Work Text:
You were getting a migraine. The tension radiated from your shoulders and climbed up your neck and into your brain, where it was starting to set off fireworks of pain behind your eye. You were rapidly getting nauseated, feeling as if your lunch was sitting at the back of your throat, waiting for an excuse to come back up. You kept squinting because everything had a halo, and the halos were beginning to pulse with your heartbeat. You could hear the fluorescent lighting, and the buzz made you want to die. The floor looked to be moving very slowly, but since it stayed in one place when you put your foot down, you felt relatively secure in walking to the ambulance bay. You were doing your best to push through the symptoms, knowing that you were off tomorrow and could go straight to bed when you got home.
You looked outside. “It's gonna rain,” you said to no one in particular.
Dana heard you and stepped up next to you. In a low voice, she observed, “You look like shit.”
You blinked at her, then slowly answered. “Gee, thanks.”
She studied you for a minute, then said, “You get migraines from the weather a lot?”
You tried to widen your eyes in surprise, but stretching those muscles felt like sandpapering your brain. You put your head in your hands. “That obvious?”
She patted your shoulder. “This is where people come when they're in pain. You're not my first migraine.” She looked around, surveying the surprisingly empty rooms, then looked back at you. “Go home.”
You kept your head in your hands. “I have less than an hour left in my shift.”
Dana snorted. “Exactly. Go home.”
You lifted your head, so you could see her better. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” she said. “I'll handle Robby.”
A loud voice over your shoulder said, “You'll handle me?”
You buried your head in your hands again, emitting a pitiful whine.
Dana made shushing noises at Robby, then pointed at you. “She's got a migraine, and her shift is almost over. I'm sending her home.”
“Ah, shit,” Robby said, much quieter. “That sucks. Go home.”
You raised your head enough to see his badge (his face was too far to tilt your head), then mumbled, “Thank you.”
Robby studied you for a moment. “Are you okay to go home, or do you need someone to take you?”
You continued speaking to his badge. “I'll be fine. I've had worse.”
Robby and Dana exchanged a look over your head, then Robby said, “Fine. But you need to text one of us when you get home.”
“Yes, sir,” you agreed, meekly.
Robby smiled a little, but you didn't see it. He placed a hand on the small of your back, then he led you to the lockers to get your things.
As you walked out of the hospital, you made the effort to lift your head and look Robby in the eyes. “Thanks,” you said. “You're a life saver.”
Robby pointed toward your bag. “Text me,” he said.
“I will.”
Your phone lit up, then went dark.
10 minutes later, it lit up again, but it just as quickly went dark.
5 minutes after that, it lit up again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
You didn't see any of it. As soon as you'd closed the front door behind you, you'd dropped your bag and started shucking off your scrubs. You'd staggered into your bedroom, wearing only your undershirt and a pair of panties, then collapsed onto your bed, curled up in the fetal position. You finally let yourself cry. It didn't help — in fact, it probably made it worse — but you couldn't seem to help yourself. The tears just kept falling.
And your phone kept lighting up.
You weren't asleep. You heard your front door open; you just didn't really process it as anything but a spike of pain. Soft footsteps slowly made their way to you, and each felt like someone swinging a felt-covered mallet at your temporal lobe.
When the steps were close enough, a voice spoke. “Y/N?”
Since leaving the ED, your migraine had ramped up into something truly exquisite. The sound of your name drilled into your head and caused absolute agony. You cried out, and your tears quadrupled. When you opened your eyes, the halos and tears made the world into an impressionist painting. You immediately clamped your eyes shut again.
“Y/N?” the voice called again. “Are you okay? You didn't text anyone. You didn't even lock your door.” You felt like you should recognize that voice, but you couldn't make the neurons in your brain fire correctly.
You couldn't speak. You could only cry.
The bed beside you sank a little, as someone put their knee on it. “Y/N, it's Robby. Have you taken anything?”
You slowly, gingerly, shook your head.
“Thought that might be the case,” he muttered, and he pulled a ginger ale and some pill bottles out of his hoodie; he set them on your nightstand.
“Sit up, darlin’,” Robby murmured. He opened each of the three bottles in turn and tipped them into his palm. “I brought you an oxycodone, a triptan, and some promethazine. Plus, some ginger ale. It should settle your stomach until the promethazine kicks in.”
You opened one eye to look at him, then begrudgingly sat up to take the pills. He picked up the ginger ale, and without thinking, he popped the top of the can. You cried out again, softer this time, but he felt it like a dagger in his heart.
“I'm so sorry,” he said.
“‘S fine,” you slurred. As quickly as you could, you picked up the pills, threw them in your mouth, and before Robby could stop you, you crunched them a few times. You chased the disgusting flavor away with the ginger ale and collapsed back onto the bed. “Thanks,” you sighed, closing your eyes against the tears that had come back.
Robby winced. “You should under no circumstances be chewing those medications,” he chastised.
You stretched out as much as you could. “Next time you're dying, I get to lecture you, ’kay?”
You heard Robby unzip his hoodie and drop it on the floor, then you felt the weight on the bed beside you distribute itself more evenly, as Robby laid down next to you. A very light touch began massaging your temples and forehead.
One eye popped open. “Whatcha doin’?” you asked.
Robby kept massaging. “Does it help?”
You closed your eye again. “Mm, I think so.”
“Then, shut up,” he said.
You woke up the next morning to Robby playing with your hair. At some point in the night, you had finally relaxed and stretched out fully. Now, Robby's legs tangled with yours, and one hand was around your waist. You were using his other arm as a pillow, while that hand gently pulled on your curls.
“How do you feel?” he whispered.
You paused to think about it. “Pretty good, actually. Usually, I get a post-migraine headache that feels like my brain is two sizes too small, and if I shake my head, I can feel it bounce against the inside of my skull.” You lifted your head and shook it a little to illustrate your point. “But I don't have one today.” You smiled.
“Good,” he said. He gently kissed you.
“What was that for?” you asked, wide eyed.
Robby smiled. “Seeing you in pain — I know it wasn't life-threatening — but it still scared me a little.”
“Thank you for not kissing me while I thought I was dying,” you said. “I might've thrown up on you, and that's not super romantic.”
Robby huffed a laugh. “So…” he hesitated. “Would you want to do that again?”
“The migraine? No way,” you answered.
He rolled his eyes. “That's not what I —”
You kissed him again, just a couple of quick presses of the lips.
Robby kissed you back, pressing a little harder each time, until you opened your mouth to him. He tightened his arm around your waist. You were already as close as you could get, but he tried to pull you closer.
You threw your leg over his and buried your hand in the hair at the back of his neck. You massaged his tongue with yours.
Robby grabbed your thigh and slid it higher up his own leg, digging his fingers into the plush of your leg. Then, he sucked your tongue into his mouth.
Suddenly, he rolled you onto your back. He was above you, still kissing you for everything he was worth, but his hand had trailed up your thigh and to your stomach, where it stopped millimeters under your breast.
You pulled back briefly to breathe, but his beautiful brown eyes were full of adoration, and they knocked the breath out of you again. You stared at him for a long moment, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone.
“Is this okay?” he asked quietly.
You nodded to his hand on your ribs. “It will be, as soon as you move that.”
He smiled and moved his hand up a bit to begin massaging your breast, teasing the nipple. He kissed you again, briefly, before trailing kisses down your jaw and onto your throat. He bit down softly, but enough to leave a mark.
You moaned, loudly, and your hand flew up to the back of his head. “Ah, god, Robby, yes, that's perfect!”
He pulled back briefly to look at you. His pupils were massive. “Call me Michael.” Then, he dove back in, sucking and nibbling his way up to the spot just below your ear. His beard was burning the sensitive skin of your throat in all the best ways. He continued kneading your breast, until you were an absolute whining mess under him.
“Michael, baby,” you gasped. “I can't take much more of this.”
He pushed away from you. “Am I hurting you?”
You reached down, grabbed the hem of your shirt, and yanked it up over your head. “God, no,” you said, plucking at his scrub top. “I just think we're wearing too much clothing.”
He grinned, then sat back and tugged off his top and undershirt.
Grinning yourself, you pulled the waist of your panties down, lifted your butt to get them down to your knees, and kicked them off.
Michael stared at you for several seconds before remembering he also needed to take his pants off. He stood up, and in his rush to strip, he caught his ankle on his boxers and almost fell. He caught himself at the last minute on the bed.
You sat up. “Are you okay?”
His cheeks were flushed. “Fine,” he said. Then he crawled back on top of you. “Now where were we?”
You spread your legs to either side of his, then lifted one and slid it along his thigh. “I think,” you said, “we were about to —”
(make love)
“— have sex.”
He kissed you once more, then said, “Are you sure?”
(pretty sure I'm falling in love; sure hope I don't yell that out loud)
“Yeah, I'm sure,” you said, with a nod.
He gripped himself, lined up, and slid inside you with one smooth movement.
“Baby, you're so wet already,” he said.
“‘M always wet for you, Michael.” You hesitated, then added, “It sometimes makes work awkward.”
He chuckled and dropped his head on your shoulder. “I know the feeling,” he said. His arms began to shake a little with the strain of propping himself up, so you draped your hands around his neck and pulled him closer to you. He fell onto you.
Trying to push himself back up, he said, “Don't let me hurt you.”
You wrapped your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles behind him. “I don't think you'd ever hurt me,” you said.
He smiled and kissed you. “Never,” he agreed. Then, he slowly pulled out, just a little, and just as slowly, pushed back in.
Your eyes rolled up in pleasure. “Oh, god —” you whined.
He pulled out again, and you allowed your hips to fall back to the mattress. When he pushed in, you brought your hips up to meet his.
As you met each of his thrusts, you dug your nails into his shoulders.
Pretty soon, he was absolutely railing you, and you were leaving great gouges in the skin of his back.
The bed positively shook. Neither of you heard the headboard, as it bashed into the wall over and over, because you were both panting, moaning, and pleading.
“Yes —”
“Please — Right there —”
Your entire body locked up. You stopped breathing, as every muscle in your body contracted all at once. You caught glimpses of something, you couldn't tell what, as every synapse in your brain fired at once.
Just as you should've been getting concerned about the lack of oxygen, your body finally let go, and you pulled in a great lungful of air.
Michael paused, sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. “Are you alright? You almost pushed me out, baby girl.”
You pushed your hair back, too, and grinned at him. “Just had one hell of an orgasm,” you panted.
He laughed. “Think you've got one more in you?”
“Let's find out,” you said, with a wink.
“Wait for me this time,” Michael said, then he grabbed your leg and threw it over his shoulder and started pounding into you again.
In this position, you couldn't meet his thrusts so well, but you did have better access to his front. You ran your palms up and down his stomach and chest, digging your nails in when he hit an exceptionally good spot.
He read every one of the hints your body gave him, and soon, he was hitting that exceptionally good spot every time.
You were absolutely dying when he finally said, “Are you ready, sweetheart?”
“Yes, oh, god, yes —”
“Alright,” he said. He slid one hand down to play with your clit. “Come.”
His voice and his hand were exactly what you needed. You squeezed your eyes shut as your body clamped down on his once again. You vaguely felt him coming as your body milked his, but everything felt a little distant. You were floating.
Then, with a great gasp of air, you snapped back to your body.
Michael kissed you, then rolled off you onto his side. He put an arm around your waist and pulled you to him.
You continued to lie on your back, staring at the ceiling.
“Was that okay?” he asked.
You slowly turned your head to look at him. “Are you kidding? That was incredible. I can't feel my legs.”
He nuzzled into your neck. “I love you,” he said.
You frowned and looked back at the ceiling. “That's the oxytocin talking.”
He reached out, grabbed your chin, and rotated your head to face him. “It's not. I think I've been in love with you since we met. The oxytocin just… helped me realize it.”
You thought back. Michael always listened to you talk, no matter what the others were saying, even Collins and Langdon. He always found you first thing in the morning, and he always seemed to linger when it was time to leave. He was the first to tell you a joke, he was the first to entertain you when you were bored, and he was the first to hug you when you were feeling down. Plus, he'd taken care of you when you'd had a migraine, bringing you pain pills and a soda to keep you from upchucking, wiping your tears away, massaging your face until you fell asleep. Staying with you the whole night.
With a supreme effort, you rolled to your side to face him. “I was just thinking earlier that I was falling for you.”
His eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Really,” you agreed.
He kissed you.