm lands on Robby’s shoulder almost on instinct. “It’s not like you’re dropping medicine forever, brother. UPitt’s lucky to have you back.”
In typical Robby fashion, the man drops his eyes to his feet and smiles, shaking his head. Jack’s known him long enough to know that the decision to leave PTMC wasn’t an easy one. But, God, it was needed.
“You with me?”
Robby simply nods in response.
“Good. Now talk me through the grill situation.” Jack firmly claps Robby’s back and moves to inspect the various trays perched on the barbeque.
By the time people start filtering through the house and out into the garden, the air is full of delicious smells and laughter. Each time Dana emerges on the deck, she’s back with a new plate in hand. Robby laughs every time and says that it’s just a couple of friends, not a military squad. She shakes her head dramatically anyway, and mutters Oh I don’t know under her breath.
Jack stands back, delighted at the dynamic playing out in front of him; the way Dana and Robby move around each other, the fleeting touches, the way Robby plants a kiss on top of her head whenever she’s in reach.
The newfound ease with which Robby breathes is infectious. Jack sees it in the looseness of Langdon’s shoulders; he sees it in the twinkle in Perlah’s eyes. He sees it in his own body; how it relaxes muscle by muscle as he watches the party unfold.
There’s a steady flow of people coming in and out, some coming straight from the day shift, some dropping in before the night shift. Like Ellis, who claims that she only came to collect Dana’s famous pierogi before she has to run.
“So. Professor Robinavitch, huh?” she asks, leaning back in her chair. “RateMyProfessor’s gonna go crazy.”
Robby momentarily blushes — at her teasing tone, at all the pairs of eyes suddenly watching him — but he confirms with a nod. “Starting at the end of August, yeah.” Dana smoothes her hand over his back in reassurance. Judging by the knowing smiles, the pride that beams off of her is palpable to everyone around the table.
Jack stays until the last guests have bid their goodbyes and a slight chill has settled into the night air. It’s just him, Dana and Robby again, sitting at the table, enjoying the quiet of the garden and the soft him of the street on the other side of the house.
“What about you, Nurse Evans?” he asks. “You ready to throw in the proverbial towel?”
Dana eyes Jack from where she sits, perched on Robby’s knee. She leans back against his chest. For a moment she’s quiet, clearly thinking about her response. “Will never be ready, I think. But it’s time.” She smiles warmly at Jack. He nods in understanding.
“C’mon,” Dana says with a playful slap to Robby’s thigh. “The dishes ain’t gonna do themselves.” She hops off and saunters into the house. She doesn’t look back — she knows Robby will follow.
Through the patio door Jack glimpses into the house, bathed in the orange glow of a floor lamp. He watches the couple move around the kitchen, and his heart aches at the sight — at how domestic it looks, how simple. He watches Robby snatch the dish towel from Dana’s hands and drag her away from the kitchen counter, and onto the carpet in the living room. It’s mesmerising, the way her arms wrap around his neck as his hands land on her hips. Easy. Practiced. Instinctual.
He looks on as his two best friends sway to the upbeat music, wrapped around each other. Without a care in the world.
With a deep sigh that he can feel in his bones, Jack gets up from the table.
Fucking finally.