Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The emergency department had settled into that strange, humming lull that only came after midnight.

Not quiet.

Never quiet.

Just… contained.

Monitors chimed softly.

A trauma room door swung open and closed.

Rain streaked the tall ambulance bay windows, turning the Seattle skyline into watercolor.

Dr. Audrey Shepherd stood at the central desk, chart in hand, reading without really seeing.

“Vitals are stable,” an intern said beside her. “CT is clean.”

Audrey nodded once, gentle.

“Good. Let’s keep her overnight for observation.”

The intern hurried off, relieved.

They always looked relieved when she approved a plan.

Audrey set the chart down and reached for her coffee.

Cold.

Of course.

She sighed softly, pushing it aside just as her phone buzzed in the pocket of her white coat.

She almost ignored it.

Something — instinct, maybe — made her answer.

“Dr. Shepherd.”

A beat of silence.

Then a familiar voice, low and steady.

“Audrey.”

She straightened slightly.

Not alarmed. Just… attentive.

“Baran,” she said softly. “Hi.”

Another pause. Not awkward — weighted.

“Are you working?”

Audrey glanced out across the ER.

Monitors. Nurses. Controlled chaos.

“Yes,” she said. “But I can step away. Give me a second.”

She slipped into the nearest empty exam room and shut the door behind her. The noise of the ER dulled instantly.

“Okay,” she said. “What’s going on?”

On the other end, Baran exhaled — the kind of breath someone takes when they’ve been holding things together too long.

“I’m calling from Pittsburgh.”

Audrey leaned lightly against the counter.

“All right.”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t… necessary.”

That got her attention.

Audrey’s voice softened, but stayed steady.

“What do you need?”

Another small silence.

Then, carefully:

“Would you ever consider leaving Seattle for a few weeks?”

Audrey absorbed that.

She could hear background noise on Baran’s end — distant monitors, overhead announcements, a busy department running hot.

“Is this about staffing?” Audrey asked gently. “Or about you?”

Baran let out a quiet, humorless breath.

“Both.”

That told her everything.

Audrey closed her eyes briefly, thinking.

Of Meredith.

Of Amelia.

Of the kids.

Of the apartment that would sit empty.

When she spoke again, her voice was calm. Decided.

“How long?”

“A few weeks,” Baran said. “Maybe a month. Until things settle. Until…” She didn’t finish.

Audrey nodded to herself.

“Okay.”

A pause on the line.

“…okay?” Baran repeated.

Audrey opened her eyes.

“I’ll need to arrange coverage and tell Meredith I’m abandoning her,” she said lightly. “But yes. I can come.”

Silence. Then unmistakable relief.

“Thank you.”

Audrey smiled faintly, though no one could see it.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she said. “You wouldn’t have called unless it mattered.”

Outside the exam room, a trauma alert suddenly rang overhead.

She straightened automatically, hand already reaching for the door.

“When do you need me?” she asked.

“Next week.”

Audrey opened the door, stepping back into the controlled chaos of Grey Sloan.

She didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll catch a flight next Sunday after shift,” she said. “Text me the details.”

“Safe travels, Audrey.”

“You too, Baran.”

They hung up.

Audrey stood there for just a second — absorbing the shift, the decision already settling into place.

Then she moved.

Back into the trauma bay.

Back into motion.

Already preparing to leave Seattle behind for a while.

The elevator ride upstairs was quiet.

Too quiet.

Audrey stood alone inside it, one hand loosely wrapped around a paper chart she wasn’t actually reading. The soft hum of the elevator cables filled the space, a low mechanical drone that gave her just enough time to think.

Or overthink.

Pittsburgh.

A few weeks. Maybe a month.

She hadn’t left Seattle for anything but conferences in years. Not since…
Well.

Not since Derek.

The elevator dinged softly and the doors slid open onto the administrative floor.

Meredith Grey’s office sat at the far end of the hall, glass walls lit from within. Audrey could already see her through the door — seated behind the desk, reading something on her tablet, glasses low on her nose. A half-empty mug of coffee sat nearby, forgotten.

Audrey knocked lightly against the frame.

Meredith looked up immediately.

There was always something a little surreal about looking at her — Derek’s eyes looking back, sharper now, older. Wiser. Tired in the same places.

“Audrey,” Meredith said, pushing her glasses up and leaning back slightly. “You’re still here. I thought your shift ended an hour ago.”

“It did.” Audrey stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “Do you have a minute?”

Meredith’s brows lifted almost imperceptibly.

Audrey rarely asked for time. She usually just… sat. Or hovered. Or poured herself a drink from the small cabinet Meredith pretended not to keep stocked.

“Yeah,” Meredith said slowly. “Of course. What’s up?”

Audrey remained standing for a moment, then moved to the chair across from the desk and sat. She smoothed a hand over the front of her navy scrubs — a small, grounding gesture.

Meredith watched her carefully now.
Reading. Always reading.

“Is everyone okay?” Meredith asked. “Amelia didn’t call me crying, so I assume no one’s dead.”

A faint smile tugged at Audrey’s mouth.
“No one’s dead.”

“Good. That narrows it down.”

A small beat of quiet settled between them. Familiar. Not uncomfortable — just honest.

Audrey folded her hands loosely in her lap.

“I got a call tonight,” she said.

Meredith tilted her head slightly.
“From?”

“Baran. Al-Hashimi.”

Recognition flickered immediately. Meredith had met her once or twice — conferences, brief visits. Enough to know she mattered to Audrey.

Something in Meredith’s posture shifted, attention sharpening.

“Okay,” she said carefully.

“She’s in Pittsburgh,” Audrey continued. “She asked if I’d consider coming out for a few weeks. Temporary. They’re… stretched. She needs another attending she trusts.”

Meredith was very still now, eyes steady on Audrey’s face.

“And you said yes,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

Audrey nodded once.

“I told her I’d need to arrange coverage first. But yes.”

Silence filled the office — not shocked, not dramatic. Just thoughtful.

Meredith leaned back slowly in her chair, studying her.

“For how long?”

“A few weeks,” Audrey said. “Maybe a month. Depending on how things go.”

Another quiet beat.

Then Meredith nodded once, almost to herself.

“Okay.”

Audrey exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“You’re… okay with that?”

Meredith gave her a look — gentle, slightly incredulous.

“Audrey. You’re allowed to leave Seattle,” she said softly. “This isn’t a hostage situation.”

A faint, dry laugh escaped Audrey.

“I know. It just—” She paused, searching for words. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone anywhere that wasn’t… necessary.”

Meredith understood that immediately. Of course she did.

Seattle had become more than work for both of them. It was where Derek had lived. Where he’d died. Where pieces of him still lingered in hallways and ORs and quiet corners.

Leaving always carried weight.

Meredith reached for her coffee mug, then remembered it was empty and set it back down.

“When would you go?” she asked.

“Next Sunday, after shift. If I can get my schedule covered.”

Meredith nodded slowly, already mentally rearranging rosters. “I’ll talk to Bailey in the morning. We’ll make it work.”

A small pause.

Then, more softly:

“You want to go.”

Not a question. A recognition.

Audrey considered that.

“I want to help her,” she said. “And… I think it might be good for me to be somewhere new for a little while.”

Meredith’s gaze softened.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I get that.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Meredith stood, moving around the desk. She leaned lightly against the edge, arms folding loosely.

“Zola’s going to be personally offended you didn’t say goodbye first,” she said. “You know that, right?”

Audrey smiled — a real one this time. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning. Bring bribery. Probably pastries.”

“Good. She’ll forgive you if there’s chocolate involved.”

Another small silence settled — comfortable, familiar.

Meredith reached out then, resting her hand briefly over Audrey’s where it lay on her knee. A simple, grounding touch.

“Be careful out there,” she said quietly. “Call if you need anything. Or if you just… want to complain about a different hospital for a while.”

Audrey covered Meredith’s hand lightly with her own, squeezing once.

“I will.”

She stood then, smoothing her scrub top again out of habit.

At the door, she paused and looked back.

“Meredith?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Meredith gave a small, knowing half-smile.

“Bring me back something from Pittsburgh,” she said. “Preferably not emotional trauma.”

Audrey huffed a soft laugh.

“No promises.”

Audrey’s apartment was quiet in that intentional, curated way that came from years of living alone.

A low lamp glowed near the couch. A half-packed suitcase lay open on the bed down the short hallway, a few neatly folded sets of scrubs already inside. Her passport sat on the kitchen counter beside a small stack of hospital paperwork and a boarding pass confirmation glowing on her phone screen.

Rain tapped softly against the tall windows overlooking the city.

Audrey stood at the kitchen island, methodically wrapping a ceramic mug in a dish towel before placing it into her carry-on. She wasn’t taking much. She never did.

The knock at her door came sharp and sudden.

She stilled.

No one dropped by unannounced.
Not at this hour.

Another knock. More impatient this time.

Audrey crossed the apartment and opened the door.

Amelia Shepherd stood in the hallway, damp curls frizzed from the rain, leather jacket half-zipped and eyes already searching Audrey’s face like she expected to find something terrible there.

“Audrey.”

“Hi, Amelia.”

They stared at each other for a beat.

Then Amelia stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, shaking rain from her sleeves as she moved past her into the apartment.

“Meredith told me,” she said immediately, turning to face her. “You’re leaving. Tomorrow.”

Audrey closed the door gently.

“I was going to call you.”

“Mmm.” Amelia crossed her arms, pacing once across the living room before turning back. “You didn’t.”

Audrey didn’t take the bait. She leaned lightly against the back of the couch, calm.

“I just finished my shift. Then I went to Meredith. Then I came home to pack.”

Amelia looked toward the open suitcase visible down the hall.

“You’re actually doing this,” she said quietly.

“Yes.”

A beat of silence stretched between them, thick with things neither of them said right away.

Amelia dragged a hand through her hair, restless energy radiating off her in waves.

“For how long?” she asked.

“A few weeks. Maybe a month.”

“A month,” Amelia repeated, like testing the shape of it. “Across the country. At some hospital you’ve never worked at. For a friend I’ve met… twice.”

“Baran is a very good physician,” Audrey said gently. “And she wouldn’t have asked if she didn’t need help.”

“That’s not what this is about.”

Amelia’s voice sharpened slightly — not angry yet, but close. Emotional.

Audrey held her gaze, patient.

“No,” she agreed softly. “It’s not.”

Amelia exhaled hard and started pacing again, unable to stay still.

“This is you running,” she said. “You do this. You get… restless or sad or whatever and suddenly you’re volunteering for disaster zones or conferences or temporary assignments—”

“I’m not running,” Audrey said quietly.

Amelia stopped.

The calm certainty in Audrey’s voice cut through the room more effectively than any raised tone could have.

Rain tapped steadily against the windows.

Audrey stepped away from the couch and moved a little closer, though she kept a respectful distance.

“I’m going because someone I care about asked for help,” she said. “And because I can give it.”

Amelia’s eyes searched her face — intense, almost desperate.

“And because staying here feels too still sometimes,” Amelia said softly. “Right?”

Audrey didn’t answer immediately.

She didn’t need to.

That was answer enough.

Amelia swallowed, jaw tightening.

“Seattle is still… ours,” she said. “You don’t have to leave it to— I don’t know — prove something. Or fix something. Or—”

“This isn’t about Derek,” Audrey said gently.

The name settled between them anyway.

Amelia’s eyes flickered.

“Everything’s about Derek,” she muttered.

Audrey stepped closer then, reaching out and resting a hand lightly on Amelia’s arm — grounding, steady.

“Amelia.”

Her tone softened further.

“I’m not leaving Seattle,” she said. “I’m taking a temporary assignment to help a friend. That’s all. I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.”

Amelia let out a small, shaky laugh that held no humor.

“I already miss you,” she admitted.

That cracked something open — just a little.

Audrey’s expression warmed, eyes softening. She squeezed Amelia’s arm once before letting go.

“You are a brilliant neurosurgeon,” she said. “You run an entire department. You have three children who think you hung the moon and a sister-in-law who would burn this hospital down if you vanished.”

Amelia huffed a quiet breath, blinking fast.

“You’ll be fine without me for a few weeks.”

Amelia looked at her for a long moment.

“I just… don’t like when the people I love scatter,” she said. “It makes the world feel less stable.”

Audrey understood that too well.

She reached out again, this time pulling Amelia into a gentle hug.

Amelia went without resistance, pressing her forehead briefly against Audrey’s shoulder. They stood like that for a few seconds — not dramatic, just close. Familiar.

“You can call me whenever you want,” Audrey murmured. “Day or night. I mean that.”

Amelia nodded against her.

“Fine,” she muttered after a moment. “But I’m going to complain the entire time you’re gone.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

They pulled apart slowly.

Amelia wiped under her eyes quickly, regaining her usual restless composure. She glanced toward the half-packed suitcase again, then back to Audrey.

“Pittsburgh, huh,” she said. “You and your mysterious trauma-surgeon friend.”

Audrey smiled faintly.

“Just a few weeks. And you’ve met Baran, back in New York. So I don’t even want to hear it.”

Amelia sighed, defeated but not entirely unhappy.

“Okay,” she said. “Then I’m staying for a glass of wine and helping you pack. Because if you try to leave this apartment without at least three impractical coats, Meredith will blame me.”

Audrey laughed softly — a warm, genuine sound that filled the apartment.

“That seems fair.”

She moved toward the kitchen, reaching for two glasses.

Chapter Text

The city was still half-asleep when Audrey arrived.

A pale gray dawn stretched over Pittsburgh, the sky just beginning to lighten behind low winter clouds. The streets were damp from overnight rain, sidewalks shining faintly under streetlamps that hadn’t quite clicked off yet.

Audrey stepped out of the cab and pulled her coat a little tighter against the cold.

Hospitals always felt different in the early morning — suspended between night shift exhaustion and day shift anticipation. That fragile hour where everything was quieter, but only barely. Like the building itself was holding its breath.

She thanked the driver, lifted her carry-on from the trunk, and turned toward the emergency entrance.

Automatic doors slid open with a soft hydraulic sound.

Warm air met her first.

Then the familiar ER symphony:

Monitors.

Distant voices.

The low rumble of a floor buffer somewhere down the hall.

Coffee brewing.

Audrey paused just inside the entrance for half a second — enough to take in the layout, the energy, the flow of people moving through the space.

Different hospital.

Same pulse.

She stepped forward.

At the central desk, a few night-shift nurses leaned against the counter with that particular brand of early-morning fatigue — not quite done, not quite off duty. A resident yawned into a paper cup of coffee. Someone laughed softly at something.

Audrey approached, calm and unhurried.

“Good morning,” she said gently to the unit clerk. “I’m looking for Dr. Al-Hashimi.”

Before the clerk could answer, a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

“She made it.”

Audrey turned.

Baran Al-Hashimi stood a few feet away, tablet in one hand, dark hair pulled back, expression composed but unmistakably relieved. She looked like she’d already been there for hours — which she probably had.

Audrey smiled softly.

“Hi.”

Baran closed the remaining distance, stopping just in front of her. For a brief moment they simply looked at each other — confirmation, grounding, the quiet comfort of a trusted colleague made visible.

“You got in late?” Baran asked.

“About ten,” Audrey said. “Hotel was close. I figured I’d start early.”

A faint hint of approval touched Baran’s expression.

“Of course you did.”

They shared a brief, warm clasp of forearms — not quite a hug, but close enough.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Baran said quietly.

Audrey’s tone stayed gentle.

“Me too.”

Baran gestured toward the main board behind the desk.

“Perfect timing. We’re about to do the morning attending handoff. You can meet everyone while they’re starting to be caffeinated.”

“I appreciate that.”

They moved together toward the center of the department.

A tall attending stood at the workstation reviewing a tablet, finishing a conversation with a nurse who looked ready to go home. He glanced up as Baran approached, eyes flicking briefly to Audrey with professional curiosity.

“Jack,” Baran said. “Hold on a second.”

He turned fully.

“Dr. Audrey Shepherd,” Baran continued. “ER attending from Grey Sloan in Seattle. She’ll be with us for a few weeks.”

There was a subtle shift in his expression at the hospital name — recognition, respect. He stepped forward immediately, offering his hand.

“Jack Abbott,” he said. “Welcome to Pittsburgh.”

Audrey set her bag down beside the desk and shook his hand, grip steady and warm.

“Nice to meet you,” she said. “Thanks for letting me step into your department unannounced.”

He gave a small, easy smile.

“We’re an adaptable group.”

Baran nodded toward the board.

“Jack’s finishing up night shift. You can jump in on handoff if you’re ready.”

Audrey slipped her coat off, folding it neatly over the back of a nearby chair. Black scrubs underneath. Hair pulled back.

“Absolutely,” she said.

Jack angled the tablet slightly so both women could see.

“Okay,” he said, shifting into report mode. “We’re holding two admits waiting on beds upstairs. Trauma three’s a fall from a ladder — stable, ortho wants him. Room six is a COPD exacerbation we’ve finally turned around. And we’ve got a chest pain in nine I don’t trust yet. Labs pending.”

Audrey listened closely, absorbing the cadence, the department rhythm, the way this ER breathed. Her mind mapped everything automatically — supply locations, staff movement, potential bottlenecks.

Different place. Same language.

Jack glanced at her briefly as he continued, quietly assessing — the way experienced attendings always did with someone new.

“…and EMS just called in a possible stroke ten minutes out,” he finished. “So day shift’s inheriting that.”

Audrey nodded once, calm.

“Of course they are.”

A faint huff of amusement escaped him — approval without saying it.

Baran looked between them, tension easing now that Audrey stood beside her, present and real.

“I’ll get you a badge and login after this,” Baran said quietly to Audrey. “Then we’ll put you to work.”

Audrey rested a hand lightly on the back of a nearby chair, entirely at ease.

“Lead the way,” she said.

The CT scanner hummed steadily behind the glass.

Audrey stood just outside the control area, one shoulder resting lightly against the wall as images began loading onto the monitor. A nurse hurried past with a clipboard. Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang twice before being snatched up.

Baran stood beside her, arms loosely folded, watching the scan populate. The patient had gone in quickly — onset within the window, vitals stable enough for now. A good catch if they moved fast.

Footsteps approached at an efficient pace.

“Morning,” a voice said.

Audrey turned.

Dr. Mehta approached, already pulling on gloves as he walked, expression alert but not rushed. His gaze moved first to Baran in quick acknowledgment, then to Audrey — taking in the unfamiliar face with professional curiosity.

“Neuro consult?” he asked.

“Seventy-two-year-old male,” Audrey answered easily. “Found by wife about half an hour after onset — right-sided weakness, aphasia, hypertensive but stable. CT’s up now.”

Mehta shifted closer to the monitor, clearly registering her voice first — confident, collaborative — before the details. He gave a small nod.

“Neuro,” he said. “Mehta.”

“ER,” she replied with a quick, friendly smile. “Audrey Shepherd. Fresh import from Seattle.”

A faint flicker of amusement touched his expression.

“No promises.”

They both leaned slightly toward the screen as the images sharpened.

Audrey folded her arms loosely, studying the scan with him. She didn’t crowd his space, didn’t defer unnecessarily — just settled into that easy professional proximity that came when two experienced attendings shared a case.

“No obvious bleed,” she said. “Which is already a better morning than some.”

“Agreed,” Mehta murmured, zooming in slightly. “Possible early ischemic changes… here. Left MCA territory.”

“That tracks with presentation.”

A brief pause settled while they both assessed.

“Grey Sloan?” Mehta asked, glancing at her. “Baran mentioned Seattle.”

“Yep.”

He nodded once, still scanning.

“Shepherd,” he said a moment later, tone thoughtful. “Any relation to… Derek Shepherd?”

Audrey didn’t tense or sigh — just shifted her weight and smiled lightly.

“Yeah,” she said. “He was my brother.”

Mehta’s brows lifted slightly in recognition.

“Seriously.”

“Seriously.”

He leaned back a fraction, reassessing her with quiet interest now.

“I trained off some of his neuro protocols during fellowship,” he said. “Guy had a reputation.”

Audrey huffed a soft laugh.

“Oh, he would’ve loved hearing that,” she said. “He never got tired of being impressive.”

That earned a brief, genuine smile from him.

“Well,” he said, gesturing lightly toward the screen, “good medical genetics clearly run in the family.”

“Or stubbornness,” she replied. “Hard to separate the two.”

Baran watched the exchange quietly, something in her shoulders easing. Audrey had slipped into the department exactly the way she always did — not forcing presence, not holding back either. 

Mehta straightened, decision made.

“Timing still puts him in the window,” he said. “If family consents, I’d like to move forward with thrombolytics.”

“Already ahead of you,” Audrey said, pushing off the wall. “I’ll talk to the wife and get pharmacy moving. You want to lead consent or want me to start?”

He gave her a quick assessing look — not testing, just calibrating — then nodded.

“Let’s do it together.”

“Perfect.”

They started down the hallway in step.

After a few paces, Mehta glanced over again, faint curiosity lingering.

“So,” he said, “Seattle to Pittsburgh is a bit of a change. Temporary?”

“Couple weeks,” Audrey said easily. “Friend called, needed backup. I’m very susceptible to guilt and cheap plane tickets.”

He let out a quiet laugh.

“Well,” he said, pushing open the patient room door ahead of her, “we’re happy to benefit from both.”

She flashed a quick grin as she stepped through.

“Give it a few days,” she said. “Then decide if you still feel that way.”

And just like that, they were already working like colleagues who’d known each other longer than an hour. 

The department shifted in subtle waves as day shift filtered in.

Fresh coffee.

Clean scrubs.

Sleepy but alert faces trying to look more awake than they felt.

Audrey stood beside Baran at the central workstation, sleeves pushed just slightly up, badge clipped on now. She’d already been in motion for nearly an hour, but this — the morning handoff — was where you really met a department.

Where you learned its rhythm.

Its people.

A cluster of residents and med students gathered near the board, clutching tablets and coffee cups, trying to look simultaneously competent and invisible — a universal early-morning trainee posture.

Baran tapped lightly on the counter.

“Alright,” she said. “Quick handoff before we all get pulled in six directions.”

Conversations quieted.

A few eyes drifted — and landed on Audrey.

New face.

Unknown attending.

Interest immediately piqued.

Baran gestured beside her.

“Before we start — this is Dr. Audrey Shepherd. She’s an ER attending from Grey Sloan in Seattle. She’ll be with us for a few weeks helping out.”

There was a subtle shift in the group — curiosity sharpening, a couple of residents straightening slightly. Grey Sloan carried weight even here.

Audrey gave them an easy, warm smile.

“Good morning,” she said. “I come in peace and with no intention of ruining anyone’s day.”

A small ripple of relieved laughter moved through the group.

Good. Ice broken.

Baran hid a faint smile and nodded toward them.

“Go ahead. Introduce yourselves so she knows who to blame when things go wrong.”

That got a bigger laugh.

A petite woman lifted a hand slightly.

“Victoria Javadi, MS4.”

“Hi, Victoria.”

“Dr. Dennis Whitaker, intern.”

“Dr. Trinity Santos, R2.”

Audrey made eye contact with each, repeating names easily, already filing them away. It was a small thing — but trainees noticed when attendings bothered.

When they finished, she rested a hand lightly on the edge of the desk.

“Alright,” she said. “Here’s my one rule.”

A few shoulders tensed automatically.

Rule. Dangerous words.

She smiled.

“If you’re worried about a patient, I want to know. Early. Not after you’ve stared at the chart for an hour hoping the problem fixes itself.”

Visible relief flickered through more than one face.

“I don’t bite,” she added. 

A soft chuckle moved through the group.

“And,” she continued, tone easy but sincere, “if I’m moving fast or something sounds abrupt, it’s never personal. It just means something’s on fire. We’ll always circle back if there are questions. And if you have questions, please ask.”

Baran watched quietly, satisfied. Audrey had a way of setting tone without making a speech — just enough warmth, just enough authority.

“Alright,” Baran said, returning to business. “Let’s run the board.”

They moved through patients quickly — night shift summaries, pending labs, admits waiting for beds. Audrey listened closely, occasionally asking a quick clarifying question but never interrupting flow.

At one point a med student stumbled slightly over a presentation, flipping anxiously through notes.

Audrey stepped in gently.

“Take a breath,” she said, voice calm and kind. “Start with what you know for sure.”

The student exhaled and tried again — smoother this time.

When she finished, Audrey gave a small approving nod.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

The student’s shoulders dropped about two inches.

As handoff wrapped, people began to disperse — residents heading for rooms, nurses checking boards, the day truly beginning.

A third-year lingered a second longer, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Dr. Shepherd?” he asked. “You said Grey Sloan… like Seattle?”

“Last I checked,” she said lightly.

He hesitated, then:

“Are you— um… related to Derek Shepherd?”

Baran glanced over, mildly amused.

Audrey smiled easily, not bothered in the slightest.

“Yeah,” she said. “He was my brother.”

The small group that remained reacted in quiet surprise — not dramatic, just impressed.

“Wow,” one of the interns murmured.

Audrey waved it off gently.

“He set the neurosurgery bar aggressively high for the rest of us,” she said. “My other sister followed him into neurosurgery. My one sister is an OBGYN, the other one is a psychiatrist. I went into emergency medicine out of self-preservation.”

That earned a few laughs.

“Alright,” she clapped her hands lightly once. “Go save people. I’ll try not to slow you down.”

They dispersed with noticeably lighter energy than before.

Baran stepped beside her again, watching the residents scatter.

“You’ve been here two hours,” she said quietly. “They already like you.”

Audrey picked up a chart, scanning it.

“Good,” she said. “It’s always easier to do hard work with people who don’t actively fear you.”

Baran huffed a quiet laugh.

Three weeks in Pittsburgh.

Three weeks of long shifts, late-night debriefs with Baran, learning everyone’s names and earning quiet trust.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed the change until she was already in it.

Audrey picked up her tablet and turned toward the hallway when a voice carried from behind her.

“Dr. Shepherd.”

She turned.

Gloria Underwood stood a few feet away, hands loosely clasped, posture as composed and deliberate as ever. Hospital leadership had a way of appearing silently — and somehow always at exactly the right moment.

Audrey offered a polite, warm smile.

“Dr. Underwood.”

“Do you have a minute?”

“Of course.”

Gloria gestured toward the small glass-walled consult room just off the main desk. Audrey stepped inside with her, closing the door behind them as the noise of the ER dulled to a soft murmur.

Gloria didn’t sit. Neither did Audrey.

For a moment, Gloria simply regarded her — thoughtful, assessing in a way that didn’t feel cold so much as precise.

“You’ve been here three weeks,” Gloria said.

“Yes.”

“And in that time,” Gloria continued, “I’ve received an unusual number of unsolicited positive comments.”

A small hint of humor touched Audrey’s expression.

“That’s always slightly alarming to hear.”

“From nursing,” Gloria went on, ignoring that lightly. “From residents. From attendings. From patients.”

She paused.

“From Dr. Al-Hashimi. Dr. Abbot speaks very highly of you as well.”

That one landed more quietly.

Audrey folded her hands loosely in front of her.

“I’m glad I’ve been helpful,” she said.

Gloria studied her a moment longer, then spoke plainly.

“Your temporary assignment was scheduled for one month.”

“Yes.”

“We would like you to consider extending it.”

Audrey didn’t react immediately — not out of shock, but because she took things seriously when they were asked this directly. She shifted her weight slightly, absorbing the request.

“For how long?” she asked.

“Another month to start,” Gloria said. “Possibly longer, depending on staffing developments. Your presence has provided… stability during a period of transition.”

Through the glass wall, Audrey could see the ER continuing its steady motion — residents moving room to room, nurses updating boards, Baran speaking with a patient’s family near the far desk.

Stability.

She understood what that meant in a place like this.

“I would need to coordinate with Seattle,” Audrey said carefully. “My position isn’t open-ended.”

“Of course,” Gloria said smoothly. “We would work around whatever arrangement is necessary. This is a request, not a demand.”

A small pause.

Then, more personally:

“You’ve integrated here with ease,” Gloria added. “That isn’t something we take lightly.”

She hadn’t planned to stay long enough to matter.

Hadn’t planned to feel… settled.

“I appreciate that,” she said quietly.

Gloria inclined her head once — acknowledgment.

“Take some time to consider,” she said. “Speak with Seattle. With your family. But know that you would be welcome here for as long as you’re willing to stay.”

She turned toward the door, then paused with her hand on the handle.

“And for what it’s worth,” she added, glancing back, “it’s been some time since I’ve seen this department this… balanced.”

Then she stepped out into the ER, leaving Audrey standing alone in the small room.

For a moment, Audrey didn’t move.

Through the glass she watched the floor:

Baran at the desk.

Residents conferring over a chart.

A nurse laughing at something someone said.

A place that, unexpectedly, had begun to feel familiar.

She exhaled slowly.

Another month.

Maybe more.

Audrey reached for her phone, already knowing she’d have a call to make to Seattle and several people who would have opinions about this development.

A small, quiet corporate hotel overlooking the river.

Soft lamplight. Shoes kicked off by the door.

Audrey sat on the edge of the couch with her phone in her hands for a moment before tapping FaceTime.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then Meredith’s face filled the screen.

Windblown hair pulled into a loose bun, glasses perched low on her nose, hospital lighting behind her. She looked tired — but in that capable, Meredith way that meant she was still very much in charge of everything.

“Audrey,” Meredith said, instantly softening. “Hey. How’s Pittsburgh?”

Audrey leaned back into the couch, smiling faintly.

“Cold. Efficient. Slightly obsessed with pierogies.”

“Sounds correct.”

Meredith studied her for half a second longer — reading her the way she always did.

“You got asked to stay longer,” she said.

Not a question.

Audrey huffed a quiet laugh.

“Am I that predictable?”

“You only FaceTime me midweek if something changed,” Meredith replied. “So. How much longer?”

“Another month. Maybe more.” Audrey hesitated. “Gloria asked today.”

Meredith nodded slowly, absorbing that without surprise.

“And you’re considering it.”

“I am.”

A small silence settled — not tense, just thoughtful.

“Hey,” Meredith said gently. “Before you start worrying about Seattle… your job is fine. Your job will be here whenever you come back.”

Audrey blinked slightly.

“You haven’t even asked if I want it to be.”

“I don’t need to,” Meredith said simply. “You’re not leaving Grey Sloan. You’re helping someone. That’s what you do.”

Something in Audrey’s chest loosened.

Meredith shifted the phone slightly.

“Also,” she added, voice brightening, “you have an audience.”

The screen tilted — and suddenly three small faces crowded into view.

“AUNT AUDREY!”

Zola appeared first, taller than the last time Audrey had seen her, braids pulled back and eyes bright with curiosity.

Behind her, Bailey tried to wedge into frame, grinning.

Ellis popped up last, bouncing slightly like she’d been waiting for this moment.

Audrey’s face lit up fully for the first time all day.

“Well hi, you three,” she said warmly. “Look at you. Did you grow another inch since last week?”

“Yes,” Ellis said immediately.

“No she didn’t,” Bailey countered.

“Did too.”

Zola rolled her eyes in that quietly mature way that made her look so much like Meredith it hurt a little.

“When are you coming back?” Bailey asked bluntly.

Audrey tilted her head.

“Funny you should ask. I might be staying a little longer.”

All three reacted at once.

“How long?”

“Why?”

“Is it because of work?”

Meredith laughed softly behind them.

“Okay, back up, one at a time. She just called.”

Audrey smiled gently at the screen.

“A few more weeks,” she said. “The hospital here needs some help and I said I’d stay. But I’ll be back before you forget what I look like.”

Ellis leaned closer to the camera.

“I would never forget you.”

Audrey’s expression softened.

“I would hope not.”

Zola studied her more quietly.

“You like it there,” she said.

Not accusing. Just perceptive.

Audrey nodded slowly.

“I do. It’s… good work. Good people.”

Zola gave a small approving nod, satisfied.

Audrey swallowed once, smiling to keep it light.

“Well,” she said, “I miss you all. A lot.”

“We miss you too,” Zola said softly.

Meredith reached around them and nudged them back slightly.

“Alright, bedtime chaos gremlins. Say goodnight.”

A chorus of:

“Goodnight Aunt Audrey!”

“Love you!”

“Bring snacks when you come back!”

Then the screen shifted back to Meredith alone as she walked into a quieter hallway.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then Meredith leaned lightly against a wall.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

Audrey nodded.

“Yeah. I think… I think staying a little longer is the right call.”

“Then stay,” Meredith said immediately. “We’re fine here. Your job’s safe. Your apartment’s safe. Your family’s safe. Go do what you need to do.”

Audrey exhaled slowly, tension she hadn’t realized she carried finally easing.

“Thank you,” she said.

Meredith gave her a small, knowing smile.

“Just come back eventually,” she said. “Amelia will start redecorating your place if you’re gone too long.”

Audrey laughed quietly.

“That’s a legitimate threat.”

They lingered on the call another minute — comfortable silence, shared understanding.

“Get some sleep,” Meredith said.

“You too.”

“Text me when you decide officially.”

“I will.”

They ended the call.

Audrey sat back against the couch, phone resting loosely in her hand, the apartment quiet again — but no longer lonely.

The bar was warm in that quiet, low-lit way that made conversation feel easier.

Brick walls.

Soft jazz somewhere in the background.

A handful of tables filled with end-of-shift hospital staff unwinding in muted voices. The kind of place where no one minded scrubs under winter coats and tired eyes over good wine.

Audrey slid into the booth first, shrugging off her coat and draping it neatly beside her. She’d found this place two weeks ago and immediately claimed it as neutral ground — not too loud, not too trendy, and most importantly, no one from administration hovering nearby.

Baran arrived a minute later, slipping into the seat across from her with a quiet exhale that spoke of a long shift finally ending.

“Please tell me you ordered already,” Baran said.

Audrey lifted a brow.

“I know you better than that.”

Right on cue, a server appeared and set down two glasses of deep red without needing to ask. Baran picked hers up immediately, taking a slow sip like someone resurfacing after being underwater.

“God,” she murmured. “That’s better.”

Audrey smiled faintly, lifting her own glass.

“To surviving another day.”

They clinked lightly.

For a few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence — the kind that only existed between people who had worked enough brutal shifts together to know quiet was sometimes the best decompression.

Baran leaned back into the booth, shoulders finally dropping.

“You’ve settled in,” she said, studying Audrey over the rim of her glass.

Audrey tilted her head slightly.

“I think so.”

“Nursing likes you.”

“That’s because I bring snacks occasionally.”

“Residents like you.”

“They like anyone who answers pages.”

Baran’s mouth twitched.

“Patients like you.”

Audrey gave a small shrug.

“I try to be a decent human being. It’s a low bar.”

Baran let out a soft breath that almost resembled a laugh.

Then her expression shifted — not heavy, but thoughtful. Preparing to say something.

Audrey noticed immediately.

“What?” she asked, gentle.

Baran rotated her wine glass slowly between her fingers, watching the liquid catch the low light.

“The chief attending comes back tomorrow,” she said.

Audrey’s brows lifted slightly.

“Ah.”

There was a particular tone people used when referencing a department head. She recognized it instantly.

Baran glanced up.

“I just… wanted to give you a heads-up,” she said. “So you don’t misread anything.”

Audrey leaned back in her seat, relaxed.

“Okay.”

Baran chose her words carefully.

“He’s very good,” she said first. “Excellent physician. Runs the department well.”

A beat.

“…but?”

Baran exhaled quietly.

“He can be… gruff,” she admitted. “Direct. Not especially warm on first impression.”

Audrey smiled faintly.

“I’ve worked in emergency medicine for fifteen years. Gruff doesn’t scare me.”

“I know,” Baran said. “I just don’t want you thinking you’ve done something wrong if he seems… short. Or critical.”

She met Audrey’s eyes directly now.

“He’s like that with everyone. Especially when he’s just come back from being away.”

Audrey took a slow sip of wine, considering.

“Burnout?” she asked gently.

Baran gave a small, noncommittal tilt of her head.

“Something like that.”

A quiet understanding passed between them — the unspoken recognition of what long-term ER work did to people.

Audrey set her glass down.

“Thanks for the warning,” she said sincerely. “But you don’t need to worry about me taking things personally. I promise.”

Baran studied her for a moment, then nodded once.

“I know you can handle yourself,” she said. “I just… want this place to feel good for you while you’re here.”

That landed warmly.

Audrey’s expression softened.

“It does,” she said. “It already does.”

Baran’s shoulders eased slightly at that.

They sat for another moment, the conversation settling.

Then Audrey tilted her head, a small spark of curiosity appearing.

“So,” she said lightly, “how gruff are we talking? Mildly prickly? Or ‘needs coffee and a warning label’?”

Baran huffed a quiet laugh into her wine.

“…let’s just say,” she replied, “don’t be alarmed if he forgets to smile for the first few hours.”

Audrey grinned.

“I work in an ER. If he’s not actively throwing things at me, we’ll call it a success.”

That earned a real laugh from Baran — brief but genuine.

Outside, the Pittsburgh night moved quietly past the windows.

Inside, the two of them sat in the warm glow of the wine bar, the easy comfort of friendship settling between them.

Audrey lifted her glass once more, calm and unbothered.

Chapter Text

The automatic doors slid open just as the first pale light of morning filtered through the high ER windows.

Audrey stepped inside with a travel mug in one hand and her bag over her shoulder, scarf still looped loosely around her neck from the cold outside. She paused just long enough to take in the department — the now-familiar rhythm of early shift settling in.

Three weeks ago, she’d stood in this same spot feeling like a visitor.

Now it felt comfortable.

She headed toward the central desk.

A cluster of residents stood near the board, mid-discussion over coffee and overnight labs. Victoria spotted her first.

“Morning, Dr. Shepherd.”

“Morning,” she replied easily, smiling as she approached. “How bad is it out there?”

Dr. McKay grimaced.

“Define bad.”

“Coffee hasn’t kicked in and there’s already a GI bleed,” she said.

Audrey winced sympathetically.

“Alright, yeah, that qualifies.”

She set her bag down at the workstation, glancing at the board.

“Anything actively on fire or just smoldering?” she asked.

“Smoldering,” Samira said. “For now.”

“Good.”

She turned slightly as footsteps approached from the ambulance bay side.

Dana emerged carrying a stack of charts, glasses perched low on her nose. She spotted Audrey immediately and her expression warmed — not overly demonstrative, but unmistakably pleased.

“Well, look who’s early,” Dana said.

Audrey lifted her Coke in greeting.

“Trying to maintain my reputation as dependable.”

Dana snorted softly.

“You’re making the rest of them look bad,” she said, nodding toward the residents.

“I would never,” Audrey replied solemnly. “I’m here purely for morale.”

Dana handed off a chart to a passing nurse, then leaned lightly against the desk.

“You ready for today?” she asked. “Could be interesting.”

Audrey tilted her head.

“That’s a loaded statement.”

Dana’s mouth twitched.

“Robby’s back.”

“Ah,” Audrey said lightly.

Dana gave her a look that said you’ll see but didn’t elaborate.

Before she could respond, another voice joined in.

“Morning.”

Jack Abbott approached from the hallway, tablet in hand. He looked more rested than he usually did at this hour.

His gaze landed on Audrey and he gave a small nod of greeting.

“Shepherd,” he said. “You’re here early.”

Audrey smiled.

“I’ve learned the coffee’s better if I get here before the residents finish it.”

“That’s because we hide the good stuff,” Santos muttered.

Jack huffed a quiet laugh and set his tablet down on the counter beside hers.

They stood there a moment — easy professional familiarity now, no longer the careful politeness of new colleagues, Audrey scrolling the tablet and Jack looking at the board.

Dana glanced between them, then toward the board.

“Enjoy the calm while it lasts,” she said. “Night shift just handed over a potential mess in room eight and EMS called about ten minutes out with a possible trauma.”

Audrey straightened slightly, energy shifting into work mode without losing the easy warmth.

“Perfect,” she said. “Nothing like starting the day properly.”

Jack picked up his tablet again, already scanning.

“You ready to meet the boss?” he asked casually, not looking up.

Audrey took a slow sip of Coke.

“As long as he doesn’t throw anything before I’ve finished this,” she said.

Dana smothered a smile.

“Give it time,” she muttered.

The three of them stood at the central desk as the department hummed awake around them, residents moving, nurses updating boards, monitors chiming softly.

The first hint of him was the shift in the room.

Just a subtle tightening of attention near the ambulance bay doors, like the department itself had noticed something familiar returning.

Dana looked up first.

Jack followed a second later.

Audrey, mid-sip of water, noticed the change before she saw the cause.

The ambulance bay doors slid open and a tall, broad-shouldered scruffy man stepped inside, shrugging out of a dark winter coat with the faintly irritated energy of someone who would’ve preferred literally anywhere else.

He paused just inside the department, scanning instinctively — eyes moving across monitors, staff, the board. Taking inventory. It was the kind of look you only got from someone who’d run an ER long enough that it lived in their muscle memory.

He did not look thrilled to be back.

He looked resigned.

And faintly annoyed about it.

Dana’s face broke into a rare, genuine smile.

“Well, look what the cat dragged back,” she said, already moving toward him.

Jack straightened from the desk, expression easing into something unmistakably relieved.

Robby spotted them and gave a short nod — not unfriendly, just not effusive.

“Dana.”

“Robby.”

She reached him first and pulled him into a quick, firm hug before he could protest. He tolerated it with minimal grumbling, one hand patting her back once like a man fulfilling an obligation.

“Yeah, alright,” he muttered. “Good to see you too.”

Jack stepped forward next, extending a hand which Robby took, their shake solid and familiar.

“Welcome back,” Jack said.

Robby exhaled through his nose.

“Define welcome.”

Jack smirked slightly.

Dana crossed her arms, studying him.

“You look rested.”

“I was,” he said flatly. “Past tense.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Jack.

Baran approached from the far side of the desk, having spotted him the moment he walked in. Her expression was composed but clearly pleased to see him upright and back in the building.

“Robby,” she said.

He turned toward her, the irritation in his posture easing just a fraction.

“Morning,” he replied. “You kept the place standing.”

“Barely,” she said dryly.

A brief pause settled — a professional recalibration as he reoriented himself to being back in this space, this role.

Then Baran gestured toward the central desk.

“There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Robby followed her gaze.

And for the first time, his attention landed fully on Audrey.

She stood a few feet away, Coke in hand, posture relaxed but attentive — watching the reunion with quiet interest. Black scrubs, warm but composed expression. Clearly not a resident. Not a nurse. Not someone he recognized.

Baran spoke.

“This is Dr. Audrey Shepherd,” she said. “ER attending from Grey Sloan in Seattle. She’s been helping us out the past few weeks.”

Robby’s gaze shifted back to Audrey — sharper now. Assessing, but not unkind. Just thorough.

Audrey stepped forward easily, offering a friendly, confident smile.

“Hi,” she said. “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve been off enjoying a peaceful sabbatical.”

One corner of his mouth twitched despite himself — not quite a smile, but close.

“That’s one way to describe it,” he said.

He extended a hand. She took it.

His grip was firm, steady.

So was hers.

“Shepherd,” he repeated, the name settling in.

A flicker of recognition moved across his expression — subtle but unmistakable.

“…Shepherd,” he said again, more thoughtfully this time.

Audrey caught it immediately. She’d seen that look before in hospitals across the country.

“Yeah,” she said lightly. “That Shepherd.”

Understanding landed.

His brows lifted just slightly.

“Huh.”

Not starstruck. Not overly impressed. Just… recalibrating.

“Family business,” she added with a small, easy smile.

That earned the faintest hint of amusement from him — a brief exhale through his nose.

“Looks like it.”

A short beat of quiet settled as he studied her once more, this time not just as a new attending but as someone with a known name attached. Still assessing — competence, presence, how she carried herself in his department.

Then he gave a small nod, decision made for now.

“Welcome to Pittsburgh,” he said. “Or… welcome a few weeks ago, I guess.”

“Thanks,” she replied. “It’s been good so far..”

“Give it time,” Dana muttered.

That drew the faintest almost-smile from Robby — there and gone.

He shifted his attention back to the board, already sliding back into work mode like he’d never left.

“What’s the damage?” he asked.

Jack stepped beside him, launching into a quick summary.

As they talked, Audrey moved back to the desk beside Baran, setting her coffee down. She felt the subtle shift in the department — a center of gravity returning, whether anyone said it out loud or not.

Baran leaned slightly toward her.

“See?” she murmured quietly. “Gruff.”

Audrey watched Robby scan the board, jaw set, focus absolute.

Then she glanced back at Baran, a small, amused smile forming.

“I’ve worked with worse,” she said softly.

The calm lasted exactly twelve minutes.

Then the overhead cracked alive.

“STEMI alert. EMS inbound. Five minutes.”

The department shifted instantly — that sharp, focused tightening that came with cardiac alerts. Residents straightened. Nurses moved. A crash cart rolled smoothly into position.

Audrey set her Coke down without finishing it.

“Alright,” she said lightly, already moving toward Trauma 1. “Who’s mine this morning?”

“Sixty-two-year-old male,” Dr. Santos said quickly, jogging beside her. “Chest pain started about forty minutes ago at home. EMS transmitted EKG — anterior elevation.”

“Perfect,” Audrey said. “Let’s make cardiology love us.”

She stepped into the bay, already pulling gloves on.

Behind her, she felt rather than saw Robby shift closer.

He didn’t step in.

Didn’t take over.

Just… hovered near the edge of the trauma bay, arms loosely folded, expression neutral but watchful.

Reclaiming his department.

Observing how it had been run in his absence.

The stretcher burst through the doors.

“Sixty-two-year-old male,” EMS began. “Crushing chest pain, radiating left arm. Diaphoretic. ST elevations in V2 through V5. Aspirin and nitro given, minimal relief.”

Audrey stepped smoothly to the bedside.

“Hi, sir. I’m Dr. Shepherd. We’re going to take care of you, okay?”

The patient nodded weakly, pale and sweating.

She looked up, calm but energized.

“Alright team, talk to me. Vitals?”

“BP ninety-eight over sixty, heart rate one-ten,” Kim replied.

“Okay. Let’s move quickly.”

Her tone was warm but decisive — no sharp edges, no hesitation.

“Two large-bore IVs if we don’t have them. Labs and troponin. Repeat EKG. Page cath lab and tell them we’re coming to ruin their morning.”

A few quiet smiles from the nurses.

Dr. Mohan stepped in beside her, already placing orders.

“Want heparin started?” he asked.

“Good idea,” Audrey said. “Let’s get ahead of it.”

She moved around the bed, placing a stethoscope briefly against the patient’s chest, assessing quickly but thoroughly. Her movements were efficient, confident — practiced.

Behind her, Robby watched.

Silent.

Still.

Arms folded.

He tracked everything, how she spoke to the patient, how she addressed the team and whether residents were thinking or just following.

“Repeat EKG,” Jesse said, handing it over.

Audrey glanced at it, then angled it toward Dr. Santos beside her.

“What do you see?”

The resident leaned in, slightly nervous under pressure — and under Robby’s unseen scrutiny.

“ST elevation anterior leads… looks like LAD.”

“Good,” Audrey said easily. “That’s what I see too. Let’s move him fast.”

Robby’s gaze flicked briefly to the resident — noting the way her shoulders relaxed instead of tightening.

Audrey turned back to the patient, resting a steady hand briefly on his shoulder.

“You’re having a heart attack,” she said gently but directly. “We’re taking you upstairs to open that artery. You’re in the right place.”

The patient nodded, anxious but reassured.

“Cath lab ready?” she asked.

“Two minutes out,” Dana called from the doorway.

“Perfect.”

She stepped back slightly, giving the team space to move the bed.

Only then did she notice Robby standing at the edge of the room.

Their eyes met for the first time since the patient arrived.

He hadn’t interrupted.

Hadn’t taken over.

Just watched.

Assessing.

The gurney rolled out toward the elevators, the organized urgency of a STEMI transfer moving with it — residents flanking the bed, Dana coordinating with the cath lab upstairs.

Audrey stripped off her gloves and stepped back from the trauma bay, reaching automatically for sanitizer. The room settled into that brief exhale that followed a clean handoff.

Behind her, Robby shifted a step closer now that the immediate chaos had passed.

“Smooth,” he said simply.

She dried her hands on a paper towel and glanced at him, a faint, easy smile touching her mouth.

“Cardiology likes us more when we call early,” she replied.

He gave a short, acknowledging nod. Silence settled for a moment — not awkward, just observational.

He was still watching.

Not intrusively, exactly. But present. Hovering at the edge of her orbit in that way senior attendings sometimes did when they were reacclimating to their own departments.

“Residents didn’t panic,” he said after a beat. “That’s great.”

Audrey’s mouth curved slightly.

“I find encouragement helps,” she said.

That earned the faintest hint of a smile from him — quick, reluctant, there and gone.

He didn’t move away yet.

Audrey caught it — not offended, just aware. She turned fully toward him now, leaning one shoulder lightly against the counter, relaxed but direct.

A small, warm smile tugged at her lips.

“You know,” she said lightly, “I’m perfectly capable of being a doctor.”

He lifted a brow, not defensive — just listening.

“I don’t actually require a babysitter,” she added, tone easy but unmistakably confident.

A beat of silence.

The corner of Robby’s mouth lifted in a brief, reluctant smile. 

“Noted,” he said.

He pushed lightly off the counter, shifting his attention back toward the main board, but there was a subtle change in his posture now — less hovering, more… trusting.

As he moved away, Audrey picked up her water again, finally taking the sip she’d abandoned earlier.

The board had been ugly all day.

Full waiting room. Two traumas holding. No beds upstairs.

And then Dana’s voice cut across the department.

“Robby.”

He didn’t look up yet. “Tell me something good.”

“Thirty-four weeks pregnant. Heavy vaginal bleeding. Hypotensive.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“Fantastic.”

He shoved the tablet aside and headed for Trauma 2, irritation already simmering under his skin — not at anyone in particular, just at the timing. The endless timing.

The patient lay pale and shaking, one hand curled protectively over her abdomen. Blood soaked the pad beneath her.

Vitals chimed.

“BP eighty-eight over fifty. Heart rate one-thirty-five,” Donnie said quickly. “History of two prior C-sections.”

Robby’s jaw tightened.

“Where’s OB?”

Dana didn’t pause. “In emergency surgery upstairs. They know. They’re coming as soon as they can.”

He scrubbed a hand over his beard.

“Of course they are.”

Footsteps entered behind him.

Audrey.

She moved straight to the bedside, already gloving up, calm and focused.

“What do we have?”

“Third trimester, heavy bleeding, pressure dropping,” Robby said. “OB stuck upstairs.”

Audrey nodded once and turned to the patient, voice immediately warm.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Shepherd. We’re going to take care of you, okay?”

The patient nodded weakly, terrified.

Audrey’s hands were gentle but efficient as she assessed — abdomen, bleeding, monitor, IV access. A portable ultrasound was wheeled in and she reached for the probe without hesitation.

“Let’s take a look,” she said.

The screen flickered to life.

Placenta low. Irregular. Too deep.

Audrey’s expression didn’t change much — but Robby saw the subtle stillness.

“What?” he asked.

She kept her voice even. “I’m concerned about a possible accreta.”

He swore under his breath.

“OB needs to be down here now.”

“Minimum twenty minutes,” Dana called from the doorway.

Twenty minutes was too long if this went bad.

Audrey studied the screen one more second. Then she handed the probe off to Samira and reached into her pocket, pulling out her phone.

Robby noticed immediately.

“…who are you calling?”

“Backup,” she said simply, already tapping FaceTime.

It rang once. Twice.

Then a red-haired woman appeared on screen, slightly windblown like she’d stepped outside a hospital.

“Audrey?” she said. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

Audrey’s face softened instantly — warmth threading into her voice.

“Hi, Addie. Sorry to ambush you.”

Robby frowned slightly. Addie?

On screen, Addison’s expression shifted into full clinical focus.

“You only FaceTime me from work if something’s wrong,” she said. “Talk to me.”

Audrey angled the phone toward the patient and ultrasound.

“Thirty-four weeks. Heavy bleeding. Prior C-sections. Pressure unstable. Ultrasound looks suspicious for accreta.”

“Show me again.”

Audrey moved the camera smoothly, narrating vitals and findings with calm precision. The familiarity between them was obvious — easy, trusting, long-standing.

Robby stood just behind her shoulder now, arms folded, watching.

He didn’t recognize the woman. But he could tell she knew exactly what she was doing.

“…who is that?” he murmured quietly to Audrey while Addison studied the screen.

Audrey lowered the phone just enough to answer, voice calm but matter-of-fact.

“That’s Dr. Addison Forbes Montgomery,” she said. “Best maternal-fetal surgeon in the country.”

A beat.

“…and my former sister-in-law.”

Robby blinked.

He looked back at the phone. Then at Audrey.

Recalibrating quickly.

On screen, Addison finished reviewing and looked back up.

“Okay,” she said. “I agree with you. That looks like accreta. You need blood ready and surgical prep now. I’m staying on with you until OB gets there.”

Her voice softened slightly.

“You good, Aud?”

Audrey nodded once. “Yeah. I appreciate you.”

Robby stepped in closer now, irritation gone.

“Alright,” he said, shifting into action. “Let’s get ahead of this.”

Orders moved. Blood was called. The room tightened into coordinated motion.

Audrey continued calmly, Addison still on FaceTime offering guidance, the two of them working together with the ease of long history.

He leaned slightly toward her as the team worked.

“Good call,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him, a small appreciative smile flickering.

“Thanks.”

Chapter Text

The radio call came in sharp and urgent.

“Level one trauma. Construction site accident. Traumatic partial amputation. Five minutes out.”

The entire department shifted.

Dana was already moving. Residents snapped into motion.

Robby looked up from the board, jaw tightening slightly.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s go. Whitaker, you’re with me. Samira, you’re with Dr. Shepard.”

The doors burst open as EMS rushed in.

“Thirty-eight-year-old male,” the paramedic rattled off. “Industrial accident — steel beam collapse. Right leg crushed, near-complete amputation below the knee. Tourniquet applied on scene. Blood loss significant. Pressure eighty over palp.”

The smell of iron hit the room immediately.

The patient was pale, barely conscious, jaw clenched against pain.

Audrey stepped forward beside the gurney without hesitation, already gloved.

“Hi,” she said calmly. “I’m Dr. Shepherd. You’re in the ER. We’ve got you.”

Her voice was warm but grounded — not falsely soothing, just steady.

Robby took position across from her automatically. Dana coordinated IV access.

“Let’s get eyes on the leg,” Audrey said.

Dana carefully pulled back the trauma blanket.

The lower leg hung by shredded tissue — boot twisted, soaked in blood, the tourniquet high and tight but already darkening with seepage.

Victoria inhaled sharply. Whitaker went very still.

“Okay,” she said evenly. “We’re going to need vascular and ortho, but we’re not waiting on them to stabilize. Let’s stay focused.”

“Two more units on standby,” she continued. “Pressure’s soft. Samira, can you take the airway if he dips? Victoria, stay with me.”

She glanced at the med student — wide-eyed, frozen near the foot of the bed.

“Hey,” Audrey said gently. “You with us?”

Javadi blinked. “Y-yes.”

“Good. I’m going to have you watch closely. This is a hard one but a good learning case, okay? If you feel faint, sit before you fall. No heroics.”

A couple nurses smiled faintly at that.

The student nodded, visibly grounding.

Robby stood just off Audrey’s shoulder now.

Watching.

Not hovering to take over — just observing.

Audrey moved with quiet efficiency — checking perfusion, directing pressure control, coordinating transfusion. Her voice never rose, never rushed, but it kept everyone moving.

“Dr. Whitaker,” she said calmly to the intern. “Walk me through what you’re seeing.”

He swallowed, then leaned in.

“Near-complete traumatic amputation below the knee. Massive soft tissue damage. Likely non-salvageable.”

“Agreed,” Audrey said. “What’s our priority right now?”

“Control bleeding. Maintain pressure. Prep for surgical amputation.”

“Exactly.”

Robby’s eyes narrowed slightly — not critically.

The resident straightened a fraction under her calm direction, confidence building instead of collapsing.

Audrey shifted to Jesse.

“Let’s reinforce that tourniquet and get hemostatic dressing ready. I want him stable enough for OR, not crashing on the table.”

“Yes, doc.”

The patient groaned weakly. Audrey immediately leaned closer, voice soft.

“You’re doing great,” she said. “Stay with me.”

Her hand rested briefly on his shoulder — grounding, human — before she returned to directing the room.

“Let’s get ready to intubate. Ketamine and roc please. Dr. Whitaker, you’re up.”

Audrey took her position at Dennis’s shoulder — not in front of him. Not blocking him.

“Talk me through what you’re seeing,” she said.

Dennis positioned the mask, hands slightly tight.

Audrey leaned just close enough.

“Relax your grip,” she murmured. “You don’t need to muscle it.”

Dennis adjusted.

Oxygen climbed.

“Alright,” she said. “Advise your nurse to push the intubation meds.”

Dennis looked at Jesse and nodded.

Jesse pushed the meds.

Dennis picked up the laryngoscope. There was a flicker of hesitation — just a beat.

Robby’s instinct twitched.

Audrey didn’t move.

“Wrist angle,” she said quietly. “Lift. Don’t lever.”

Dennis adjusted.

“There,” he breathed.

“You see cords?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Tube.”

Dennis advanced carefully.

“Through.”

“Inflate.”

They listened.

Clear bilateral breath sounds.

Dennis stepped back with a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Nice job,” Audrey said simply.

Dennis looked almost surprised at himself.

“Thanks,” he said, a little stunned.

Robby stepped in to confirm placement, nodding once.

“Solid,” he said, clapping a hand on Dennis’ back.

Dennis straightened, visibly proud.

A vascular surgeon burst in moments later, followed by ortho.

Audrey gave a concise, efficient rundown — mechanism, vitals, estimated blood loss, current stabilization. 

Robby leaned back slightly once the surgical teams took over immediate planning. His arms folded loosely across his chest as he watched Audrey step back, giving space but staying engaged.

He’d been watching the entire time.

She caught him looking.

Their eyes met across the trauma bay.

For a second, neither spoke over the noise.

Then he stepped a little closer.

“Nice work,” he said quietly.

Audrey gave a small, appreciative smile, pulling off her gloves.

“Team effort,” she replied.

He watched her another beat — the easy way the residents clustered near her now, asking quick follow-up questions, clearly comfortable approaching.

Robby gave a small nod — more to himself than to her — then glanced back toward the patient as the team prepared for OR transfer.

The department had settled into that brief, deceptive lull between waves.

Monitors chimed softly. Samira argued gently with radiology on the phone. Someone laughed near triage.

Robby stood at the central desk, flipping through a chart he wasn’t really reading.

Across the department, Audrey stood near Trauma 3 with two residents and a med student, going over something on a tablet. She was relaxed now that the immediate chaos had passed — one shoulder leaning lightly against the counter, explaining something with easy patience.

Javadi was nodding rapidly. Dennis was hanging on to her every word.

Robby watched a second too long.

Then looked down at the chart again.

Then looked back.

Dana noticed immediately.

She’d been watching people for decades. Subtle was not a requirement of this job.

She finished updating the board and slid the marker back into its slot before speaking without looking at him.

“Don’t.”

Robby glanced over.

“Don’t what?”

Dana lifted a brow and finally turned toward him.

“You just got back,” she said. “You don’t need to start sniffing around the new attending.”

He stared at her.

“I’m not sniffing around,” he said flatly.

She gave him a look that said please.

“You’ve been watching her like you’re evaluating a new piece of equipment,” she replied.

“I am evaluating,” he said. “She’s working in my department.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dana folded her arms and leaned one hip against the desk, entirely unimpressed.

“Evaluation requires staring?” she asked.

He ignored that.

“What’s her story?” he asked instead, in a deliberately casual tone.

Dana let out a soft, incredulous huff.

“Oh absolutely not.”

He frowned slightly.

“I’m asking about her as a physician,” he said. “She’s been here a month.”

“And thriving,” Dana said. “Which means you can relax.”

“I am relaxed. I went on a sabbatical which means I’m relaxed.”

She stared at him for a long beat.

“You’re about as relaxed as a mouse trap,” she said.

Across the room, Audrey laughed softly at something one of the residents said, the sound carrying faintly across the department. She reached over to adjust the positioning of a splint one of them was holding, guiding gently rather than taking over.

Robby’s gaze flicked back without meaning to.

Dana saw that too.

“Oh no,” she said quietly. “Absolutely not.”

He dragged his attention back to her.

“What?”

“You,” she said, pointing once at his chest. “Are not allowed to come back from sabbatical and immediately start looming around the nice new attending.”

“I am not looming.”

“You loom by existing.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

Dana continued calmly.

“She’s good,” she said. “She’s kind. The staff like her. The residents are learning. Patients adore her. So unless you have a professional concern—”

“I don’t.”

“—then you are going to leave her alone and let her do her job.”

Robby exhaled slowly through his nose, somewhere between amused and mildly offended.

“I wasn’t planning on doing anything,” he muttered.

“Good.”

Dana picked up another chart, then added without looking up:

“Because she’s only here temporarily and I will not have you making it weird.”

That made him pause.

“…temporarily?” he repeated.

Dana froze for half a second, realizing she’d said more than intended.

Then she gave him a flat look.

“See?” she said. “This is why I don’t tell you things.”

“I didn’t—”

“Drop it,” she said firmly. “Focus on your patients. Drink your coffee. Be normal.”

He stared at her.

“I am normal.”

She snorted.

“Sure you are.”

Across the ER, Audrey finished with the residents and sent them off toward their next patient. For a brief moment she stood alone, scanning the board, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Robby glanced over again — just for a second.

Dana followed his line of sight and shook her head slowly.

“Leave her alone,” she muttered.

He didn’t respond.

The last of the residents drifted away toward their patients, still talking quietly among themselves.

“Thanks, Dr. Shepherd.”

“Text me if that pressure drops, Javadi.”

“I will.”

Audrey gave them a small, warm smile and a light nod of dismissal.

“Go. Be brilliant.”

That earned a few tired laughs before they scattered.

For the first time in nearly an hour, the central desk was momentarily calm.

Audrey slid into one of the chairs and pulled a chart up on the screen, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she began typing. The glow of the monitor lit her face softly. She scrunched her nose at lab results and then rubbed her face in her hands.

Across the desk, Dana immediately spotted Robby noticing.

His gaze had drifted over without permission.

Dana slowly turned her head toward him.

Then, very deliberately, she shook it once.

No.

He gave her a look. She gave him a sharper one back.

Do not.

He ignored her.

He pushed off the counter and walked toward the central desk anyway.

Dana closed her eyes briefly like a woman witnessing a preventable accident.

“Oh my God,” she muttered under her breath.

Audrey looked up as Robby approached, expression easy and open. No defensiveness. No awkwardness. Just professional calm.

“Hey,” she said lightly. “Are you surviving your first full day back?”

“Barely,” he replied, pulling out the chair across from her.

Dana made a small strangled noise behind the desk.

Audrey glanced past him. Caught Dana’s expression.

Amusement flickered in her eyes.

Robby sat anyway.

For a moment he just picked up a pen from the desk and set it back down again, like he needed something to do with his hands.

“So,” he said. “You’re from Seattle.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, turning just enough to face him fully while still half-watching her chart.

“Seattle by way of New York,” she echoed.

“What made you come out here?” he asked. “Baran said you were helping temporarily.”

Dana, across the desk, silently mouthed STOP TALKING at him.

He ignored that too.

Audrey didn’t seem bothered by the question. If anything, she seemed relaxed by it.

“Baran and I go way back,” she said. “She called. Needed another attending she trusted. I had some flexibility.”

He nodded slowly.

“You just… left?” he asked.

She smiled faintly at that.

“I cleared it with my hospital,” she said. “They’re not going anywhere.”

He studied her a second, curiosity straightforward rather than intrusive.

“Are you planning to go back?” he asked.

Dana dropped a tablet on the desk slightly louder than necessary.

Robby didn’t look away from Audrey.

Audrey considered the question for a moment before answering — not guarded, just thoughtful.

“Eventually,” she said. “My life’s there. I haven’t lived on the East Coast in a very long time.”

He waited.

She added gently:

“My sister-in-law owns the hospital I work at, and one of my sisters is the head of neurosurgery there.”

That got his attention.

“…owns?” he repeated.

“Yeah.” A small, fond smile touched her mouth. “She’s also one of my best friends. And I’m pretty attached to my nieces and nephews.”

There was warmth in her voice now — unmistakable.

Robby leaned back slightly in his chair, absorbing that.

“So you’ve got roots,” he said.

“Very much,” she replied. “At this point, Seattle’s home.”

Dana, across the desk, watched this entire exchange like a hawk watching two people wander toward a cliff edge.

Robby rubbed a hand lightly along his jaw, thoughtful.

“Well,” he said after a moment, tone neutral but sincere, “Baran’s lucky you came.”

Audrey met his eyes.

“So are you,” she said lightly.

Then Dana clapped a chart down between them with pointed emphasis.

“Alright,” she said briskly. “Break’s over. Back to work. Both of you. Chatty Kathys.”

Robby leaned back in his chair slightly, glancing at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dana pointed toward the board.

“Go be useful,” she said.

He stood, but as he stepped away, he gave Audrey one last brief look — thoughtful now, not just curious.

She turned back to her chart, typing again.

Across the desk, Dana watched him go… then leaned toward Audrey and muttered under her breath:

“Don’t start.”

Audrey’s mouth curved just slightly.

The doctor’s lounge was quiet.

Dim lights. Half-empty coffee pot. The soft mechanical hum of the vending machine in the corner.

Audrey sat curled into one end of the couch, shoes kicked off, her phone propped against a stack of old journals on the coffee table.

FaceTime connected.

Meredith’s face appeared first, her house’s hallway behind her.

“There you are,” Meredith said. “I was starting to think Pittsburgh swallowed you.”

Audrey smiled softly. “Still here. Just finished a shift.”

Meredith tilted the phone.

“You have an audience.”

Three small faces crowded the screen immediately.

“AUNT AUDREY!”

Audrey’s entire expression changed — softened, lit from within.

“Well hi,” she said warmly. “Did you all grow since last week or is this a coordinated effort to make me feel guilty?”

Ellis held something up to the camera. “I made you a drawing.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Audrey said.

Bailey leaned in next, serious. “When are you coming back?”

Direct. No lead-in.

Audrey laughed softly. “Hello to you too.”

“When,” he repeated.

She leaned back against the couch, thinking.

“In a few weeks,” she said gently. “I’m helping here a little longer.”

Zola studied her quietly from behind them.

“You like it there,” she said.

Audrey nodded. “I do. Everyone is kind and the students are very smart.”

“We miss you,” Ellis said simply.

That landed.

Audrey’s voice warmed. “I miss you too.”

At that moment, the lounge door opened.

Robby stepped inside, already reaching for the coffee machine. He stopped when he heard her voice — softer than he’d ever heard it on shift.

He moved quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Just coffee. In and out.

“…I’ll come visit soon,” Audrey was saying. “I promise. I’ll bring snacks from Pittsburgh. Maybe some local ketchup or something.”

The kids cheered.

Meredith stepped back into frame, ushering them toward bedtime.

“Alright,” she said. “Say goodnight.”

A chorus of:

“Goodnight!”
“Love you!”
“Come home soon!”

Audrey smiled gently. “Love you guys.”

The screen shifted back to Meredith alone.

“You okay?” Meredith asked softly.

Audrey nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m going to stay a little longer. They still need help.”

Meredith wasn’t surprised.

“Then stay,” she said simply. “Your job’s here whenever you want it. So are we.”

Audrey swallowed lightly.

“Thanks,” she said. “I just… miss you guys.”

“We miss you too,” Meredith replied. “But you sound happy.”

A small pause.

“I am,” Audrey admitted. “Like I said, the med students and residents are eager to learn. One of them reminds me of Lucas.”

“Good,” Meredith said. “Call this weekend. Ellis wants to show you that drawing in detail.”

“I will.”

They hung up.

The screen went dark.

For a moment Audrey just sat there, phone still in her hand, staring at the reflection of the lounge lights on the blank screen.

Then her breath hitched slightly.

She pressed her lips together, blinking fast — but not fast enough. A tear slipped down before she could stop it.

Across the room, Robby froze by the coffee machine.

He hadn’t meant to watch. Hadn’t meant to hear any of it.

But he had.

He hesitated only a second… then grabbed a tissue from the counter and walked over quietly.

He didn’t stand over her. Just sat down on the opposite end of the couch and held the tissue out without making a big deal of it.

Audrey looked up, surprised.

Then she let out a small, embarrassed laugh as she took it.

“Thanks,” she said, dabbing lightly at her eyes. “I’m not usually this dramatic.”

He shook his head slightly.

“Didn’t look dramatic,” he said.

She exhaled, a soft half-chuckle escaping.

“I just miss them,” she said. “My nieces and nephews. They’re growing up without me there and it feels weird.”

“Yeah,” he replied quietly. “That makes sense.”

She wiped once more under her eye and smiled faintly at herself.

“Sorry,” she said. “Emotional surge at the end of shift usually isn’t my style.”

He leaned back slightly into the couch, coffee in hand.

“No apology necessary,” he said.

She glanced over at him, grateful for the lack of fuss.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He gave a small nod — like it was nothing.

But he didn’t get up right away.

Audrey reached down to slide her shoes back on, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she stood. She grabbed her bag from the chair, looping the strap over her shoulder.

“Well,” she said gently. “Back to reality.”

He stood too — almost automatically.

For a second he just held his coffee, clearly about to say something and then thinking better of it.

Then not thinking better of it.

“Are you heading back to the hotel?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. It’s not far.”

He shifted his weight slightly — subtle but unmistakable. Like he was debating something internally and losing the argument.

“I can walk you,” he said.

It came out more quickly than he intended. Not abrupt — just… a little too immediate.

She looked mildly surprised.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said quickly. Then, softer, “I was going to grab a drink anyway. Thought maybe… you might want one too.”

Audrey studied him for a second — not suspicious, just thoughtful.

He wasn’t pushy. Wasn’t presumptuous. Just a little earnest in a way she hadn’t seen from him yet.

“You don’t have to entertain me,” she said gently. “I’m okay, really.”

“I know you are,” he said. “I just… figured you shouldn’t have to go back alone after a shift like this.”

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, considering.

“A drink sounds nice,” she admitted. “Actually.”

Relief flickered across his face — subtle, but there.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yeah.”

A small smile touched her mouth.

“But only one,” she added. “I’m on early tomorrow and I refuse to be hungover in this ER.”

He huffed a quiet, almost-laugh.

“Deal.”

They walked out of the lounge together, falling into step easily.

Chapter Text

Audrey slid onto one of the barstools and let out a small breath as she set her bag down by her feet. Robby took the seat beside her, not too close — just enough to feel companionable rather than intentional.

A bartender appeared.

“Red?” Robby asked.

She nodded. “Please.”

He ordered a whiskey for himself and a glass of cabernet for her without needing to ask again. When the drinks arrived, they sat for a moment in easy quiet, both decompressing from the day.

Audrey took a slow sip and closed her eyes briefly. “Okay,” she murmured. “That’s better.”

Robby watched the way her shoulders finally dropped — tension leaving by degrees. He leaned one elbow against the bar.

“So,” he said. “Seattle.”

She smiled faintly, already expecting it.

“Seattle.”

“What’s it like working there?” he asked. “At Grey Sloan, right?”

“Yeah.”

Her expression warmed automatically when she talked about it.

“It’s busy,” she said. “A little chaotic. Very opinionated. Everyone thinks they’re right about everything all the time.”

He huffed softly. “Sounds familiar.”

“It’s home,” she added, more quietly. “A lot of my family’s there. My sister-in-law runs the place now, so I’m pretty rooted.”

He turned slightly toward her.

“You’re close with them,” he said.

“Very,” she replied. “My nieces and nephews basically think I live for them. Which isn’t entirely wrong.”

He smiled faintly into his glass.

“You talk about them like they’re yours.”

“They kind of are,” she said. “Meredith — my sister-in-law — We’ve been through a lot together.”

She paused, then laughed softly.

“I probably wouldn’t have left for this long if it weren’t for Baran calling and sounding exhausted.”

He nodded slowly.

“They’re lucky you came,” he said again, quieter this time.

She glanced at him. “So are you,” she replied lightly.

She took another sip, then tipped her head toward him.

“What about you?” she asked. “Your sabbatical. Where’d you go?”

The shift was immediate.

Not dramatic. Just subtle.

His shoulders tightened slightly. His gaze dropped to the amber in his glass.

“Nowhere exciting,” he said. “Rode around. I saw some places.”

She studied him gently.

“Motorcycle trip, right?”

“Yeah.”

Another sip. A non-answer.

She waited a second — enough space for him to say more if he wanted to.

He didn’t.

Instead he lifted his head again and looked back at her, redirecting with quiet determination.

“So you grew up in Seattle?” he asked.

Deflection. Clear as day.

Audrey noticed but she let him have it. For now.

“Nope,” she said. “I grew up everywhere. My mother is a retired Navy nurse. She’s settled in upstate New York with two of my sisters.”

He nodded, leaning in slightly like he wanted to know every detail.

“Med school there too?”

“SUNY, actually. Then to UTMB in Galveston for residency.”

She tilted her head slightly.

“You really don’t want to talk about your sabbatical,” she said gently.

He gave a small, almost sheepish huff.

“Not particularly.”

“Okay.”

She took another sip of wine and let the subject go.

That seemed to relax him more than anything else could have.

He shifted on the stool, shoulders easing again.

“Tell me more about Seattle,” he said quietly. “What do you do when you’re not working?”

She smiled faintly into her glass.

“I read. I love to hike down on the beach. I have dinner at Meredith’s house at least twice a week whether I’m invited or not.”

That made him laugh softly.

“I like that,” he said.

She glanced over at him.

“What about you?” she asked. “When you’re not at the hospital?”

He hesitated.

Then gave a small shrug.

“I’m usually there,” he admitted.

Audrey’s expression softened.

They sat there for a while longer, talking mostly about her life — Seattle, her family, the hospital, stories from residency. He kept gently steering the conversation back to her whenever it drifted toward him.

Not obvious enough to be rude. Just enough to avoid being the center of it.

Audrey noticed.

But she didn’t push.

And as the night stretched quietly around them, it became clear he wasn’t just making conversation.

He was learning her. Piece by piece.

The board was full but manageable — that rare window where everything felt briefly under control.

Audrey stood at the central desk with Jack, tablet in hand as he ran through the handoff from a cluster of patients he was clearing before stepping away.

“Room nine’s chest pain is yours,” Jack said. “Repeat troponin pending but I don’t like him.”

“Good,” Audrey replied easily. “I also don’t like him.”

Jack smirked faintly and scrolled.

“Room twelve’s waiting on imaging, and psych’s still deciding if room four is their problem or ours.”

“Ah,” she said. “The eternal debate.”

Across the department, Robby approached the desk with a chart tucked under one arm.

And a cold can of Coke in his other hand.

He just walked up and set it down on the counter beside Audrey.

“For when you remember to hydrate,” he said, tone casual.

Audrey looked down.

Then up at him.

Surprise flickered across her face, followed quickly by a warm smile that softened her entire expression.

“You’re my favorite person right now,” she said lightly.

She picked up the can and, without overthinking it, gave his hand a quick, affectionate squeeze.

“Thank you,” she added.

Then she turned back to Jack, scanning the EKG that was done.

Robby, for his part, nodded once like this was completely normal and turned slightly toward the board.

Jack stared at him.

“…where’s my drink,” Jack asked flatly.

Audrey laughed softly under her breath.

Robby didn’t even look at him.

“You have legs,” he said. “Well, one leg.”

Jack let out a quiet, incredulous huff.

Audrey finished reviewing the last note and grabbed the Coke, popping the can open.

“I’m going to go check on nine,” she said. “Try to leave on time today, Jack.”

“No promises,” Jack replied.

She smiled once more at Robby then headed down the hall toward the patient rooms, already taking a sip.

Jack watched her go.

Then slowly turned his head toward Robby.

Robby was staring very intently at the board again.

Jack leaned one hip against the desk, folding his arms.

“…you brought her a drink,” he said.

No response.

Jack waited.

Still nothing.

He sighed.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Just don’t get attached.”

Robby finally looked over at him, expression flat but eyes sharp.

“Shut up,” he said.

Jack’s mouth twitched.

“Just saying.”

“Don’t,” Robby replied.

Jack lifted both hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, I like her,” he said. “Everyone likes her. She’s great. But she’s temporary, man.”

Robby’s gaze drifted briefly down the hallway where Audrey had disappeared. 

Then he looked back at the board.

“Go home,” he muttered.

Jack pushed off the counter with a quiet laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. 

He walked away, leaving Robby at the desk with the hum of monitors and the low buzz of the ER settling around him.

Robby picked up a chart and pretended very hard that the brief touch of Audrey’s hand on his arm hadn’t stayed with him at all.

For the first time in weeks, there was no alarm.

No overhead pages. No trauma alerts. No scrubs waiting by the door.

Sunlight slipped through the hotel curtains in a thin golden line across the bed. Audrey lay sprawled under the covers, hair loose, still half-asleep in that rare, luxurious way that only happened after too many consecutive shifts.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She groaned softly and reached for it without opening her eyes.

“Hello?”

“Audrey.”

She cracked one eye open and immediately smiled despite herself.

“Hi, Mom.”

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” her mother asked.

“You did,” Audrey said honestly. “But it’s fine. I needed to join the living eventually.”

A soft chuckle came through the line.

“Well, since you’re already on the East Coast—”

Audrey closed her eyes again.

“Mom.”

“I’m just saying,” her mother continued brightly, “you’re practically next door. You could take a train up here for a few days. It’s beautiful this time of year. The leaves are—”

“Mom,” Audrey repeated, laughing now. “I am not ‘next door.’ I’m in Pittsburgh working twelve-hour shifts in an emergency department.”

“Well yes, but geographically—”

“I barely have time to shower,” Audrey said, pushing herself up into a sitting position and dragging a hand through her hair. “Much less take a scenic journey to upstate New York.”

Her mother sighed lightly.

“I just thought since you’re closer than Seattle—”

“You thought wrong,” Audrey said affectionately. “Call Lizzie. Or Kathleen. They actually live within driving distance of you.”

A brief pause.

“They’re busy,” Carolyn said.

“So am I,” Audrey replied, smiling despite the mild exasperation in her voice.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching slowly as she padded toward the hotel window.

Outside, the city moved quietly under a pale sky. Traffic humming. People living ordinary lives.

“I just worry about you,” her mother said gently.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“I know you’re fine,” she said. “You’ve always been fine. You’re the one I don’t have to check on. The one who never makes a fuss.”

Audrey leaned her shoulder against the window.

“That’s because I’m deeply perfect,” she said lightly.

Her mother huffed a soft laugh.

“You’re my youngest,” she said after a moment. “I’m allowed to worry about you a little more.”

Audrey looked out over the city, expression softening.

“I’m okay,” she said more quietly. “Really.”

“Are you happy?” her mother asked.

Audrey hesitated.

“I… like it here,” she said finally. “The people are good. The work is good. But it’s just temporary.”

“For now,” her mother said gently.

Audrey smiled faintly.

“For now.”

“Call me this weekend,” her mother said. “When you’re not half-asleep.”

“I will.”

“And tell Baran I said hello.”

“I will.”

They said goodbye, and Audrey lowered the phone slowly.

She stood there for a moment longer, staring out at Pittsburgh — the unfamiliar skyline that had started to feel less unfamiliar with each passing week.

Audrey exhaled softly.

Then pushed off the window and headed toward the shower, her one true luxury on a rare day off in a city she hadn’t expected to start caring about at all.

Steam curled through the small hotel bathroom as Audrey stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around her hair, another around her body. Her day off felt almost unreal — quiet, slow, unstructured.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

She glanced at it, expecting Meredith. Or Baran.

Instead - Michael Robinavitch.

She blinked.

Then answered.

“Hello?”

A small pause on the other end — like he hadn’t fully expected her to pick up.

“…hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she replied, smiling faintly despite herself. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just—”

A small exhale.

“I remembered you said you had today off.”

She leaned one hip against the counter, curious now.

“I do. You write the schedule so you would know.”

Another tiny pause.

“I was heading out,” he said, trying to be casual. “I thought maybe you might want a tour of the city.”

Audrey’s brows lifted.

“A tour.”

“Yeah. Just—” he hesitated, then added, almost offhand, “on the bike.”

Silence.

Then she laughed softly, surprised and delighted.

“Your motorcycle?”

“Yeah.”

Audrey smiled, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

“I haven’t been on a motorcycle in years,” she admitted.

“Is that a yes or a no?” he asked.

“A definite yes,” she said.

The relief on the other end was subtle but real.

“Alright,” he replied. “I can be there in… fifteen?”

“I’ll be ready.”

They hung up.

Audrey stared at her phone for a second.

Then laughed quietly to herself.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Unexpected.”

The low rumble came first.

Audrey stepped out of the hotel entrance just as the black motorcycle pulled up along the curb. Robby swung it into a smooth stop and he killed the engine.

He glanced up — and saw her.

For a second, he forgot whatever he’d planned to say.

She wore jeans, tall riding boots, and a soft sweater under a light coat. Relaxed. Bright-eyed in a way he rarely saw after shifts. She was braiding her hair as she walked out of the hotel.

She walked toward him with a big smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he replied.

He cleared his throat lightly and held out the spare helmet.

“Figured you’d need this.”

She took it, fingers brushing his briefly.

“Thank you.”

She slid it on, adjusting the strap while he tried very hard not to stare.

“Where’s yours?”

“In my garage. Are you comfortable on a bike?” he asked.

“It’s been a while.”

“You’ll remember.”

He swung one leg over and settled onto the seat, then glanced back.

“Ready?”

She stepped closer and climbed on behind him, settling carefully. For a moment she hesitated — then rested her hands lightly on his waist.

He inhaled slowly, steadying himself.

“You can hold on,” he said. “I won’t be offended.”

A soft laugh behind him.

Her arms slid more securely around his middle.

“Okay,” she said.

He started the engine.

They rode through the city in smooth arcs — over bridges, along the river, past neighborhoods shifting from steel and brick to tree-lined streets and small shops.

The wind tugged gently at her hair beneath the helmet. The city opened around them in a way it never did from inside the hospital.

Audrey leaned slightly into him as they turned, comfortable quickly. Trusting.

He found himself pointing things out when they stopped at lights.

“That’s the old steel building,” he said once.

“Best late-night diner two blocks down,” another time.

Eventually he pulled off near an overlook above the river and parked.

They removed helmets almost at the same time.

The view spread wide below them — bridges, water, late-afternoon light glinting across the surface.

Audrey stepped closer to the railing, taking it in.

Robby had parked the motorcycle a few steps back. He watched her for a long moment — the way the breeze played with her hair, the relaxed line of her shoulders, how the fading sun painted warm highlights across her skin. He set his helmet down quietly and moved.

Silent footsteps on the overlook path.

He came up behind her, close enough that she felt the shift in the air before she felt him. His chest brushed her back first — solid, warm — then his arms slid around her waist from behind, slow and sure, hands splaying across her stomach. He pulled her gently back against him, chin dipping to rest lightly near her shoulder, breath warm against the side of her neck.

Audrey stilled, a small surprised inhale escaping her.

For a beat, neither spoke. Just the city humming far below, the wind, and the sudden, intimate press of his body molding to hers.

She tilted her head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw.

“You’re sneaky,” she murmured, voice low, a smile in it.

“Thought you might like the view better this way,” he replied, voice rougher now, lips grazing the shell of her ear as he spoke.

A shiver ran through her — visible, unmistakable. She leaned back into him more deliberately, her hands coming up to rest over his where they held her, fingers threading between his.

She turned slowly in his arms, the movement natural, inevitable. His hands slid to her hips as she faced him, keeping her close — close enough that her breasts brushed his chest with every breath, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.

Their eyes locked.

Something electric snapped taut between them.

Audrey's gaze dropped to his mouth, then flicked back up. Her lips parted on a soft, unsteady exhale.

Then she rose on her toes and kissed him.

It started soft — warm, deliberate — but the second his mouth opened under hers, it turned hungry. His hands tightened on her hips, pulling her flush against him as he kissed her back, deep and slow, tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her fingers curl into the front of his jacket.

She made a quiet sound — half moan, half sigh — and pressed closer, one hand sliding up to fist lightly in his hair, the other slipping under his jacket to find the heat of his back through his shirt.

He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her lips. One hand moved up her spine, fingers threading into her hair to angle her head just right for a deeper kiss, while the other dipped lower, palm curving possessively over the small of her back, pressing her hips tighter to his.

When they finally broke apart, it was gradual — lips brushing once, twice — breaths coming fast and ragged in the cool air.

Foreheads resting together, they stayed tangled like that, his arms still locked around her.

Audrey let out a soft, breathless laugh that fanned across his mouth.

“Well… damn, Michael.” she whispered, voice husky.

He huffed a quiet laugh too, thumb stroking slow circles over her hipbone where his hand had slipped just under the hem of her top, grazing bare skin.

“Yeah,” he rasped.

A charged silence settled, thick with heat and the aftershock.

She searched his face, eyes dark and glittering.

“That’s definitely going to complicate things,” she said softly. “Michael, it isn’t smart to get involved when I’m leaving.”

“Probably,” he admitted, voice gravel-rough, his hand flexing once against her back like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Neither pulled away.

Then she smiled — small, a little wicked, a little dazed.

“Still glad you brought me up here.”

His thumb brushed higher under her shirt, a deliberate sweep along her spine that made her arch subtly into him.

“Me too.”

They lingered there on the overlook, bodies pressed close, the Pittsburgh skyline stretching out beneath them as the last light faded into night.

Chapter Text

Audrey stepped through the doors and scanned the board automatically, already shifting into work mode. Her hair was still slightly wind-tousled, cheeks faintly pink from the cold outside. She looked rested.

Dana noticed immediately.

“Why do you look like you slept,” Dana said flatly as Audrey logged into a computer.

Audrey grinned at her. “I did sleep. I have a king sized bed all to myself. It’s wonderful.”

Dana narrowed her eyes.

Before she could respond, footsteps approached.

Robby stepped up beside the desk and set something down near Audrey’s keyboard without a word.

A bottle of water.

Audrey blinked and looked up at him.

“For hydration,” he said simply.

Her mouth curved before she could stop it.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

She picked up the bottle and twisted the cap, then reached out and gave his hand a quick, warm squeeze.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second — soft, knowing — before she turned back to her tablet.

She grabbed a chart and straightened.

“I’m going to check on room three,” she said lightly. “Can we get x-rays on the wrist in 12?

“You got it,” Dana replied.

Audrey headed down the hallway, water hand.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Dana slowly turned her head toward Robby.

Silence.

He focused on the board.

Dana leaned one hip against the desk.

“Spill, Robinavitch,” she said.

No answer.

She waited.

“…Robby.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“Yes.”

Dana stared at him.

“You don’t bring anyone drinks.”

“She doesn’t like the coffee here,” he said.

“Oh my God,” Dana muttered. “It’s like pulling teeth.”

He picked up a chart like it might save him.

Dana watched him for another long second — then folded her arms.

“Do not,” she said calmly, “tell me you’re getting attached.”

He closed the chart. Set it down.

“We kissed yesterday.”

Dana froze.

“…I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “You what?”

He didn’t look at her.

“We kissed,” he repeated. “Yesterday. On her day off.”

Dana blinked twice.

Then dragged a hand down her face.

“You have been back from sabbatical for five minutes,” she whispered. “Five. Minutes.”

He said nothing.

She leaned closer across the desk.

“She’s temporary,” Dana said quietly but firmly. “You know that, right? She’s going back to Seattle.”

“I know,” he said.

Too quickly.

Dana studied him — the set of his jaw, the way he was staring very hard at nothing in particular.

“Oh no,” she murmured.

He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, tension flickering through the movement.

“It just… happened,” he said.

Dana let out a long breath.

“Of course it did.”

Then she pointed toward the hallway where Audrey had gone.

“You need to be careful,” she said. “She’s good. And she’s kind. And she is not staying here.”

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t defend.

Just stood there quietly for a moment, absorbing that.

“I know,” he said again, softer this time.

Dana watched him another second — protective instinct warring with reluctant sympathy.

Then she sighed.

“Well,” she muttered, reaching for her clipboard. “At least now I know why you’ve been walking around like someone short circuited your brain.”

He shot her a look.

She ignored it.

“Go be useful,” she said. “And try not to implode the department with your unresolved big feelings.”

He huffed quietly but picked up his tablet and headed down the hall.

Dana watched him go.

Then shook her head to herself.

“…unbelievable,” she muttered.

But there was a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

The call came in hot.

“GSW incoming. Two patients. Same scene. Five minutes.”

The ER snapped tight.

Dana was already moving toward Trauma 1 and 2. Residents straightened, adrenaline replacing fatigue.

Audrey pulled on gloves as she walked fast beside Robby toward the trauma bays.

“Details?” she asked.

“Gang-related,” Dana said. “Drive-by. Both were conscious when EMS called it in.”

Robby nodded once, all business now.

“Alright. Let’s move.”

The doors burst open.

Two stretchers. Two paramedic teams talking over each other. Blood everywhere.

“Twenty-four-year-old male, GSW abdomen—”

“Second patient, GSW shoulder and flank—”

Audrey and Robby split without needing to discuss it. She moved left. He moved right.

“Dr. Whitaker, you’re with me. Dr. Santos, with Dr. Robinavitch.”

Controlled chaos filled the room — orders, vitals, monitors, movement. The familiar choreography of trauma.

Audrey worked fast but calm, voice steady as she directed residents.

“Pressure?”

“Get another line.”

“Talk to me, Dr. Whitaker, what do we have?”

“Where’s Dr. Al-Hashimi? Get her in here now, please.”

Minutes stretched and compressed all at once.

Eventually both patients stabilized enough for surgery. Gurneys rolled out in quick succession toward elevators, surgical teams taking over.

The trauma bay went quiet again.

Audrey stood at the scrub sink, peeling off bloodied gloves slowly, dropping them into the bio bin. Her shoulders loosened as adrenaline ebbed.

Beside her, Robby did the same — tugging off his own gloves, hands moving under the running water. Pink swirled down the drain.

For a moment they just stood there side by side, washing up in silence.

She reached for a towel, drying her hands.

“Nice work in there,” she said.

He glanced over.

“You too.”

A small pause.

Water shut off. Paper towels discarded.

He leaned one hip lightly against the counter, looking at her.

There was still a faint smear of blood near her wrist she’d missed. He reached out without thinking and brushed it gently away with a piece of gauze from the counter.

Their eyes met.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” he asked.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him.

“Are you asking me out,” she said softly, “or requesting another consult?”

The corner of his mouth lifted faintly.

“Dinner,” he said. “With me.”

Her expression warmed immediately.

“I’d like that,” she said.

Relief flickered across his face before he could hide it.

“Good,” he replied.

She stepped a little closer — not touching, just near enough that it felt intentional.

“What time?” she asked.

“After shift, seven?” he said. “There’s a place a few blocks from your hotel.”

“Perfect.”

Dana’s voice suddenly carried from the hallway:

“Alright, lovers, if you’re done saving lives we still have six patients waiting.”

Audrey stepped back, biting back a smile.

Robby straightened, composure sliding back into place.

A rare pocket of stillness between consults and admissions. The hum of the ER filtered faintly through the glass, but inside it felt almost peaceful.

Audrey stood in front of Baran’s desk with her arms folded, pacing.

Baran watched her over the rim of her reading glasses with growing amusement.

“You’re wearing a hole into the floor,” she said calmly.

Audrey stopped.

Turned.

“I have nothing to wear.”

Baran blinked once.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding,” Audrey said. “I packed for a temporary hospital assignment. Scrubs. Sweaters. Sensible shoes. I did not pack for—” she gestured vaguely “—whatever this is.”

Baran leaned back in her chair, hands folded.

“A date?” she offered helpfully.

Audrey pointed at her.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“It has been awhile since I’ve been on one,” Audrey said, dropping into the chair across from her and scrubbing a hand over her face. “An actual one. Not a conference dinner or a hospital fundraiser. Or since Mark tried sleeping with me. Derek was so pissed off when he found out.”

At the mention of Mark, Baran smiled and made herself look at the computer.

Audrey looked genuinely flustered now.

“And all I brought are jeans,” she continued. “And one nice blouse that has survived being folded in a suitcase for three weeks.”

Baran tried very hard not to laugh.

“Jeans and a blouse are perfectly acceptable,” she said. “You’re going to dinner, not the Met Gala.”

“That’s not the point,” Audrey said. “The point is I feel wildly underprepared for something that feels… not casual.”

Baran watched her carefully.

“You like him,” she said simply.

Then leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.

“I enjoy his company.”

A small, helpless laugh escaped her.

“That’s the problem.”

Baran smiled softly now. Not teasing, just warm.

“Robby isn’t taking you somewhere that requires evening wear,” she said. “He’ll probably show up in jeans and a jacket.”

Audrey sighed.

“I know. I just—” she hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I want to look like I tried. Without looking like I tried too hard.”

Baran nodded gravely.

“Ah. The impossible balance.”

“Exactly.”

Then Baran stood and walked over to a small cabinet near the wall. She opened it, rummaged briefly, then pulled out a small makeup pouch and a pair of delicate earrings.

Audrey blinked.

“…Baran.”

“What,” Baran said. “I’m a woman. I’m prepared.”

She set the earrings in Audrey’s palm.

“Wear these,” she said. “Jeans. Blouse. Hair down. You brought your boots, right? You’ll look beautiful and he will forget how to speak.”

Audrey laughed softly, tension easing.

“You’re very confident.”

“I have eyes,” Baran replied.

Audrey closed her fingers gently around the earrings.

Then looked up, suddenly more serious.

“I’m a little terrified,” she admitted.

Baran leaned against the desk.

“Of him?” she asked.

“No,” Audrey said quietly. “Of how much I might like this.”

Baran studied her for a long moment, then said gently:

“Then go anyway.”

Audrey nodded slowly.

Then stood, squaring her shoulders like she was about to head into surgery.

“Okay,” she said. “Jeans and blouse. I can do this.”

Baran smiled.

“Yes,” she said. “You can.”

The place was small and softly lit, tucked into a quiet street just far enough from the hospital to feel like a different world.

Low amber lighting. Checkered tablecloths. Soft instrumental music humming beneath the murmur of conversation. The kind of restaurant where everything felt just a little slower.

Audrey stepped inside and paused just briefly to take it in.

Robby stood when he saw her, already at a small table near the back. He looked different out of scrubs — dark jeans, pressed button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that had definitely seen years of trauma work.

For a second he just stared.

She’d chosen the jeans and the blouse after all — soft, flattering, simple but perfect. Her long dark hair draped over her shoulders and fell down her back. Baran’s earrings catching the low light.

He forgot whatever greeting he’d planned.

“You look…” he started.

Then stopped, like he couldn’t find a word that didn’t sound like too much.

She smiled gently, saving him.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he said softly.

She looked up.

He leaned in just enough and pressed a quick, warm kiss to her lips.

Just a peck.

He pulled out her chair. She sat, warmth settling between them immediately — not awkward, just aware.

A server appeared with menus and water, then disappeared again, leaving them in a cocoon of soft light and quiet.

For a moment they just looked at each other and laughed softly at the same time.

They ordered wine. Food. Simple things. The conversation came easily after that — surprisingly easily. Without the ER around them, without pagers and trauma alerts, they were just two people.

The candle between them flickered softly as the server poured wine and slipped away again, leaving them in a cocoon of low light and quiet conversation.

Audrey lifted her glass, studying him over the rim.

“To not being in the ER,” she said.

He clinked his glass gently against hers. “I’ll drink to that.”

They both took a sip. The wine was good — smooth, warm, grounding.

For a moment they just sat there, letting the quiet settle.

Audrey rested her forearms lightly on the table, relaxed but attentive.

“So,” she said. “I’ve answered approximately one hundred questions about Seattle over the last few weeks.”

He looked faintly unapologetic. “It’s interesting.”

“It is not that interesting.”

“It is to me.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him.

“Your turn,” she said. “You’ve successfully avoided talking about your sabbatical for… how long have I known you now?”

He leaned back in his chair slightly, one hand around his wine glass.

“Couple weeks.”

“And in that time,” she continued, “I have learned you own a motorcycle and… that’s about it.”

“That’s most of it,” he said lightly.

She narrowed her eyes.

“Where did you go?”

He took a slow sip of wine, considering the question like it required deep analysis.

“Rode west for a while,” he said finally. “Then south. Then wherever the road went.”

“That is not an answer,” she said.

“It’s the only one I’ve got.”

She watched him carefully. His tone wasn’t dismissive — just… guarded. The way people sounded when there were stories underneath they weren’t ready to unpack.

“You went alone?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Another small sip of wine.

She let a beat pass, then tried again — gently this time.

“Was it good?” she asked. “Being away like that?”

He looked at her then — really looked — and something in his expression shifted. Softer. A little distant.

“Necessary,” he said.

She nodded slowly, accepting that for what it was.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “I can respect what is necessary.”

Relief flickered across his face — subtle but real — that she didn’t push harder.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table now.

“Seattle,” he said, redirecting. “You miss it?”

She laughed softly. “That was a very smooth subject change.”

He almost smiled.

“Do you?” he pressed.

She considered the question honestly.

“I miss my people,” she said. “My nieces and nephews. Meredith. My sister.”

He listened closely.

“But,” she added, glancing at him, “I like it here more than I expected to.”

Their food arrived — pasta, bread, the kind of meal meant to be eaten slowly. They paused long enough to thank the server, then settled back into conversation that drifted easily between light and meaningful.

She smiled faintly into her wine.

“You’re very good at deflecting,” she said.

He broke a piece of bread, avoiding her eyes for a second.

“Occupational hazard.”

“Emergency medicine?”

“Something like that.”

She let it go, recognizing the boundary without resentment.

The candle had burned lower by the time their plates were mostly empty, replaced by the easy, lingering pace of people who weren’t in a hurry to leave.

Soft music hummed in the background. A server refilled their wine and slipped away again.

Audrey leaned back slightly in her chair, relaxed now, one elbow resting lightly on the table as she traced the rim of her glass with her finger. The warm glow of the restaurant softened everything — the edges of the day, the constant tension of hospital life.

Robby watched her for a moment before speaking.

“So,” he said quietly. “Can I ask you something?”

She glanced up. “You can always ask. No guarantee I’ll answer.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Why emergency medicine?” he asked. “You said most of your family’s in medicine too.”

She nodded slowly. “They are.”

“Different specialties?”

A small smile touched her mouth.

“Very different.”

He waited.

“My sister Kathleen’s a psychiatrist,” she said. “Liz went into OBGYN for a while before pivoting into research and hospital administration. Amelia’s neurosurgery.” She paused briefly, then added more softly, “Derek was too.”

He nodded once.

“That’s… a lot of doctors,” he said.

“It is,” she agreed.

He studied her for a second.

“So why ER?” he asked. “That’s… a specific choice.”

She leaned back, considering the question like she hadn’t been asked it in a while.

“When you grow up in a family like mine,” she said slowly, “there’s this unspoken expectation that you’ll pick something big. Something impressive. Neurosurgery. Cardio. Something that takes ten extra years of training.”

He huffed quietly. “Sounds familiar.”

She smiled faintly.

“But emergency medicine,” she continued, “Felt right. You meet people on the worst day of their lives and you help them. Right then. No waiting. No long-term follow-ups. Just… show up and do the work.”

“And,” she added with a small shrug, “I liked being the one who could handle anything that came through the door. No matter what it was.”

He watched her closely.

“That tracks,” he said quietly.

She glanced at him.

“You?” she asked. “Why emergency medicine?”

He leaned back slightly, considering.

“Same reason, probably,” he said. “Didn’t want to spend my life in one lane.”

“You don’t like being confined,” she said gently.

“No,” he admitted.

Then she smiled again, lighter this time.

“Also,” she added, “if I’d gone into neurosurgery, my siblings would’ve made it a competition.”

He almost laughed at that.

“Smart move.”

“Self-preservation,” she said solemnly.

The air had cooled while they were inside.

A soft city-night chill — quiet streets, distant traffic, the glow of streetlamps reflecting off damp pavement. Pittsburgh felt calmer at night, almost gentle.

Robby walked beside her, hands in his jacket pockets, matching her pace without needing to think about it. Neither of them rushed.

Dinner had settled into that warm space between them — not just attraction now, but comfort. Familiarity. The easy kind that felt a little dangerous because it could become something more without either of them meaning it to.

“I forgot how good it feels to sit down for an actual meal,” Audrey said as they walked. “Not standing over a chart or eating something from a vending machine.”

“I highly recommend doing it more often,” he said.

She glanced at him sideways, smiling.

“Are you volunteering to make that happen?”

He met her eyes briefly.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

They reached the front of her hotel sooner than either of them wanted. The entrance glowed warmly, revolving doors turning lazily as a couple stepped out ahead of them.

Audrey slowed. Stopped.

He did too.

For a second they just stood there facing each other on the sidewalk, neither quite ready to end the night.

“I had a really good time,” she said quietly.

“Me too.”

A small silence followed — not awkward, just charged with the awareness that this didn’t feel casual anymore.

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, then looked at him with a faint, almost mischievous smile.

“…do you want a nightcap?” she asked.

He blinked once — just once — caught slightly off guard by the directness. Then he glanced toward the hotel doors, then back at her.

“You sure?” he asked quietly.

She nodded, still smiling.

“Yeah.”

A beat.

“Okay,” he said.

Chapter Text

They moved toward the elevators together, walking side by side. Not touching yet — just close enough that the awareness of each other filled the space.

Inside the elevator, the doors slid closed with a soft chime. The mirrored walls reflected them back: two doctors out of scrubs, a little tired, a little wired from adrenaline and wine and whatever this was becoming.

She pressed the button for her floor.

When the doors opened, they stepped out into the quiet hallway, carpet muffling their footsteps as they walked toward her room. At the door, she pulled out her keycard and paused — just briefly — then glanced back at him with a smile on her face.

She opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it open behind her for him to follow.

The door clicked shut behind Robby with a soft, final sound that seemed to echo in the sudden quiet of the room. The space was generous — a large king bed dominated the center, its crisp white duvet turned down invitingly, pillows arranged in soft abundance. Warm ambient light spilled from the bedside lamps and a single floor lamp near the window, turning everything golden and forgiving. The faint hum of the air conditioning was the only sound at first.

Audrey set her bag on the small desk chair and turned to face him. Neither of them moved right away. The distance between them felt both enormous and fragile, like the moment could shatter if they rushed it.

Robby took one slow step forward, then another, until he was close enough that she could see the faint pulse at the base of his throat. He lifted a hand — hesitant, careful — and brushed his fingertips along her jaw, tracing the line as though memorizing it.

“You still okay?” he murmured.

She nodded, leaning just slightly into his touch. 

That seemed to be the permission he needed.

He closed the last small gap and kissed her — not the hungry press from outside the restaurant, but something slower, deeper, like he was tasting every second of it. Her hands rose to his chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath. They kissed like that for long minutes, standing just inside the door, letting mouths learn each other again without urgency.

Eventually his hands slid to her waist, thumbs brushing slow circles over the thin material of her blouse. She sighed into his mouth at the contact — soft, involuntary — and he smiled against her lips.

“Bed?” he asked quietly, the word half-lost in another kiss.

She nodded, already stepping backward, guiding him with her hands still fisted in his shirt.

They moved together in small, unhurried steps until the backs of her knees met the edge of the mattress. She sat slowly, pulling him down with her so he followed, one knee braced on the bed, then the other, until they were both kneeling in the center of the wide expanse of sheets.

He paused there, looking at her — really looking — eyes dark and steady. “Tell me if anything changes,” he said. “Anything at all.”

“I will,” she promised.

Something in his expression softened further at that. He leaned in again, kissing her slowly and lingering while his fingers found the tiny button in the front of her dress. He drew it down inch by inch, the sound barely audible over their breathing. When the fabric loosened he helped her tug it over her shoulders, letting it pool around her waist before she shrugged it the rest of the way down and off.

His gaze moved over her skin like a physical touch — reverent, unhurried. She reached for his shirt buttons in return, undoing them one at a time, spreading the fabric open to slide her palms across his chest, feeling warmth and heartbeat and the faint tremor in his muscles.

They shed the rest slowly — his shirt, her bra, his belt and trousers, her underwear — each piece accompanied by kisses, by quiet laughter when a button stuck or a clasp refused to cooperate, by murmured reassurances and the simple pleasure of finally touching skin to skin.

When they were both bare he eased her down onto the pillows, following until he was braced above her, weight held on forearms so she wouldn’t feel trapped. For a long moment they simply looked at each other, breathing the same air, hearts thudding in tandem.

He kissed her forehead, then each eyelid, the bridge of her nose, the corner of her mouth. Then lower — her throat, the hollow above her collarbone, the slow path between her breasts. Every touch deliberate, every pause giving her time to feel it, to breathe through it.

Her fingers threaded into his hair when his mouth closed over one nipple — gentle suction, the flat of his tongue circling — and she arched just enough to press closer. A low sound slipped from her throat, and he hummed in response, the vibration traveling straight through her.

He moved lower still, mapping her ribs, her stomach, the sensitive skin just above her hip with lips and tongue and the occasional soft scrape of teeth. When he settled between her thighs he looked up, waiting for her eyes to meet his.

“Okay?” he asked again.

She nodded, fingers tightening in his hair. “Please.”

He took his time there too — long, languid strokes of his tongue, learning what made her breath hitch, what made her hips lift. No rush, no goal beyond drawing out every shiver, every quiet gasp. When her thighs began to tremble and her breathing turned ragged he slid two fingers inside her, curling slowly, matching the rhythm of his mouth until she came apart beneath him with a soft, broken sound — back arching, fingers clutching the sheets, then his shoulders.

He stayed with her through it, gentling his touch as she came down, kissing the inside of her thigh, her hip, her stomach, until she tugged him back up to her mouth.

She kissed him deeply, tasting herself on his tongue, hands roaming his back, his sides, urging him closer.

“Still with me?” he whispered.

“Always,” she answered, legs wrapping loosely around his hips.

He entered her slowly, watching her face the entire time. A slight furrow of concentration between his brows, lips parted. When he was fully seated he stilled, letting them both adjust to the feel of it, the stretch and heat and closeness.

She exhaled shakily, hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders. “You feel…”

He kissed her before she could finish the sentence, swallowing the rest of the words. Then he began to move — long, lazy rolls of his hips, deep and unhurried, each stroke drawing them both tighter. She met him with small lifts of her own, finding the rhythm together, letting it build gradually.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever — slow, languid lovemaking, bodies sliding and pressing, mouths never far apart. Whispers against skin: you’re beautiful, god you feel good, don’t stop. Hands roaming, rediscovering, memorizing.

When the tension began to coil tighter he slipped a hand between them, fingers circling where she was most sensitive, matching the slow grind of his hips. She gasped his name — once, twice — and then she was coming again, softer this time but deeper, inner muscles fluttering around him.

He buried his face in her neck, thrusts growing just a little less controlled, a little more desperate, until his own release hit — long, shuddering, his low groan muffled against her skin.

They stayed locked together afterward, breathing hard, hearts hammering against each other. He pressed lazy kisses along her shoulder, her throat, the corner of her jaw, while she traced idle patterns on his back.

Eventually he eased out carefully then tucked her against his chest. The sheets were cool against overheated skin. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, legs tangled with his, and for a long while they simply held each other in the quiet, golden room.

Audrey lay half-curled against him, one leg draped over his, her head tucked beneath his chin. The sheet barely covered them, warm and tangled. Her hair fanned across his shoulder, soft against his skin.

For a long time neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

Robby rested one hand lightly at her back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like he wasn’t entirely aware he was doing it. She shifted closer in her sleep, fitting against him instinctively.

He pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

She stirred.

Her eyes opened slowly, sleep-heavy but warm. She tipped her chin up toward him, and he leaned down, meeting her halfway. The kiss was slow and lazy — no urgency, no need — just warmth and the quiet comfort of being close.

When they pulled back, she didn’t go far. Her lips brushed his again, a second, softer kiss, almost absentminded. He smiled faintly against her mouth and answered it, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her neck.

“Hi,” she whispered.

“Hi.”

She traced a lazy line across his shoulder with her fingertip, then leaned in again, pressing another small kiss to his jaw. Then another. Light, unhurried. The kind of affectionate touches that came when there was nowhere else to be.

He shifted onto his side so they were facing each other fully, the sheet slipping slightly as she tucked closer. He brushed his thumb along her cheek and kissed her again — slow, lingering — then once more just because he could.

She smiled into one of them, letting out a faint, sleepy laugh.

She rested her forehead lightly against his, eyes half-closed, and pressed another gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then one more — light, almost absentminded — before settling her head against his chest again.

“I should probably go,” he said after a while.

He didn’t move.

Her arm slid around his waist, holding him there without force.

“Or you could stay,” she murmured softly.

He exhaled, the decision already made.

“Okay.”

They shifted together until she was comfortably tucked against him again, one leg draped over his, his arm wrapped loosely around her back. Every few minutes one of them would lean in for another small, sleepy kiss — to a shoulder, a cheek, the corner of a mouth — nothing urgent, just reassurance.

Eventually she drifted toward sleep, breathing slow and even against his chest. He pressed one last soft kiss to her hair, then another to her temple, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

He should leave. He knew he should.

But with her warm against him, the room quiet and the city lights flickering softly beyond the window… he stayed.

Morning came slowly.

Soft gray light filtered through the hotel curtains, the city outside still quiet in that early hour before traffic and sirens began again. The room was warm, the air still, the sheets loosely tangled from the night before.

Audrey stirred first.

Not fully awake — just drifting upward from sleep, awareness returning in pieces. Warmth. Weight. The steady rise and fall beneath her cheek.

She realized, hazily, that she was tucked against him.

Her head rested on Robby’s chest, one arm curved loosely across his stomach, her leg draped comfortably over his. He was warm — solid and steady — one arm wrapped around her back like he’d fallen asleep holding her there and never let go.

She didn’t move.

Just stayed there, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing.

For a long moment she hovered in that quiet space between sleeping and waking, feeling… unexpectedly peaceful. Grounded. More rested than she’d felt in weeks.

Her fingers shifted slightly against him, a small, absent movement.

He stirred.

Not abruptly — just a gradual tightening of his arm around her, like his body registered her before his mind fully caught up. His hand moved slowly along her back once, then stilled again.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

She smiled against his chest.

“Morning.”

Neither of them moved right away.

The light crept a little higher along the wall. Somewhere down on the street, a car door shut. Otherwise the room stayed wrapped in quiet.

She tipped her chin up slightly to look at him.

His eyes were still half-closed, hair a little mussed, expression softer than she’d ever seen it in the hospital. For a second he just looked back at her like he was making sure this was real and not something he’d imagined.

Then his hand slid gently up her back, settling at the nape of her neck.

He leaned down and pressed a slow, sleepy kiss to her mouth.

It wasn’t urgent.
Barely even a movement.
Just warm and familiar.

She kissed him back just as softly, lingering there a moment before settling her head back against his chest with a quiet exhale.

“Mm,” she murmured. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

His fingers drifted idly along her shoulder, then down her arm, tracing small absent patterns. She shifted closer in response, fitting more comfortably against him, her knee sliding slightly higher along his leg.

After a moment she spoke again, voice soft and a little shy but honest.

“I’m glad you stayed,” she said.

He looked down at her, attentive immediately.

She hesitated only briefly, then continued, a faint smile tugging at her mouth.

“It’s been… awhile,” she admitted quietly. “Since I’ve let myself have this. With anyone.” Her fingers traced a small line along his chest as she spoke. “I’d like to enjoy it. Not rush through it.”

There was no embarrassment in her tone — just honesty. A gentle vulnerability.

Something in his expression softened further.

“I’m not rushing anywhere,” he said quietly.

Relief flickered across her face, subtle but real. She tucked herself closer against him, resting her cheek over his heart again.

“Good,” she murmured.

He pressed another soft kiss to her hair, then to her temple, lingering there. She tilted her face up again, meeting him for another slow, lazy kiss — warm and unhurried, like they had nowhere else to be.

The ER was loud in that steady, controlled way that meant nothing was actively exploding — but it could at any second.

Audrey stood near the central desk finishing a quick chart, one hip resting lightly against the counter. A half-empty can of Coke sat beside her, long forgotten.

Across the desk, Dana updated the board. Samira was on the phone with radiology. Robby stood a few feet away reviewing labs — or at least pretending to.

The ambulance bay doors opened.

Two officers stepped in escorting a patient — a young guy in handcuffs complaining loudly about his shoulder.

One officer looked at Dana and she pointed to Triage, and he peeled off with the patient toward a room.

The other stayed back at the desk.

Tall. Early 30s. Easy smile. Clearly not having the worst day.

He approached Audrey.

“Hey,” he said politely. “We’ve got a combative genius on his way to triage.”

Audrey smiled, already reaching for the chart.

“Ah,” she said. “My favorite kind of patient. Thanks for bringing him in.”

Her tone was warm but professional — the easy friendliness she used with everyone. The officer lingered a second longer than strictly necessary.

Robby noticed immediately.

The officer shifted slightly, resting a hand on the counter.

“So,” he said. “You new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Audrey nodded. “Temporary. Just helping out for a bit.”

“Well,” he said, smiling a little more openly now, “Pittsburgh’s lucky. You’ve got a good bedside manner. Makes our job easier.”

She laughed softly.

“I’ll take that as a professional compliment.”

“Mostly professional,” he admitted.

Across the desk, Dana slowly stopped writing.

She did not look at Robby.

Robby’s jaw had gone tight.

He was now very intensely reviewing a section of the patient board.

The officer leaned a little closer — not inappropriate, just clearly flirting.

“If you’re ever off shift and not saving lives,” he said, “there’s a decent bar around the corner. I would recommend it. Or show you.”

Dana closed her eyes briefly.

Audrey’s smile softened — genuinely kind.

“That’s really nice,” she said. “Thank you.”

She paused just long enough to make it clear she meant it.

“But I’m only here short-term,” she added gently. “Heading back to Seattle eventually. So I probably shouldn’t start anything here.”

Her tone was warm, appreciative — no embarrassment, no awkwardness. 

“I do love the thought, though,” she finished with a smile.

The officer nodded, taking it in stride.

“Worth a shot,” he said easily. “If you change your mind, I’m around.”

“Stay safe out there,” she replied.

“You too, doc.”

He headed back toward the patient rooms without any wounded ego.

Audrey turned back to her chart like nothing unusual had happened.

Across the desk, Robby was staring.

Dana looked up and caught it instantly.

She leaned sideways and smacked the back of his chart lightly against his arm.

“Knock it off,” she muttered.

He blinked, dragged out of whatever internal spiral he’d been in.

“I’m not doing anything,” he said quietly.

“You’re glaring,” she replied.

“I am not glaring.”

“You absolutely are.”

He forced his attention back to the board, jaw set.

Across from them, Audrey finished charting and took a sip of her now-warm Coke, blissfully unaware of the silent drama unfolding ten feet away.

Dana watched Robby for another long second.

Then leaned in slightly and murmured, “She said no.”

He didn’t answer.

Just kept staring very intently at the board like it had personally offended him.

Dana shook her head slowly.

“Oh,” she muttered. “You’re in trouble.”

Audrey watched him for another ten minutes.

He wasn’t looking at her. Wasn’t hovering. Wasn’t doing the small, quiet things he’d been doing for weeks.

He was contained.

And she didn’t like it.

So when she saw him step into the bathroom, she followed without hesitation and slipped inside behind him.

The door clicked softly shut and she locked it.

He looked up immediately, pausing while unzipping his pants.

“... Can I help you?” he asked.

She crossed her arms lightly and leaned back against the closed door.

“Yes,” she said. “What the heck is up with you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been off all shift,” she said plainly. “Quiet. Avoiding eye contact. Not looking over my shoulder. It’s weird.”

He exhaled slowly.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

She pushed off the door and walked closer. She took his hand in hers, running her thumb over the back of his hand.

“Don’t do that,” she said softly. “Not after last night.”

He sighed, zipped his pants and rubbed a hand briefly over the back of his neck.

For a moment he didn’t speak — just stood there, jaw tight like he was deciding whether to admit something or bury it.

Then he sighed.

“I know we literally just slept together,” he said quietly. “And we don’t have a label or anything.”

Her heart gave a small, unexpected thud.

“But seeing you this morning,” he continued, voice low, “with that cop flirting with you… pissed me off.”

She blinked, surprised.

“I wasn’t flirting,” she said gently.

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know you weren’t doing anything wrong. You were just being you. He was the one flirting.”

A small, frustrated huff left him.

“That doesn’t mean I liked it.”

She stepped closer until there was barely any space between them now. She brought her hands up to his face, moving her thumbs over his beard.

“Michael,” she said quietly. “You’re allowed to feel things. We slept together. We like each other. It would be weird if you didn’t feel something.”

He met her eyes then — tension still there, but easing.

“I don’t want to make it complicated,” he said.

“It isn’t complicated,” she replied gently.

That pulled a faint smile out of him.

“For the record,” she said, softer now, “I wasn’t flirting. I was being polite. And I turned him down.”

“I know,” he said again.

Then she rose slightly onto her toes and kissed him.

He stilled for half a second — then one hand came up to her waist, pulling her just a little closer as he kissed her back.

When they parted, she stayed close, smiling faintly.

“Better?” she murmured.

He exhaled slowly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Better.”

She brushed her thumb once along his lower lip, then stepped back toward the door.

“Good,” she said lightly.

She opened the door and slipped back into the hallway.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria was half-full in that post-rush lull — residents inhaling food, nurses staring blankly at their phones, the espresso machine hissing.

Robby set two trays down at a corner table.

Sandwiches. Chips. Two drinks — Coke for her, something stronger than coffee for him.

Audrey sat.

And immediately folded forward, resting her forehead on her crossed arms like someone who had simply powered down.

Robby blinked once.

“…Audrey?”

“Mmm.”

He pulled his chair in across from her.

“Are you asleep?”

“No,” she murmured into her sleeve.

She was, in fact, approximately three seconds from sleep.

He watched her for a moment — the loose way her shoulders had dropped, the way her hair had fallen forward slightly. She looked wrecked. In that beautiful, post-all-night-and-all-morning kind of way.

He reached across the table and nudged her Coke closer.

“You need to eat,” he said gently.

“No,” she mumbled.

“Yes.”

She turned her head slightly, cheek now resting on her forearm so she could look at him with one half-open eye.

“I have not slept,” she informed him.

“I’m aware.”

“You got called in,” she added.

“I’m aware of that too.”

She squinted at him.

“This is your fault.”

A small, exhausted smile tugged at his mouth.

“Eat,” he repeated.

She groaned softly but pushed herself upright, blinking slowly as she reached for her sandwich.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.

He leaned back in his chair, watching her take a reluctant bite like a man who knew she’d forgive him later.

“You’ll feel better,” he said.

She chewed slowly, eyes drifting closed for half a second before snapping open again.

After another bite, he tilted his head slightly.

“When we’re done,” he said quietly, “we can grab an on-call room. Get a couple hours.”

Her head lifted immediately.

“No.”

He blinked.

“No?”

She sat up straighter, pushing her hair back.

“I want to sleep,” she said firmly, “in the king-sized bed in my hotel room.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“…okay.”

“I am not,” she continued, pointing vaguely with half a sandwich, “sharing an ancient twin mattress that smells like disinfectant and poor decisions with you.”

He laughed softly.

“That bad?”

“Yes,” she said. “I deserve full horizontal real estate.”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice.

“So you’re saying you want me in the king-sized bed.”

She stared at him.

“Yes.”

A beat.

“But not touching me for at least twenty minutes. I am unconscious first.”

He shook his head, amused.

“Understood.”

She took another bite of her sandwich, chewing slower now, eyelids heavy.

“Are you coming with me?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes,” he said.

She nodded once, satisfied.

“Good.”

Then she dropped her head back down onto her arms.

He reached across the table and gently tapped her shoulder.

“Finish eating.”

A muffled groan.

The hotel room was quiet when they stepped inside.

Soft afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the rumpled bed and the small sitting area near the window. The city noise below felt distant, muted — like the world had decided to leave them alone for a few hours.

Audrey kicked the door shut behind them and dropped her bag immediately, already moving toward the bed like gravity had suddenly doubled.

“I’m going to shower,” Robby said quietly, toeing off his shoes.

She nodded without really looking at him, already pulling her sweater over her head as she walked. “Okay,” she murmured. “I might be asleep when you get out.”

“Figured.”

He paused long enough to brush a hand lightly over the small of her back as he passed, then disappeared into the bathroom, the soft sound of the shower starting a moment later.

Audrey stood there for half a second, swaying slightly.

Then she stripped down without ceremony — jeans, sweater, socks — leaving herself in a simple sports bra and underwear. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind of exhausted practicality that comes after a twenty-four-hour stretch of hospital and emotion and travel and not enough sleep.

She crawled onto the bed without even pulling the covers back.

Just stretched out across the center of the mattress, face pressed into one of the pillows, hair spilling everywhere. One arm tucked under her head. One leg kicked slightly out like she’d meant to get comfortable and never quite finished the thought.

Within seconds, she was gone.

Fast asleep.

The shower shut off a few minutes later.

Robby stepped out into the room, towel slung low around his waist, running a hand through damp hair as he walked.

He expected to find her half-awake.
Scrolling her phone.
Maybe curled under the covers.

He stopped.

She was sprawled diagonally across the king-sized bed, completely passed out. Not even under the blankets. Just… asleep. Deeply. Entirely. Like her body had simply reached its limit and shut down the moment it touched something soft.

One arm tucked under the pillow.
Hair everywhere.
Breathing slow and even.

He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight.

A small, quiet smile touched his mouth.

She’d made it maybe thirty seconds.

He crossed the room quietly and pulled back the comforter, careful not to wake her. Then gently — gently — he eased it over her shoulders and down along her side, tucking it loosely so she wouldn’t get cold.

She didn’t stir.
Didn’t wake.

Just made a small, contented sound and shifted slightly deeper into the pillow.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment after, still damp from the shower, just watching her sleep. One hand rested lightly on the mattress near her shoulder, not quite touching — just close.

After a minute he leaned down and pressed a soft, careful kiss to her temple.

“Get some sleep,” he murmured.

Then he slid into bed beside her — careful, slow — settling in without crowding, giving her space even as he stayed close.

Within minutes, the room went quiet again.

Morning came too fast.

Audrey’s alarm went off at 5:30 sharp, the soft chime cutting through the quiet hotel room like a scalpel.

She groaned immediately and buried her face deeper into the pillow.

Beside her, Robby shifted, one arm draped loosely over her waist, still half-asleep.

“…make it stop,” he muttered into the mattress.

She fumbled blindly across the nightstand until she found her phone and silenced it. The room fell quiet again, but the damage was done — reality had arrived.

“I have to get up,” she mumbled and stretched.

“Don’t,” he said, voice thick with sleep. “Stay here.”

She huffed softly and rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. He followed her movement automatically, one hand sliding to her hip, eyes still closed.

“I have to work,” she said. “Morning shift.”

He finally opened one eye.

“I have meetings all day,” he said. “Administrative torture. No patient care.”

She turned her head to look at him.

“That sounds awful.”

“It is.”

They lay there for a second, both equally unwilling to move. The early light filtered softly through the curtains, the room still warm and quiet, the bed far too comfortable to leave.

He shifted closer.

Then closer.

She felt it immediately — the way his hand slid along her side, the slow wakefulness in him that had nothing to do with coffee.

“Michael,” she warned softly.

“What?” he asked innocently, though his mouth had already found the curve of her shoulder.

“You are not starting something.”

“I’m suggesting something,” he murmured against her skin.

She turned her head toward him, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I have to be at the hospital in forty-five minutes.”

“That’s plenty of time.”

“It is not,” she said firmly, though she was already smiling.

He lifted his head, propping himself on one elbow over her, hair still rumpled from sleep.

“Quick,” he said.

“No.”

“Very quick.”

She laughed softly, pushing lightly at his shoulder.

“I am not being late because you have poor impulse control in the morning.”

He leaned down, brushing a slow kiss along her jaw anyway.

“I can be efficient,” he said.

She closed her eyes briefly at that — traitorous body — then pushed at him again.

“Michael.”

He sighed dramatically and dropped back onto his pillow.

“You’re ruining my morning.”

She rolled onto her side, facing him, amusement soft in her eyes.

“You will survive.”

A small silence settled — warm, familiar. He reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.

She leaned forward and pressed a quick, soft kiss to his mouth — brief but affectionate.

“That’s all you get,” she said, already sliding out of bed.

He watched her go, resigned but smiling faintly.

“Cruel,” he muttered.

He groaned and dragged a hand over his face before sitting up.

“I’m serious,” she said, grabbing her scrubs from the chair. “You are not making me late.”

Robby pushed himself up on one elbow, watching her with a lazy, amused expression.

“I would never,” he said, already swinging his legs off the bed.

She pointed at him immediately.

“No. Absolutely not. You stay there.”

“I’m just going to brush my teeth,” he said, standing.

“You can brush them after I shower.”

“I can multitask.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He took one step toward the bathroom.

She bolted.

Audrey darted across the room, slipped inside the bathroom, and locked the door with a decisive click just as he reached it.

There was a beat of silence.

Then a soft knock.

“…Audrey.”

“No,” she said through the door, already turning on the shower.

“You locked me out.”

“You are a guest,” she replied, tugging her hair loose. “And you have demonstrated poor morning judgment.”

He leaned his forehead lightly against the door, laughing under his breath.

“You don’t trust me.”

“Not even a little.”

“Cruel,” he said.

She grinned to herself and stepped under the spray.

“Find another bathroom, Dr. Robinavitch.”

A pause.

“…there is no other bathroom.”

She shrugged even though he couldn’t see it.

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He sighed dramatically, but she could hear the smile in it as his footsteps retreated back into the room.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Inside the bathroom, Audrey laughed quietly to herself under the hot water — tired but warm, a little giddy despite the early hour.

Out in the room, Robby sat back down on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head with a faint smile.

Robby told himself he was just passing through.

He had meetings.

Administrative nonsense.

Budget discussions.

But somehow, he kept ending up near the ED.

Pure coincidence.

He stood just outside the central desk, tablet tucked under one arm, watching.

Audrey stood with Javadi near the board, reviewing labs.

She wasn’t leading the conversation — not dominating it — just listening first. Then asking a question. Then another.

“What are you worried about?” she asked Javadi calmly.

Javadi gestured at the screen. “Lactate’s creeping up.”

“Good catch,” Audrey said. “So what does that tell you?”

Javadi straightened slightly.

“That we shouldn’t discharge yet.”

“Exactly.”

Robby’s mouth curved faintly.

He had no reason to be down there again.

None.

But when he heard from Dana that she’d taken a consult in fast-track — early pregnancy bleeding — he drifted that direction anyway.

He stood just outside the partially open door, unseen.

Inside, Audrey sat beside a young couple, the ultrasound machine humming softly.

The woman’s hand trembled slightly in her partner’s grip.

Audrey’s voice was gentle.

“Okay,” she said, angling the screen toward them. “There it is.”

The room went quiet.

A flicker on the monitor.

A small, rhythmic flutter.

The mother’s breath hitched.

“Is that—?”

“That’s the heartbeat,” Audrey said softly.

Relief flooded the room instantly. The father’s shoulders dropped. The mother began to cry quietly, overwhelmed.

Audrey reached for a tissue and handed it to her without breaking the calm.

“Everything looks good,” she reassured. “You came in because you were scared. That was the right thing to do.”

The father laughed shakily.

“We didn’t want to overreact.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “You’re going to be excellent parents.”

Robby swallowed.

By the time he passed through again, Dana was at the board, arguing about room assignments.

Audrey leaned against the counter, sipping a Coke.

Dana gestured wildly at the board.

“No, I am not putting two psych holds next to each other. I have boundaries.”

Audrey laughed.

“You absolutely do not have boundaries,” she said.

Dana turned slowly.

“I have selective boundaries.”

“Which are?”

“Chaos management.”

Audrey grinned.

“That’s not a boundary.”

Dana pointed at her.

“You’re lucky I like you.”

“I am aware.”

They bumped shoulders lightly, still laughing.

Robby stood a few feet away, unnoticed.

Watching.

The way she fit here.

The way she moved easily between trauma and tenderness and humor.

The way people leaned toward her when she spoke.

She wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

She just… belonged.

Dana finally glanced up and caught him staring.

She squinted.

“You lurking?” she called.

Audrey turned.

Their eyes met across the desk.

There it was again — that small, private shift between them. The awareness. The history of the night before. The locked bathroom door that morning.

She smiled faintly.

“You're done pretending you’re not stalking the ED?” she asked.

He didn’t even bother denying it.

“Meeting break,” he said.

“Uh huh,” Dana muttered.

Audrey tilted her head slightly.

“You could just say you missed me,” she teased.

He held her gaze.

“I do.”

Dana gagged dramatically.

“Okay, no. Take it somewhere else.”

Chapter Text

The lull didn’t last long.

It never did.

But it slowed just enough for people to breathe between cases, for charts to get signed and coffee to be refilled. Audrey stood at the central desk reviewing labs with one of the interns when Robby approached from the hallway, expression carefully neutral.

“Dr. Shepherd,” he said, voice low, the way he said her title when no one else was supposed to hear the undercurrent.

She glanced up immediately, already suspicious—and something warmer flickered low in her belly at the way his eyes locked on hers a beat too long.

“Yes?”

“I need a consult,” he said.

Dana, standing two feet away, looked up slowly.

“Oh my God.”

Audrey blinked, heat creeping up her neck.

“For what?”

He jerked his chin toward the supply hallway, casual, like it was nothing. But the corner of his mouth twitched—just enough.

“Quick question.”

Dana made a soft choking sound that sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.

Audrey narrowed her eyes but pushed off the desk anyway, pulse already kicking up.

“Fine.”

She followed him down the short hallway toward the supply closet, arms folded lightly as she walked, trying to look unbothered. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The faint antiseptic-and-coffee scent of the unit clung to everything.

“You know you can just ask me questions at the desk,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he replied, not turning around. His shoulders were tense under his scrub top, like he was holding himself back from something.

He opened the supply closet door and stepped inside.

She stopped in the doorway, heart thudding against her ribs.

“…Robby.”

“Just a quick consult,” he said, turning to face her. His voice had dropped an octave, rougher now, the professional mask cracking.

She stepped in anyway—because of course she did—and the door clicked softly shut behind them, sealing out the hallway noise.

The closet was small. Narrow shelves stacked with gauze, saline bags, suture kits pressed in close. Barely enough room for two people to stand without brushing.

Which they immediately did.

The heat of him hit her first—warm skin, faint cedar-and-sweat scent from a long shift, the subtle musk that was just him. She turned toward him, brows lifting, but her breath caught when she realized how close his mouth already was.

“This is extremely suspicious behavior—”

He kissed her.

She made a small surprised sound against his mouth—half gasp, half moan—before instinct took over. She kissed him back just as hard, fingers curling into the front of his scrub top, tugging him closer. His hands settled at her waist, thumbs sliding under the hem of her shirt to find bare skin. The contact sent a jolt straight through her.

It wasn’t frantic.

It was needed.

A long shift. A long day of watching each other from across rooms—his eyes finding hers over a crashing patient, her catching the flex of his jaw when he was concentrating, the brush of his arm in the hallway that felt deliberate. Too many almost-moments. Too much restraint.

His tongue brushed hers, slow and deliberate, tasting faintly of the mint gum he chewed to stay sharp. She pressed up onto her toes, chasing more, and he groaned low in his throat—the sound vibrating against her lips.

One of his hands slid up her back, fingers splaying wide between her shoulder blades, holding her against him like he was afraid she’d vanish. The other dipped lower, palm curving over her hip, thumb tracing the edge of her scrub pants in a slow, teasing drag that made her thighs clench.

She broke first, breath soft but ragged.

“You cannot,” she whispered against his mouth, “Call consults like this.”

“I’ll limit it to medically necessary situations,” he murmured, lips brushing hers with every word. His forehead rested against hers now, breaths mingling. “Like when I can’t stop thinking about how your mouth tastes. Or how you look when you’re trying not to smile at me across the trauma bay.”

Her mouth curved despite herself, a shaky laugh escaping.

“This is wildly inappropriate.”

“Probably.”

He leaned in again, brushing another kiss to the corner of her mouth—then lower, along her jaw, slow open-mouthed presses that made her tilt her head back against the shelf behind her. A box of gloves shifted with a soft crinkle. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below her ear and she inhaled sharply, fingers tightening in his shirt.

“Michael — we are at work,” she managed, voice wrecked.

“I know.” His lips found her pulse point, lingering there, feeling it race. “I’m technically your supervising attending here.”

“I am aware.”

She let out a quiet, breathless laugh and gave his chest a light push—more playful than serious.

“Okay,” she said. “Consult complete.”

He stepped back just enough to let her reach the door, but not before stealing one last slow kiss—deeper this time, like he was memorizing her. When he pulled away, his eyes were dark, pupils blown, breathing uneven.

She opened the door carefully and checked the hallway like they were committing an actual crime.

Clear.

She stepped out first, smoothing her hair, tugging her shirt straight, trying to look like she hadn’t just been thoroughly kissed within an inch of her life.

He followed a beat later, composure sliding back into place like armor.

When they returned to the central desk, Dana didn’t even look up from her charting.

“Consult done?” she asked flatly.

Audrey picked up her chart, cheeks still flushed, lips tingling.

“Extremely thorough,” she said calmly.

Dana snorted.

Audrey took a sip of her Coke to hide her smile while Robby moved back toward the board—both of them pretending nothing had happened.

Chapter Text

By the time Audrey reached the hotel, the sky had turned that soft blue-gray of early evening. The air was cooler, quieter than the constant hum of the hospital.

She’d texted him once.

Are you done yet?

He’d replied ten minutes later.

Heading out. Let’s go to my place.

Now she stood near the entrance, arms folded loosely, watching the street. When he finally appeared at the corner, walking toward her with that familiar tired stride, something in her chest tightened.

He looked up and saw her.

A faint smile almost formed — then he caught her expression and it faded.

“Were you waiting long?” he asked when he reached her.

“No.”

A small silence settled.

She shifted her weight.

“I talked to Gloria today,” she said.

“…yeah?” he said.

“She asked about the contract.”

He nodded once.

Audrey inhaled slowly.

“I told her I’ll stay four more weeks,” she said. “Finish out properly.”

Another nod.

“And then I’m going back to Seattle.”

He stopped walking.

The noise of the street moved around them — cars passing, someone laughing across the way — but between them everything went very quiet.

“Okay,” he said.

She studied his face. “You’re not going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?” he asked evenly.

“I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “Something.”

“You have a job there,” he said. “Family. A life.”

It sounded detached.

Her chest tightened. “Michael.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder.

“It makes sense,” he continued. “You were always going back eventually.”

There was distance in every word now. Careful. Controlled. Like he’d pulled something important behind a wall.

She stepped closer.

“Don’t do that,” she said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Shut down.”

“I’m not.”

She stared at him for a long second — then reached out and caught his hand.

“Let’s go to your place tonight,” she said. “ Like you suggested.”

He didn’t move.

“Audrey—”

“Please.”

A beat.

Then she tugged gently, already turning toward the street. After a moment, he followed — quiet, reluctant, but there.

The door closed behind them with a soft click.

He stayed near it, like he wasn’t sure if he should step further inside. She dropped her bag and turned to face him.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

“No.”

“Michael.”

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “I just… misread things.”

That hurt more than anger would have.

“You didn’t,” she said softly.

He let out a quiet, humorless breath.

“You were always leaving,” he said. “That was the deal.”

She crossed the room until she stood right in front of him.

“That doesn’t mean this wasn’t real,” she said.

His jaw shifted slightly, like he didn’t trust himself to respond.

She reached for him then — hands sliding up into his shirt, not urgent, just grounding. Pulling him back into space with her.

“Don’t disappear on me,” she murmured.

He looked at her finally. Really looked.

“I don’t want to make this harder for you,” he said quietly.

“You’re not,” she replied. 

A long silence settled.

Then she rose onto her toes and kissed him — not desperate, not rushed. Just soft and certain. The kind of kiss that said we’re still here, right now.

For a second he didn’t respond.

Then his hand came up to her waist, pulling her closer like instinct finally overrode restraint.

Just low lamplight, the muted glow of the city outside the windows, and the soft sound of Audrey’s laugh as she set her bag down by the couch.

“You live like an adult,” she said, looking around. “I’m impressed.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Robby replied, closing the door behind her.

She turned back toward him, still smiling — and stopped when she realized how close he’d stepped.

“Hi,” she said softly.

“Hi.”

He reached out first — one hand settling at her waist, pulling her just close enough that their bodies lined up naturally. She leaned into it without hesitation, hands sliding lightly up his chest.

The first kiss was slow.

The second less so.

By the third she was half-laughing against his mouth as he walked her backward toward the couch.

“Michael,” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

“You’re being very obvious.”

“I’ve been obvious all day,” he said.

She didn’t argue.

They sank onto the couch together, still kissing. His hand slid along her side. Hers curled into the front of his shirt.

Her phone started ringing.

They both froze.

She blinked.

“…ignore it,” he murmured softly, leaning in again.

She reached blindly for her phone on the coffee table anyway, glancing at the screen.

And immediately burst out laughing.

“Oh no,” she said.

“What?”

She turned the screen toward him.

MEREDITH — FACETIME

He closed his eyes briefly.

“Of course,” he muttered.

She answered before it could ring again.

The screen filled instantly with Meredith’s face — and two small children climbing over her shoulders.

“Aunt Audrey!” one of them shouted.

Audrey sat up quickly, trying to look like a normal, composed adult and not someone who’d just been mid-makeout on a man’s couch like a teenager.

“Hi!” she said brightly.

Meredith squinted at the screen.

“…where are you?”

Audrey cleared her throat. “Pittsburgh.”

“I can see that,” Meredith said dryly. “Where in Pittsburgh.”

Audrey hesitated exactly one second too long.

Meredith’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re not in your hotel.”

From beside her, Robby quietly leaned back into the couch, resigned.

One of the kids popped fully into frame.

“Who’s that?” they asked loudly.

Audrey turned the phone slightly before they could see him.

“No one!” she said quickly. “Just— a coworker.”

Meredith’s expression went completely flat.

“Audrey.”

“Yes.”

“Turn the phone.”

“No.”

“Audrey.”

She sighed and slowly angled the phone.

Robby lifted a hand in a small wave from the couch.

“Hi,” he said.

Meredith stared at him.

“…I have so many questions,” she said calmly.

One of the kids gasped.

“A BOY.”

Audrey covered her mouth with one hand.

“Oh my God.”

Robby tried not to laugh.

Meredith leaned closer to the camera.

“Are you coming back to Seattle,” she asked him directly, “or do I need to start planning holidays around Pittsburgh?”

Audrey groaned. “Meredith—”

But Meredith just smiled slightly.

Audrey sat rigidly on the couch, trying to look like a perfectly normal adult and not someone who’d been mid-makeout thirty seconds earlier. Robby sat beside her, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, doing an admirable job of looking calm.

On the screen, Meredith stared at both of them like she was mentally reorganizing the family tree.

Behind her, the kids had gone feral.

“AUNT AUDREY HAS A BOYFRIEND,” one of them yelled.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Audrey said quickly.

Robby raised a brow but wisely said nothing.

“WHAT’S HIS NAME,” another kid demanded, suddenly inches from the camera.

Meredith sighed the sigh of a woman who had survived multiple surgical disasters and several Shepherd family crises.

“You’re all going to calm down,” she said firmly.

No one calmed down.

Bailey pointed dramatically at the screen. “Is that the Pittsburgh man??”

Audrey groaned and covered her face.

“Yes,” Meredith said flatly. “That is apparently the Pittsburgh man.”

Robby couldn’t help it — he laughed.

Meredith turned the phone slightly so she could see him better.

“You,” she said.

“Yes?” he replied politely.

“Are you feeding her?”

He blinked.

“…I— what?”

“She forgets to eat when she’s stressed,” Meredith continued. “And she will absolutely live on Coke and vibes if unsupervised.”

Audrey sighed.

“I’m just asking basic questions,” Meredith said calmly. “Is she sleeping? Is she hydrating? Is she making good decisions?”

“Aunt Audrey never makes good decisions,” one of the kids announced.

“That’s untrue,” Audrey protested weakly.

Robby, traitor that he was, nodded slightly. “She ate today,” he offered. “And slept. Some.”

Meredith narrowed her eyes.

“Some?”

Audrey made a strangled sound. “MEREDITH.”

The kids were now whisper-yelling.

“Do you live with him??”
“Is he a doctor??”
“Does he have a dog??”
“ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED??”

Audrey dropped her head back against the couch.

“Oh my God.”

Robby was fully laughing now, shoulders shaking quietly.

Meredith pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Okay,” she said. “Everyone stop. Stop talking.”

The kids froze.

She leaned closer to the camera, lowering her voice.

“Audrey,” she said calmly. “Call me later.”

Audrey blinked.
“…I will.”

Meredith’s eyes flicked briefly toward Robby again — not hostile, just assessing in that Meredith Grey way.

Then she smirked slightly.

“Nice to meet you,” she told him.

“You too,” he said.

Meredith ended the call before Audrey could say anything else.

Silence fell over the apartment.

Audrey slowly lowered the phone from her ear and stared at nothing.

“…I’m never going back to Seattle,” she announced.

Robby leaned back against the couch, still smiling.

“I think I made a good impression,” he said.

He reached over and tugged gently at her wrist, pulling her closer across the couch.

“I endured a full Shepherd-family FaceTime interrogation.”

A laugh slipped out instead as she leaned into him, shaking her head.

“Call her later,” he murmured.

She huffed softly.

“I know.”

Chapter Text

“Okay,” she said gently to the patient sitting on the exam bed. “Walk me through it one more time.”

The woman looked frazzled. Late 20s. Still in yoga clothes.

“So my cat caught a bat outside,” she said. “And she brought it inside. It was still alive. And then it got loose. And we couldn’t find it for like… fifteen minutes.”

“Inside the house.”

“Yes.”

“With the bat flying.”

“Yes.”

“And you were…?”

“Trying to catch it.”

Audrey exhaled slowly.

“Did the bat bite you?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you touch it?”

“Maybe.”

Audrey closed the chart.

“Okay. So here’s the thing. If a bat has contact in an enclosed space and we can’t rule out exposure, we treat as rabies risk.”

The patient’s eyes widened.

“Rabies?”

“Yes. It’s very rare. It is also almost universally fatal once symptomatic. So we do not gamble.”

The patient swallowed.

“So… what does that mean.”

“Rabies post-exposure prophylaxis,” Audrey replied calmly. “Immunoglobulin around any wound sites and a vaccine series.”

The patient made a face.

“…how many shots.”

“A few,” Audrey said gently.

Just as she reached for the consent form—

The patient suddenly gasped.

“Oh my god, I forgot.”

Audrey froze.

“Forgot what.”

The woman bent down and unzipped her backpack.

Before Audrey could process it—

A cat head popped out.

Princess, walking by the open curtain, froze mid-step.

“…is that a cat?”

“Yes,” the patient said. “This is Muffin.”

Muffin immediately leapt out of the backpack and onto the exam bed.

Audrey stared. “You brought the cat.”

“She caught the bat,” the woman explained urgently. “Can you treat her too?”

Silence.

Dana leaned around the corner.

“…why is there a cat?”

Audrey pinched the bridge of her nose.

“We are not a veterinary hospital.”

“But she was exposed!” the patient insisted.

Princess leaned against the wall, thoroughly entertained.

Audrey inhaled slowly and switched into crisis-manager mode.

“Okay,” she said calmly. “Muffin is adorable. Muffin is not my patient.”

Muffin meowed loudly.

The patient’s voice went small.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

That softened Audrey immediately.

She crouched slightly so she was eye level with the cat, who was now licking her own paw on the hospital bed like this was completely acceptable behavior.

“You need an emergency vet,” Audrey said gently.

She straightened.

“Perlah!”

Perlah popped her head in.

“Yes?”

“Find me the closest emergency veterinary clinic that handles rabies exposure.”

Perlah blinked.

“…for the human?”

“For the cat.”

Perlah nodded once like this was completely normal.

“On it.”

Princess stepped closer to the bed and looked at Muffin.

“I mean,” she said thoughtfully, “she looks fine.”

“Princess,” Audrey warned.

The patient looked near tears.

“Is she going to die?”

“No,” Audrey said firmly. “If she gets evaluated and vaccinated appropriately, she’ll be fine.”

Muffin promptly attempted to jump toward the supply cart.

Princess caught her mid-air.

“Absolutely not,” Princess muttered.

Audrey turned back to the patient.

“We will handle your rabies prophylaxis,” she said calmly. “And Perlah will give you the address of an emergency vet. You take Muffin straight there.”

Perlah reappeared with her phone.

“Twenty-four-hour emergency animal hospital. Ten minutes away.”

The patient visibly relaxed.

“Oh thank god.”

Muffin chose that moment to hiss at a passing stretcher.

Princess raised a brow. “She’s spicy.”

Audrey sighed. “Of course she is. Add ‘unexpected feline consult’ to today’s list.”

Dana shook her head. “How do we even bill for that?”

Audrey stepped back to the patient with the consent form.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s talk about your shots.”

Dana leaned across the central desk and muttered toward Robby without looking up from her chart.

“Before you hear it from someone else… someone brought their cat.”

Robby didn’t look up. “…I’m sorry?”

“A cat,” Dana clarified. “In a backpack.”

He slowly lifted his head. “In my emergency department.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to regret this.”

He walked toward Triage with the cautious stride of a man approaching an unknown disaster.

He pushed the curtain aside and stopped.

Audrey was sitting on the edge of the exam bed.

A very real, very fluffy gray cat was sitting calmly in her lap.

The patient sat beside her, looking frazzled but reassured.

Audrey was stroking the cat’s back gently, voice low and steady.

“Okay,” she was saying. “So we’re going to start your rabies series today. And Muffin is going to see a vet tonight. She’s going to be okay.”

The cat purred.

Robby stared.

Audrey looked up and saw him in the doorway.

She smiled.

“Hi. Melissa, this is Dr. Robinavitch. I bet you he heard there was a cat in here and couldn’t resist coming to see Muffin.”

He glanced at the cat.

Then at her.

Then back at the cat.

“…why,” he said slowly, “is there a cat in my department?”

“It’s fine, Dr. Robinavitch,” she replied calmly.

Princess leaned against the wall, arms folded, fully entertained.

“The cat caught a bat,” Princess offered helpfully.

Robby closed his eyes briefly.

Audrey continued petting Muffin like this was a perfectly normal extension of her job description.

“She brought it in because the bat got loose in the house,” Audrey explained. “So we’re doing rabies prophylaxis.”

“For the human,” Robby clarified.

“Yes.”

He stared at the cat again. “And the feline consult?”

“Emergency vet,” Audrey said. “Ten minutes away.”

Muffin shifted in Audrey’s lap and tucked herself closer against Audrey’s stomach.

Robby narrowed his eyes slightly.

The patient looked between them.

“Is he the boss?”

Princess snorted.

“Unfortunately.”

Dana appeared behind Robby now.

“I told you.”

Muffin looked up at Robby.

And hissed.

Audrey bit her lip to stop laughing.

Robby stared at the cat.

The cat stared back.

A long, tense standoff.

The patient looked relieved.

“So… she’ll be okay?”

“Yes,” Audrey said firmly. “Both of you will.”

Robby stood there another second — watching her with the cat, calm, gentle, reassuring — and something in his expression softened despite himself.

Then he shook his head once.

“I’m going back to trauma,” he muttered.

As he left, Princess called after him:

“Should we add litter boxes to the supply list?”

“Absolutely not,” he called back.

Audrey laughed softly, still petting Muffin.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside the hotel window.

The sheets were tangled around their legs, the late afternoon sun casting warm stripes across the bed.

Robby lay sprawled comfortably against her, his head resting on her stomach, one arm draped lazily around her waist. His eyes were closed, breathing slow and even, somewhere between awake and asleep.

Audrey smiled to herself.

She combed her fingers through his dark hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. Every so often her hand wandered lower, fingertips disappearing into the soft beard along his jaw.

He made a contented sound that almost qualified as a purr.

“You know,” she murmured, “you’re surprisingly cuddly.”

“Mmm.”

“I didn’t have you pegged as a nap-on-your-girlfriend type.”

One eye cracked open.

“Girlfriend?”

She grinned.

“I was wondering if you’d catch that.”

“Hm.”

His eye closed again.

She chuckled softly and continued absentmindedly playing with his hair.

After another quiet minute she asked, almost casually,

“So…”

“Mmm?”

“Ready to tell me where you went on your sabbatical?”

He didn’t move.

“I told you.”

She smiled knowingly. “‘Here and there’?”

“Mhm.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately.

“Michael.”

Nothing.

She gently hooked a finger beneath his beard and gave it the tiniest tug.

His eyes opened just enough to look up at her.

“What?”

“Come on.”

Another little tug.

“A trip like that?” she said. “You tell people about it.”

He held her gaze for a long moment. Then the corner of his mouth lifted.

Instead of answering, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against her stomach.

His beard brushed her skin, the whiskers tickling just enough to make her squirm.

She laughed, trying unsuccessfully to hold still.

“Michael!”

He kissed her there again, lingering just long enough to make her laugh a second time.

“That’s cheating.”

“It worked.”

“It did not.”

He settled his cheek back against her, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

She sighed dramatically.

“I’ll find out sooner or later.”

“You might.”

“I definitely will.”

He only smiled.

She slid both hands into his hair again and this time gently coaxed him upward until he was looking at her instead of pretending to nap.

“Come here,” she said softly.

He let her guide him without resistance.

When he reached her, she cupped his face between her hands, thumbs brushing through his beard.

She leaned forward and kissed him—slow, unhurried, the kind of kiss that wasn’t asking for anything except honesty.

When they separated, she rested her forehead against his.

“You don’t have to tell me today,” she whispered. “But someday…”

His eyes searched hers for a moment.

Then he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“…Someday,” he agreed.

She smiled.

“I can be patient.”

He laughed quietly.

“I’m starting to think that’s your most dangerous quality.”

She smiled, tugged him the last inch back to her, and kissed him once more, leaving the question unanswered—for now.

He kissed her back, deeper this time, the tenderness shifting as his mouth curved into a smile against hers. Audrey nipped playfully at his lower lip, and the low chuckle that rumbled through his chest made her grin.

“You think you’re so mysterious,” she teased between kisses, her fingers still tangled in his hair.

“And you think you’re so patient,” he countered, rolling them smoothly so she was beneath him for a moment. His weight settled over her deliciously, not crushing, just present. He kissed her again—slow, then quick and teasing, then slow once more—until she was laughing into his mouth.

“Stop that,” she giggled, swatting his shoulder. “You’re going to make me dizzy.”

“Good.” Robby dipped his head and kissed along her jaw, then found that ticklish spot just beneath her ear. His beard brushed her skin again, deliberate this time, and she squirmed with a burst of laughter.

“Michael—!”

He grinned against her neck, the sound of her giggles doing dangerous things to his self-control. They wrestled playfully across the bed, trading kisses and tickles until Audrey finally pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, pinning his shoulders with a triumphant grin.

“My turn,” she declared, hair falling around them like a curtain.

Robby’s hands settled on her waist, thumbs stroking her skin. “I’m not complaining.”

Clothes disappeared between more laughter and stolen kisses. She took her time exploring him with her mouth and hands, drawing out low groans and playful curses until he was rock hard and breathing raggedly beneath her. When she finally sank down onto him, taking him inch by inch, they both moaned. Audrey braced her hands on his chest and began to move—slow, rolling rocks of her hips that had them both smiling and gasping.

The rhythm stayed light and playful at first. She leaned down to kiss him, giggling when his beard tickled her chin, then sat up again, arching her back as she rode him with growing confidence. Robby’s hands roamed everywhere—cupping her breasts, gripping her hips, sliding up her thighs—his eyes dark with pleasure as he watched her.

“God, Audrey,” he breathed, thrusting up to meet her. “You look incredible like this.”

She rewarded him with a particularly delicious roll of her hips, leaning forward to kiss him again, messy and smiling. Their pace quickened, turning heated and needy. Robby’s fingers dug into her hips, guiding her movements as his own grew more urgent.

When he came, he was buried deep inside her, groaning her name against her mouth as his body tensed and shuddered beneath her. Audrey kept moving through it, slower now, drawing out every last pulse of his release while she kissed him through the aftershocks.

She started to slow down, but Robby’s hand slid between them, finding her swollen clit with unerring precision. “Don’t stop,” he murmured, voice rough and wrecked. His fingers circled firmly, even as he stayed inside her, still sensitive and full.

“Robby—fuck—” she gasped, hips jerking at the sudden intensity. The overstimulation hit her hard and fast—every brush of his fingers and the way he was still deep inside her made her tremble and whimper.

He didn’t let up, kissing her through it, one arm wrapped around her back to hold her close while his fingers worked her relentlessly. “Come on, sweetheart. You can do it. Let me feel you.”

Audrey’s rhythm faltered, turning into desperate little rocks as pleasure bordered on too much. The combination of him still filling her and his skilled fingers pushed her over the edge again. She came with a sharp cry, body clenching hard around him, shaking and gasping as the orgasm tore through her in powerful, overwhelming waves.

He kept touching her gently through every aftershock, murmuring praise and pressing soft kisses to her face until she collapsed against his chest, boneless and panting.

For a long moment, the only sounds were their slowing breaths and the distant hum of the city. Robby stroked her back with lazy affection, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You okay?” he whispered.

Audrey let out a shaky, breathless laugh and nuzzled into his neck. “You’re dangerous when you’re playful.”

She stayed right where she was, draped over him, his softening cock still nestled warmly inside her. Audrey’s breathing was ragged, her body limp and glowing, but she didn’t want to move. Not yet.

Robby stroked lazy circles along her spine, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. “You’re going to kill me, woman,” he murmured, voice husky and amused.

Instead of answering, Audrey pushed herself up just enough to look at him. Her hair was a wild mess, cheeks flushed, eyes still dark with want. She cupped his face with both hands and smiled—slow, mischievous, and a little shy.

“Sit up,” she whispered.

He raised an eyebrow but obeyed, shifting beneath her until his back was against the headboard. The new angle pressed him deeper for a moment, and they both exhaled shakily at the sensation. Audrey settled more firmly in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

She kissed him softly at first—slow, lingering presses of her lips that quickly deepened. Then she began to move.

It was a gentle, rolling grind of her hips, lazy circles that kept him inside her while she rubbed her clit against him with every shift. The overstimulation made her whimper into his mouth, but she didn’t stop. She kissed him like she couldn’t get enough—messy, sweet, breathless kisses broken only by soft gasps and little giggles when his beard tickled her.

Robby chuckled against her lips, the sound low and warm, his hands settling on her waist to steady her. “Baby… you have to give me some time to recover,” he murmured, half-teasing, half-pleading. “I’m not twenty anymore.”

Audrey smiled into the next kiss, rolling her hips a little more deliberately, squeezing around him. “Just one more,” she whispered pleadingly, voice sweet and husky. “Please, Michael… I need it.”

He groaned softly, the combination of her words, her heat still wrapped around him, and the way she was kissing him so hungrily making it impossible to deny her. One of his hands slid up her back, tangling in her hair as he kissed her harder, matching her growing urgency.

“That’s it,” he encouraged between kisses, voice rough. “Take what you need, sweetheart.”

She rocked faster, grinding down on him in tight, needy circles. Every movement dragged against her most sensitive spots, building her back up with surprising speed. Robby held her close, one arm banded around her back, the other hand slipping between them to help, his thumb finding her clit and stroking in time with her movements.

Audrey’s moans grew higher, breathier. She buried her face in his neck, kissing and nipping at his skin as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “Let me feel you again.”

She shattered with a muffled cry against his shoulder, body clenching rhythmically around him as another powerful orgasm washed over her. Her hips stuttered, thighs trembling, and Robby held her through every wave, murmuring praise and pressing kisses to wherever he could reach.

When it finally ebbed, Audrey melted completely against him, boneless and utterly spent. She stayed right there—still straddling his lap, one hand rubbing his beard, other arm loose around his neck, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder. Her breathing slowly evened out, soft and deep.

Robby smiled, wrapping both arms around her and holding her close. He pulled the blanket up over her back and gently stroked her hair, content to stay exactly like this as her body relaxed fully into sleep.