Companionship | Pt. 3

Companionship | pt. 3

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

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Summary: A few moments where Michael is finally honest and a few where he is not.

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Note: y’all are so lovely!! I’m so glad that you guys are enjoying this as much as I am lol Thank you for all the likes, comments, and reblogs!! and shoutout to all my new followers, like omg hi💜

I caved and posted to AO3 with a f!oc so I could explore a character more in depth without imposing too much on the reader, so if you’re interested: AO3 Companionship

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, death mentioned (a patient), Robby still trying to bottle up his feelings, alcohol

not beta read

that damn smile

The days passed slowly considering how busy they had been. Between projects, homework, the office, and your half-assed chores, you were beat. That Friday morning was uneventful, a foggy start where you ran from your two classes, hoping it wouldn’t rain. You regretted not signing up for online classes, foolishly thinking being present would make you more productive. Maybe it did, but you longed to be home. As selfish as the thought was, you missed the time when you worked from home.

A weird thing happened around lunchtime: you were sitting at you desk with a homemade sandwich, lunchtime ticking away far too quickly. Your phone rang, and half expecting a scam call, you were surprised to find Michael’s name lighting up your screen.

You swallowed a bite of your sandwich before answering, “Hello?”

“Hello, hi.” His warm voice greeted her.

“I’m sorry. Did I forget we had a call right now?”

“No, no.” He suddenly sounded awkward again. “I, uh, I only have a few minutes, but I was hoping we could talk tonight? My shift should end at 7, but they never end on time.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” You said without thinking about it. “Usually you text me.”

A moment of silence passed. “I usually don’t have time to check my phone, and I just wanted to make sure you could talk tonight. You know, make sure you had a decent amount of notice. I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped, clearing your throat, “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

In his silence, you picked up on the array of beeps that grew louder on his end.

“I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you tonight? 8:30, maybe?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “That works.”

“Good, uh, okay. Yeah. Talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later.”

—

In a rare lull of the Emergency Department, he had had his phone out before he had even thought about it, stepping into the staff lounge, and clicking on your contact. Usually it was a quick text sent in between patients, but then the phone had been ringing, your voice on the other end.

Michael stared at your contact after the call ended for a long moment, the chaos around him that had been quiet while talking to you slowly becoming louder and louder. Stuffing his phone back into his pocket and ignoring the feeling churning around his stomach, he jumped back into it. Dana had been the one to alert him of a car crash incoming, and he hoped she had not caught him staring at his phone.

Despite the fact that his shifts usually blurred together with how quickly they seemed to go, this one had seemed to slam on the brakes. It was no less busy than normal, but each minute ticked away like an hour, driving him mad.

It was a relief when Jack Abbot walked into the ED to take over. Not wanting to seem too off, Dr. Robby lingered, helping out with a few more critical patients before Jack finally shooed him out.

His watch read 7:39 when he collected his things from behind the charge desk.

Part of him really wanted to open up to you — the anonymity was tempting, but so was your voice — but the other part hated being so vulnerable. Not talking about it had worked out pretty well so far, but it left his chest feeling so tight and made his nights nearly always restless. Or maybe it was the grief. Or the stress. Or the loneliness.

Maybe not so much the loneliness anymore, Michael thought to himself.

Michael walked into his apartment and discarded his backpack by the door, along with his shoes. His entire body sagged, exhaustion running through his system. He realized how hungry he was and knew there was not much in his apartment to eat.

Before he knew it, it was 8:31, making his heart jump. Reaching for his phone, his finger hovered above the call button before he took a deep breath and pressed it.

You answered after two rings, ever reliable, “Hi.”

His lips turned upwards at the sound of you. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

He digested the question. From your handful of calls, it seemed to be your way of judging if he wanted to talk or just listen.

“It wasn’t a bad shift,” passed his lips before he had the chance to think about it. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad or stressed about it.” You said, not missing a beat.

“I lost a patient.” He told you. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

You went silent on the other end and guilt ate away his insides. It wasn’t about this patient in particular, or how he lost them, not really. Sure, that weighed on his mind, but nothing compared to Adamson, or the pandemic.

Despite the fact he didn’t want to talk about it, he kept going, “There was nothing we could do. I tried—we—”

“It’s not your fault.”

That struck down his spine, making him sputter. Maybe he was looking for a reason it was, maybe it wasn’t about this patient at all. He had a hard time distinguishing sometimes.

“I’m sure if you could’ve saved them, you would’ve.” You told him, and everything around him was completely silent. “I won’t pretend to understand the weight you carry, or how hard that has to be, but I know you did everything you could. You’re a good man, Michael, and god forbid anything were to happen to me, I know I’d be lucky to have a doctor like you.”

You said it like it was nothing, like the weight of your words did not scoop up the weight on his shoulders and carry it for just a moment. For a single minute, he felt okay. Then, the thoughts crept back in: but you don’t know me.

But maybe I want you to. He shook that thought off just as quickly as it came.

“I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“What?”

What? echoed in his own head, and he quickly started rambling, “You know, maybe talk in person. Might be nice. Only if that’s okay with you? We don’t have to, I—”

The weight of it burned heavily in his mind, churning his stomach. Would you want more money for that? Would you just consider it your weekly talk? Would you—

“That would be nice.”

His racing mind screeched to a halt. “It would?”

“Yeah, did you have a place in mind?”

Fuck! “...no.”

“Well, dealer’s choice.” You told him, your tone light like you were smiling again.

He sat on that for a minute. Did he take you somewhere fancy? Someplace miles away to ensure no one caught you? He still wanted to make sure you stayed far away from his professional life, and he certainly did not want to answer any questions if anyone he knew saw you.

“There’s this Italian place just outside the city. I’ve been meaning to go back.”

“Italian sounds good, actually.”

He smiled.

—

This isn’t a date. This isn’t a date you repeated to yourself over and over again, trying to quiet the anxiety raging through your system. You weren’t all that surprised when he had asked to meet in person, it had been part of the conversation at the cafe. Phone calls had just been easier for him to fit into his schedule up until this point. Or maybe it was easier for him to talk when it wasn’t face-to-face.

According to Google, the Italian restaurant was more of an upscale place, which led to your anxiety on what to wear. Their menu was on the expensive side when you browsed their website. You felt guilt rise in your chest, knowing he was going to be paying.

How the hell did Erin do it? Let those men spoil her with things much more expensive than a nice Italian restaurant with zero feelings of owing them?

Erin’s arrangements are different, you told yourself, sighing deeply through your nose. This is still well in line with what we agreed to. So why on earth were you overthinking it?

Staring into your closet, you weighed your options. There was the knee-length navy blue dress you had worn to the interview for your job, or the pretty black dress that complimented your figure that you wore to graduation, or your most recent splurge: a dress in your favorite color with a flowy skirt. It wasn’t fancy by any stretch, but you certainly would not wear it out for a casual night either.

It seemed like a happy medium between something modest and something you would wear out with your friends.

After fixing your hair, you started your ‘get ready for a night out’ routine. Your mind wandered to what he would wear; would he dress up? Simple shirt and slacks? Would he wear cologne, or—

This isn’t a date, you reminded yourself, why does it matter?

Taking a long look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes took in your appearance. The dress was flattering in all the right ways. You took a breath, smoothing out the dress.

You took your purse from the table by the door, putting on your black heels and light jacket before walking out the door. You left early, stuck between wanting to be early and not wanting to be there first.

The drive did little to soothe your nerves, traffic proving to be as frustrating as usual. You tried to coach yourself through it. This was two acquaintances getting dinner, nothing more, looking to simply talk. Your standards were not high — he would either want to talk or listen, and you had plenty you could still tell him about your week. This was just going to be like a phone call…just in person.

When you pulled up to the venue, you parked your car and sat there — anxiety eating you up. You debated waiting a little longer, eyes flickering to the time: 6:25. Biting your lip, you gathered your purse, tucking your phone away before getting out of the car.

Michael was waiting for you once you reached the lobby, greeting you with a warm smile. You drank in the sight of him in the dim lighting of the restaurant, your cheeks heating. He was wearing brown chinos, a soft grey-blue sweater and a blazer — and your heart nearly stopped just looking at him.

The host walked you both to your table. As you walked past, you took notice of several of the other women, noting you were not overdressed and relief washed through you. Your table was tucked away near a corner of the restaurant, next to a window.

When you were seated, you looked over at Michael across from you and smiled. The lines on his face were softer in this lighting, but he was remarkably handsome regardless, with his lips in a soft smile.

“How—”

“I—”

You both laughed, before Michael gestured for you to start.

“How are you?” You asked, figuring it was as good a place as any to start.

“I’m okay,” he told you, but it looked like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “Uh, how was your day?”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, so used to hearing it on the other end of a phone call. It did so many things in person.

You sipped the ice water in front of you. “I’m well, thank you.”

“How’s that fraud project going?”

You smiled, finding it nice that he remembered some of your ramblings. You had wondered how much he actually listened to vs just needing a voice on the other end of his call.

“It’s going really well, actually. I’ve been really enjoying the course.”

“Good, that’s good.”

The waiter came by to take your drink order, and Michael surprised you by allowing you to order for both of you.

“I’ll have whatever the lady is having.” Michael said, turning his attention back to you.

“Do you like reds?” You asked, deciding wine would be the safest bet, shoving away the thoughts of him not liking wine at all.

He gave a simple nod, and you turned back to the waiter to order a simple pinot noir for each of you. You waited for any sign from him that you had made the wrong choice, but he was sitting happy as could be across from you. You looked down at the menu, weighing your options. You could try to be cheap and order something simple, or forget about the price next to the dishes and allow yourself to be spoiled.

“Tell me about your day.” He said.

That felt as easy as breathing, “I slept in, a rarity for me, but then I got caught up on studying. Between that and some of my reports, that ate up most of my day. My laptop is on the fritz, but as long as it’s plugged in, it’s been fine. Not an impossible work around, but thankfully I didn’t really need to be anywhere with it today. I bring it to classes with me sometimes, but hand-written notes are just as reliable, though they sometimes just look like chicken scratch.” You chuckled.

“Oh, please,” he laughed, “I bet yours are worlds better than mine. There’s a stereotype about doctors' handwriting for a reason.”

“At least I’m the only one who needs to read mine.” Smiling, you continued, “Why’s it so bad anyways? Is legibility an offense to you, or something?”

“The name of the game is speed, unfortunately. I’m so busy I’m lucky to sit down at all. Charting on the computer helps, but those physical files are not going anywhere.” He laughed. “You get used to it.”

You continued like that, jesting and enjoying the company of each other. The waiter came back to take the food order, Michael settling on a pasta ragu — you quickly glanced at the price of his item and found your second choice was just below how expensive his was. It made you feel better when you ordered it.

When dinner came, you settled back into small talk, trading conversation about the cooling temperature and the most recent Penguins game. After taking a sip of wine and placing it back on the table, you let your left hand rest next to the glass. Absentmindedly, you brushed your fingers softly against his, his hand beside his own wine glass. Your mind halted, your eyes taking in your hands touching — his fingers were warm beneath yours.

There was a clang! of his fork hitting his plate and your hand quickly retreated from the tabletop back into your lap with a jolt. Your eyes looked up, catching his flustered face, and anxiety invaded your stomach.

You swallowed, “Did you want to talk about your day? Or work, perhaps?”

He blinked at you, before clearing his throat lightly into his fist and grabbing his fork again. His eyebrows furrowed inward, but he was silent as he slowly chewed his food.

“Yeah,” he started, finally meeting your eyes. “I finally got some pesky chores done around the house that I’ve been putting off.”

With each word he spoke, he sounded like he was avoiding anything with substance. You accepted it regardless, mildly frustrated that he had a hard time opening up — but who were you to demand any more from him?

Taking in your raised eyebrow, he sighed, “I’m not good at this, I’m sorry.”

Blinking several times, “Why are you apologizing? You’ve no need to. I’m enjoying our conversation. I’m just ensuring I don’t talk your ear off.”

His lips flicked up, “Definitely not.”

You laughed, “Good.”

After several more bites between them, Michael sipped his wine, “Actually, I would like to be honest.” A long sigh escaped his nose while he avoided eye contact. “My job is…my job is stressful. I used to think I was good at compartmentalizing, but...” He shook his head, shrugging, “I don’t know. It’s been tough lately.”

You waited, watching him.

“You know, most days, it’s just trying to keep our heads above water. Some days there’s hope…others…” He was shaking his head again, taking a careful sip of his wine. His eyes looked far away, his face scrunched together.

Your thoughts flickered back to the other day when he had mentioned losing a patient and your heart ached. He was struggling to carry the weight of all of it, what possibly could you say to make it better?

You sat like that for several minutes in tense silence. You kept overanalyzing what to say, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

He suffered a small smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s been nice to talk to someone outside of that environment, you know? To talk about anything else, or listen to you talk about your days, even when I don’t say anything.”

A tiny smile graced your face, “I’m glad I can do that for you. I’m glad I haven’t been boring you.”

He exhaled, lips turning upwards, “Not at all. I’ve enjoyed our conversations.”

“I have too.”

You held each other’s gaze for a long moment, before the waiter came by to offer dessert. Your gaze lingered on Michael’s face before you glanced down at the dessert menu. You thought perhaps dessert was too much, so you went to say “I think I’m just too full.” but Michael beat you to it.

“Make it two of whatever she wants.” He was grinning again, mood slightly lifted, watching you with an amused glint to his eye.

You raised an eyebrow at him, but did not question it, quickly deciding on one of the options.

Dessert came with coffee, decaf for him, and lighter conversation. As the night wound down, you found you wished the night had been longer, enjoying his company. You wondered if you would be seeing more of him in person after this. You hoped so.

He paid the bill without allowing you to even glance at it, which after a few seconds of thought, you were thankful for. You knew it was not likely to be an outlandish amount, but you were glad to not have a number in your head to overthink.

Getting up from the table, you walked close together, arms brushing until you made the split second decision to grab hold of his arm. To avoid bumping into any tables or other patrons, of course. He had not been expecting it, by the way he glanced at you, but you kept your eyes forward. He didn’t say anything. Once back in the lobby, you loosened your hold, but he did not let you go.

“Let me walk you to your car.”

“Oh, thank you.”

You walked in the direction of your car, anxiety bubbling back up. This was usually the bit where your past dates tried — or succeeded — in kissing you. This isn’t a date this isn’t a date this isn’t a date, echoed loud in your head. Did you hug him? Just say goodbye?

“This is me.” You said awkwardly, stopping in front of your car.

He nodded his head, turning to look at you again.

“I’ll—”

“I—”

You smiled at each other, and you gestured for him to go first.

“This was…nice. Thank you.”

“Thank you, I had a good time.”

He shuffled his feet awkwardly, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Have a good night, Michael.”

“You too.” He said, turning to go, before turning quickly on his feet. “Let me know when you get home safe, yeah?”

Opening your car door, you looked back at him and grinned, “Yeah, I will.”

Offering a final smile before you got into your car, Michael walked in the opposite direction.

The drive home was much better than the drive to the restaurant. You felt warm on the inside, going over the dinner in your head again and again. You smiled the entire drive.

Walking into your apartment, you set your things down before pulling out your phone and pulling up Michael’s contact.

Home safe :)

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Companionship Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @cannonindeez @gabsgabsvaz

All Dr. Robby content: @cherriready

that damn dinner scene gave me trouble for some reason — sorry it took awhile!

Also?? Hozier’s Too Sweet is so Companionship coded