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Robby honestly didn't understand until Dana told him to get on his knees and he dropped without a thought.
"Good boy," she murmured, and his lungs and stomach and what was maybe every other organ the universe crammed into the human torso felt like it tightened up in distinct pleasure.
Then he breathed out and the feeling released, and along with it all the stress that had been plaguing his muscles half the shift. He looked up, and saw her pleased expression - so unassumingly beautiful that he thought for a second he'd do anything to see that expression again and also that he never wanted it to see it while they were working because it might undo him - and then Dana exhaled and ran her hand over the top of his head, fingers rubbing the short strands of his hair in between, and she brought his forehead to rest against her thigh.
Robby thought he'd relaxed ten seconds ago. That was nothing compared to the looseness that ran through him then, like a cool thread winding through his body, like that old children's game where you pretended to crack an egg on someone's head and they could feel it running down their neck even though there was no egg at all. His whole body went limp and he put his arms loosely around Dana's legs without even thinking.
Dana didn't say anything, but he could feel the question in the tense and release of her muscles. He forced out the words: "I'll be okay in a minute," and they were rough to his own ears, painful to push up his throat and into his mouth.
Dana let him stay without moving for a few minutes, then urged him up to his feet. "We need to get back. But if you need this again, just ask," she said. "Swear it to me."
"I will ask," Robby promised. Dana narrowed her eyes at him for a second like she didn't entirely believe him, then put a hand on his chest and leaned up to kiss him. It was soft, and simple, but it sure didn't feel chaste.
Now, the hand on his head runs down the side of his face, fingertips dragging over his lips, then pushing past them into his mouth. "No, just rest for a sec," Robby hears Dana say. The fingertips touch his tongue and stroke. He shudders. Dana puts another finger in his mouth. "Good," she whispers.
Robby concentrates on holding still and what that feels like. Concentrates on the muscles of Dana's thigh under his cheek, on the half-pull, half-stretch of her fingers in his mouth. She's not choking him, not by a long shot, but she's using the weight of her hand to hold his jaw down and the suggestion of fullness is there waiting to touch the back of his throat, maybe, maybe.
Robby counts himself through relaxing into it. "Yes, Robby," he hears Dana murmur. "That's perfect."
He's not sure how long they stay like that. It's probably five minutes or less; no one can disappear from the ER for very long. Once he's gone limp, he concentrates on staying in that space: where everything is heavy but in a good way, where the tension he's been holding in his neck and shoulders for the last three days has drained out. He's aware of Dana's free hand drifting over his head and face, her thumb pressing patterns against his skull.
Dana rubs two fingertips against his tongue, then slips her fingers free. Robby swallows against the sudden emptiness of his mouth.
"You feel better?" she asks.
Robby nods. "I do."
"Good. Let's get up now."
His knees and back protest a little and there's a twinge in his hip. Dana looks at him like she knows. "I got Aleve extra strength in my purse," she says.
"I'm okay." At Dana's incredulous expression, he adds, "For now."
"Uh-huh. Let's go get you a dose."
There's no arguing. Robby waits, though, wanting to say something. Dana simply raises an eyebrow at him, and then she steps close again, setting a hand on his chest, next to his IDs. "What?"
"Thank you," Robby says, the words firm. Dana lifts her hand to wave him off, scoffing, but he catches it and folds their fingers together, then lifts her hand to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it.
"Don't look at me like that with those puppy-dog eyes," Dana warns, making him laugh. He kisses her fingers, then moves his own hand so he can kiss her palm.
*
"Robby," Dana says sharply. "You got a minute?"
Robby takes off his glasses and folds them back into his pocket. "For you, always."
Dana makes a show of putting a work phone in her pocket. "Call if you need me in the next ten," Robby hears her tell Princess. She crooks a finger at Robby.
"Guess I'm in for an earful," Robby says to Princess, and follows Dana out of the ED.
They've both been here for years. They know almost every inch of this hospital. Dana goes up two flights of stairs, Robby behind her, then gets in the elevator. "The roof, really?" Robby asks, as Dana pushes the button. "In the middle of the day?"
Dana only gives him a look.
The sky is a beautiful bright blue, nearly cloudless above them. Robby takes a deep breath of fresh, roof-level, busy city air. He's been in Pittsburgh almost twenty years, it's the closest place he's come to calling home, and honestly - the woman next to him has been a huge part of that.
"In all truthfulness, I don't know why we're up here," he says softly.
"I just needed a minute. And a cigarette." Dana slips the pack from her pocket and takes off her mask.
Robby takes off his own, then pulls his lighter from the pocket of his cargo pants and wakes it up, touches the flame to the end of the smoke once Dana's got it in her mouth. "And you needed to bring me with you?"
She takes a deep drag. "Yeah."
Robby gestures for the pack, and Dana taps one out for him. He's been trying to cut back - and doing a decent job; he's down to one on his walk to work, one on his walk home, and one before he goes to bed. It beats the entire pack he'd burn through in two days, a year ago. "This counts as my afternoon smoke," he says, lighting it.
"I just needed to get out of there for a couple minutes."
Robby nods. Smokes most of his cigarette before asking, "Something here? Or at home?"
"Val's flunking math. Again." Dana shakes her head. "How's she gonna graduate, if she fails? How's she ever going to get out of the house, without college?"
"What is this, calculus?"
"Algebra."
Robby takes in another lungful of smoke, blows it out slowly. "I wasn't any good at algebra either, and look at me now."
Dana's smile is one of those she's trying to hold in, and failing. "You got any ideas?"
"Could get her a tutor," Robby says with a shrug. "I bet, uh - Josephson? Johnson? Joey, whatever his name is - he'd do it, for cheap. I might not remember his name entirely but I remember he's good at math."
Dana nods. "And what if she just fuckin' hates math?"
"Then you tell her she's gotta buckle down and get through it, then pick a major that doesn't require anything stronger than the refresher course." He could be talking out his ass; it's been a while since he was in college, but surely the basics haven't changed too much. "Plus most schools have tutoring centers - Val would just have to ask for help."
He sees Dana's mouth pull at that, and chuckles. "Oh - she get that from you?"
"Fuck off, Robinavich."
Robby holds up the lighter. "You having another?"
Dana sucks in a breath between her teeth. "I shouldn't."
"We could share one," Robby offers. "But if you're - I don't want to -"
"Light it up, babe."
Robby lights it up, and they pass the cigarette back and forth, standing close. The late spring, almost early summer sun is warm enough. Robby spends about thirty seconds wishing he had a beer, except they've got two hours left in this shift. "What's Benji making for dinner?" he asks.
"Mm, I think I heard him mention something about a stir-fry this morning. Beef and broccoli, something like that."
"Sounds good."
Dana's brow lifts. "You looking for an invitation?"
"Only ones that are freely given," Robby replies.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm sure he'll make enough, you can do your lost puppy routine."
Robby gives her his most hang-dog expression, and Dana laughs, pushing at his shoulder. "There's a Pirates game on tonight anyway, Benji needs someone else who cares about baseball."
"Love a good baseball game," Robby replies, tucking the last of the cigarette between Dana's lips before pretending to hit a baseball. "But seriously."
"But seriously, nothing." She finishes it off and flicks the butt away. "Stir-fry. Baseball. I bet there's a couple Coors in the fridge with your name on them."
Robby can't hold back his laugh. He puts his arm around Dana's shoulders and squeezes. "All right. Yeah."
*
This time, there's nothing that triggers it. Nothing to send him off the diving board into the deep end. No dead kids or someone who should have made it if not for some fluke, no trigger. One moment Robby's finishing up checking on Langdon's shattered elbow patient who's waiting for an ortho consult, and the next he's not entirely sure where he is.
It's happening more often. He knows - he knows - that he needs to get some sort of help. This sort of thing happens to everyone. And his insurance will cover whatever sort of therapist he needs; he just needs to ask for it.
"Robby," Dana's saying, and then they're in the elevator.
There are plenty of rooms no patients are in, entire floors the hospital doesn't staff. He lets Dana steer him into one of the many open spaces, doesn't focus until she puts a hand on either side of his face and makes him look at her. "What is it, honey?" she asks.
"This time it was nothing." The words are shaky. "I swear."
"How can I help?"
Robby shakes his head: he doesn't know.
Dana takes his mask off, then, forces him to meet her gaze for another fifteen seconds. Then her hands slide from his face to his shoulders, and he's pushed, but gently. Down to his knees he goes, pressing his face to Dana's hip. "You need… touch, babe?" she asks, running a hand through his hair.
"I don't know." He says it out loud this time.
Dana hums. The hand in his hair tightens, and Robby finds his head being forced back. The pain isn't anything worth writing home about - mostly a sting, but it makes him feel less fuzzy. He breathes in deeply. Dana's thumb skates over his lips, then she's checking his pupils.
"I'm conscious," he promises.
"Didn't think you weren't. Just breathe for a minute, okay?"
Robby does. Dana doesn't wear perfume at work, but here, he can catch the last lingering amount of the jasmine bodywash she's used for years. That scent, even more than the day-off Calvin Klein Obsession, is what he associates with Dana. She doesn't pull his hair again, and her hand slips down to rest at his neck, her thumb at the hollow of his throat and her fingers curved against his shoulder. "You need me to do something special?" he hears her ask.
He doesn't know. He says as much.
Dana makes a soft humming noise. Then her hand grips harder at the base of his neck and Robby moves up with it, getting to his feet as instructed. He's not inside himself enough right now to know what floor they're on, but there's a bed, and Dana maneuvers him onto it. Then she undoes the clip holding her hair back and climbs on top of him.
Robby closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of jasmine.
Dana presses his shoulders. "When was the last time you got laid?"
They're only eight months out from complete PPE and Robby's not sure he could admit it to anyone but Dana: "Heather. Before we broke up."
Dana doesn't say anything for a moment. Then: "It's been a long two years."
"You're telling me." Robby takes a deep breath. Dana's weight across his hips and against his chest is surprisingly comforting. He puts a hand in her hair, rubs the silky strands between his fingers. "Thank you."
"Don't worry about it. I'd do it for anyone."
"No, you wouldn't," Robby laughs, and that's what finally unlocks the last tight piece in his chest. He urges Dana closer, brushes his mouth across hers.
Dana catches his jaw in one hand and kisses him deeper, fully, plunging her tongue into his mouth. Robby lets himself melt into it, lets himself get lost, the disassociation of this so much different than what was happening in his brain not ten minutes ago. Dana winds her tongue around his, then strokes over the roof of his mouth before pulling back slightly. "You feel better?" she breathes in his ear.
"Feel more alive again," Robby admits.
Dana's hand flexes on his chest, before she pushes - lightly - on his throat, just for a second. "Should probably get back."
"Yeah." He rubs his fingertips against her scalp, then slides his hand down, to cup her jaw. This close, he can feel her hair brush his face. She smiles and kisses him again. The last of the horrible, nearly indescribable tension leaks out of him. "Too bad we're not on nights, we could probably take a nap," Dana mutters.
Robby chuckles. Presses a kiss to her cheek, right under her eye. "No, thanks. I did my time."
"Me, too." Dana sighs, her body relaxing against his. "We should go back, now that you feel better."
"Yeah."
Neither of them move for another minute or two. Then Dana groans and pushes herself up, gets her feet back on the floor. Robby feels like his own feet might still be numb; Dana grabs his upper arm and shakes him. "I'm going to hit central supply, make it look good," she says.
Their phones would have rung if a trauma was arriving. "In a second," Robby mutters.
Dana nudges his shoulder. "You can always say Gloria summoned you," she says, voice dry. Then she leans down to press her mouth to his - once, twice. "Yep, see you back there."