if you had told robby sixteen years ago that the baby he adopted from the er would become a moody, sassy teenager, he would’ve passed the opportunity to foster you.

(a lie).

but still. he knew what he was signing up for adopting you, especially as a single dad. he dealt with the dirty diapers when you were a baby. dealt with the vomit, the tantrums and tried to give you the best life he possibly could. and you two were close knit — but now his daughter was a teenager and god did robby know it.

he’ll never forget the day you came in. july fourth. the shift robby was going to leave forever. the day he was going to leave on his motorcycle to end it all.

but he hadn’t.

you were found in the morning — abandoned in the er bathroom. you spent the whole of robby’s shift in the pediatric room, and he felt a draw to you. he too had been abandoned by his mother at a young age, not as young, but young enough. he could empathise, in a sort of weird way, if you can even empathise with a three month old. and at the end of the shift, when robby felt hopeless, he had walked in and held you.

and weirdly?

everything clicked for him. purpose. an idea. love.

he didn’t go on his motorcycle trip. but he stayed off for the original planned three months. with you, instead. and he’s spent ever since watching you grow into a young woman.

he often turned to dana — she had two grown up daughters and was often the voice of reason for him and also you at times. she seemed to always know exactly what to do and what to say, something robby wasn’t the best at. while his emotions and his life had improved dramatically since adopting you, he still struggled being so open. jack was also a good voice of reason. he backed up what robby said, but he seemed to have a good way of explaining things.

but now you were here after school. lounging at the nurses station like you belong here, which you kind of do. but you’re sulking. arms crossed, staring at a book on the desk. robby had got a call from your english teacher that you were calling behind in class, and he was making sure you were catching up in between cases.

you keep shooting dirty looks at him.

he smiles.

the two of you have that sort of… easy nature. it’s not too serious, and any serious arguments are over as quickly as they started.

you’re slouched at the nurses station, headphones on as you write and read, catching up.