Work Text:
Cecilia Carpenter was a frequent flier of the Pitt, and you disliked her at first encounter. She was a patient at least twice a month, demanding she be treated better than anyone else in the department even if there usually wasn’t anything wrong with her. At least nothing you could treat. Being old wasn’t curable. She was nasty and rude and you all just put up with it considering the amount of money she donated to the hospital yearly.
Then came the day that you happened to be passing by the room when she was laying into the Chief Attending of the ED, your husband. He’d already had a shit day, but he dutifully bit his tongue, nodded and apologized before leaving. He didn’t see you slipping into the room after he disappeared. You shut the door behind you and frowned at the woman in the bed.
“And just what do you want?” she’d snapped as she looked you over dismissively.
“You won’t talk to him like that again,” you said simply, voice quiet.
She scoffed. “Who do you think you are? Don’t you—”
“Who do you think you are? You are in here every other week either because you are a hypochondriac or you’re lonely. I don’t really care either way and neither does anyone else.” You pursed your lips and looked her over. “We treat you and run tests and make sure there’s nothing wrong with you because that is our job.”
You stepped closer.
“We do it for everyone that comes through those doors. When you enter this ED you are just another patient, Mrs. Carpenter. Dr. Robinavitch will smile and nod while you abuse him because Gloria ordered him to but frankly, I don’t give a shit what Gloria Underwood has to say about any of it.” You pointed toward the door. “That man puts up with more shit on a daily basis than anyone should have to because he cares about the medicine, he cares about the people that come to us for help. He won’t tell you to fuck off but I certainly will on his behalf.”
She stared at you for a moment before bursting into laughter and giving you a wide smile. “Oh, I like you. Been waiting for someone to push back around here.” Her gaze ran over you from head to toe. “He your husband?”
“He is.”
“I can tell. I was just like that with my Walter. Bet he’d burn the world down for you, too, wouldn’t he?”
That had you returning her smile. “He would.”
“Call me Cecilia.”
And that marked the beginning of your strange relationship with Cecilia Carpenter. Where she used to snarl and growl at anyone that came by, she now smiled and asked about their family. If you were on when she was in, you were automatically assigned to her. The first time it happened, Robby had given you a smile that crinkled his eyes and said, “She asked for my pretty wife. How could I say no?”
Eventually you’d convinced her that she didn’t have to be a patient to come to the ED. That you’d save her a chair. And you did. If she was tired, you could rustle up a bed in a quiet room without taking the space from patients.
Two weeks before she died, she was sitting in a chair at the hub talking to you while you caught up on charts. “I’m dying soon,” she said as casually as if telling you she preferred her coffee black.
You looked up in surprise.
“I don’t believe it for a minute,” Robby said from his spot on the other side of the counter. “You’ll outlive us all.”
You tilted your head as you took her in. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
She nodded once. “I’m old. Body’s giving up.” She waved a hand through the air. “I’m ready to go.”
Robby looked at you in alarm. “If you’re not feeling well, let us put you in a bed and run some tests. Maybe we can do something.”
“Young man, my Walter died almost twenty-five years ago. That’s a long time to live without the love of your life. Even if you could fix it, I wouldn’t want you to.”
That was the last time you saw Cecilia Carpenter alive.
You attended her funeral and were stopped on your way out by a Frank Capra, attorney.
As it turned out, Cecilia Carpenter was a very rich woman with almost no family. Upon her demise, she left a sizable trust to the PTMC ED as long as certain specifications were met. The biggest portion was a relative mountain of paperwork that she required be filled out by hand. Should all the relative documentation not be received within the specified timeframe, the entirety of the trust would be released to PTMC to be distributed at their discretion to any department but the ED.
You’d blinked at the lawyer in disbelief.
He smiled. “She was very fond of both you and your husband. You in particular. The stipulations on the trust may seem daunting, but there is a reason behind it. This insures that the funds get spent specifically where they’re needed without interference from administration and the board. She knew if it defaulted to PTMC to the exclusion of the emergency department, you’d both do everything in your power to get the funds.”
You nodded. “I understand.”
He shook your hand. “I’ll get everything sent over to you as soon as possible. You have three months from today to complete everything. I think you should know that you brightened the end of her life considerably. Thank you for that.”
***
One day shy of three months later, you stood at the hub with Robby and Jack watching them organize the paperwork. It was the last stipulation that needed to be fulfilled to get the payout from the trust and was incredibly more difficult than any of you had anticipated.
They had asked for stats and figures that had taken time to compile. Along with a detailed budget accounting for every dollar. But you couldn’t just print everything out, no it had to be manually filled in. Cecilia wanted to make certain you valued every penny. And you would. The kind of money being offered was department changing. You could get new equipment, hire more help.
But god, the process had been draining. Robby didn’t want anyone but you and Jack to help, afraid someone would make a mistake that would cost them everything. Finally, the end was in sight. The paperwork had been completed. It just needed to be turned in the next day and you were home free.
“This paperwork is going to kill me before the stress of this job does,” Robby muttered, running a hand through his hair. He looked at you with tired brown eyes. “Tell me again why we’re doing this.”
Jack snorted, sorting through the stack of forms. “Money, brother. It’s always about the money.” He wasn’t even supposed to be there but had insisted on coming in to help the two of you finish.
Robby nodded. “Oh yeah. Money.”
“Level One MVC three minutes out,” Dana announced just as Heather Collins poked her head out of a trauma room.
“I could use some help in here,” she said, disappearing without waiting for an answer.
You caught Robby’s eye. “I’ve got Heather. You two take the trauma.”
He nodded once, then he was gone, Jack right behind him.
For the next hour, you worked with Heather to stabilize a patient with sepsis. She was good at what she did and you hadn’t had to do much more than observe and offer an insight or two. As he stabilized and his fever started to drop, you left the room, tossing your gloves in the trash as you went.
You rounded the corner expecting to find Robby back at the paperwork. Instead, you found him scowling down at Gloria Underwood. Jack stood slightly behind him, expression unreadable.
“I hope you have completed all the necessary forms, Dr. Robinavitch. It is due tomorrow.” Her voice was sharp. “I’d hate for you to lose your funding.”
Robby’s usual tight smile he wore when confronting administration was nowhere to be found. Instead, his eyes darted to the now empty counter space. “We were just finishing up. If you’ll excuse us.”
He watched Gloria leave than began to frantically search around the hub. He lifted charts, looked under keyboards, pulled open drawers. Nothing.
His eyes found yours and something cold settled in your stomach at his expression. “Where is it?” he demanded stepping toward you. “I left it with you. I trusted you to take care of it. What did you do with it?”
“I didn’t do anything with it, Michael. I was helping Collins with the sepsis patient. We just got him stabilized.”
“It didn’t just disappear.” His voice rose, drawing stares from nearby staff. “Just tell me what happened. Did you move it somewhere?”
“I didn’t—”
“Jesus,” he bit out, face contorting with anger and irritation. “Just admit you fucked up. All the hours I’ve put in on this really mean nothing to you, do they? You were probably just glad to not have to deal with me at home while I was putting in all the extra hours.”
Your eyes burned as you stared at this man who was treating you as if you were just some stranger. The late nights you’d spent helping him, the meetings with the attorney making sure everything was in order, that nothing would be forgotten, the countless times you brought him food when he’d forgotten to take care of himself while drowning in the paperwork. All of it erased in his moment of panic.
Your throat tightened painfully. You opened you mouth to defend yourself, but no words came. Instead, tears welled up, blurring your vision of his angry face.
Jack stepped between you, stance protective as he faced down his best friend. “Back off, Mike. You’re going to realize you were a dick later and hate yourself.”
“Stay out of this, Jack.”
“She has put in just as many hours as the two of us on that paperwork,” Jack continued. “She doesn’t have anything to do with it going missing. It’s got to be around here somewhere.”
The air was heavy with tension, staff going out of their way to avoid the three of you. You watched Robby’s face waiting for him to realize, to apologize. He didn’t.
“We’ll find it,” you managed to say, voice barely audible.
The next twenty minutes passed in strained silence as the three of you searched the department. Others joining in when they had a moment. You checked every surface, every drawer, even the trash.
“Forget it,” Robby said, slamming a drawer shut. “It’s gone. Just forget it.”
“I still have the numbers, we—” you started.
But he was already storming away, shoulders hunched, ignoring you and Jack calling after him.
Jack met your gaze, his expression a mixture of sympathy and frustration. “He didn’t mean it.”
You nodded but didn’t believe him. Robby had meant every word in that moment and that knowledge hurt bone deep. But you couldn’t shut down, couldn’t let yourself focus on it for too long.
You had just shy of twenty-four hours to hand in that paperwork and retain the money for the emergency department that it so desperately needed.
***
Robby stood at the edge of the hospital roof, half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. He didn’t remember drinking that much but the bottle had been full when he started. The city lights blurred, either from the alcohol or the tears. He didn’t suppose it made much difference. The fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle were numb from the cold. It had been hours since he stormed away from his failure in the ED. From Jack. From you. The memory of your face as he’d snarled those accusations made him take another burning swallow.
He inched closer to the edge, closer to having nothing between him and oblivion. “They’d be better off,” he muttered, his words inaudible above the wind. The bottle trembled in his hand. “Jack could find someone else to watch the game with. The department would get a new attending. A better one than me.” He swallowed hard. “She could find someone that doesn’t treat her like shit. Fuck. Fuck.”
His brain was stuck on the image of you with tears in your eyes, hurt contorting your features as you just stared at him, helpless. And the disappointment on Jack’s face was almost worse.
He raised one foot, hovering it over the empty space. His heart hammered against his ribs. Fear flooded him and he cursed before taking a step back. “Fucking coward.”
He couldn’t even do this right. Couldn’t end it. Couldn’t spare everyone the burden of his continued existence. He took another long pull from his bottle.
“It would be better if I had never been born.”
A sound to his right made him turn. A young woman in simple clothes was climbing over the railing. Her movements were calm as she balanced on the edge of the roof, arms outstretched. The wind tugged at her plain dress, but she seemed unbothered.
Robby’s instincts kicked in instantly, overriding his own dark thoughts. The bottle slipped from his fingers, plummeting to the ground where it shattered in a million pieces. He lunged toward her, his right hand gripping her wrist just as she started to fall. His left caught the railing to ensure he didn’t follow her over the edge. With a grunt of effort, he pulled her back onto the rooftop, both of them tumbling.
He kept hold of her until they were both on the right side of the railing. “Are you fucking crazy?” he demanded, breath coming in heavy gasps. At least his focus had shifted to saving a life rather than taking his own.
The woman actually fucking giggled as she brushed herself off. She seemed completely unmoved by her near-death experience or being manhandled by a strange man.
“No, Michael. I’m here to help you.” Her voice was melodious. There was really no other word for it.
Robby stiffened at the use of his first name, one he rarely used around the hospital. He was always Robby or Dr. Robby. You and Jack were the only ones to use Michael or any variation of it.
“Do I know you?” he asked, his eyes scanning her. She was plain, ordinary, in her mid-twenties perhaps. She wore a serene smile that was woefully out of place considering the circumstances.
She smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You don’t know me, but I know you. I know you were thinking about throwing away your gift. I know you think everyone would be better without you. I know you hurt someone you love very much.”
Robby looked away, unable to meet her eye. “That’s not…Look you need help.”
“So do you,” she replied in that same calm voice.
He scoffed. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not, but that’s why I’m here. My name is Clare. I’m an angel. Second class. No wings yet.”
Robby’s concern deepened. Delusions. Possible psychiatric break. “An angel,” he repeated flatly.
“If I help you, I get my wings.” She still had that same serene expression.
He realized that alcohol no longer fogged his brain and frowned. It had to be the adrenaline burning it off. His medical training kicked in and he assessed his ‘patient’. No obvious signs of intoxication, pupils normal, speech clear. No hospital bracelet but she might have removed it. How in the hell did she get up here anyway? It shouldn’t have been possible without a badge.
“Alright,” he said with a nod of his head. “You’ve obviously escaped from behavioral health. Let’s get you back down there.”
Clare tilted her head. “I’m not a patient, Michael.”
“It’s Dr. Robinavitch or Robby,” he corrected automatically. “And trying to jump off a roof is generally concerning behavior.”
“I wasn’t trying to jump. I was getting your attention.”
“Well, you got it. Mission accomplished.” He tugged gently on her arm, leading her toward the access door. “Now let’s get you somewhere safe. It’s freezing out here.”
Clare allowed him to guide her but continued to speak in the same calm, slightly amused tone. “You wished you’d never been born. I’m here to show you what that would look like.”
He sighed, exhaustion settling into his shoulders. “Right now, I just need to make sure you don’t harm yourself.”
“I can’t be harmed. I’m already dead. That’s how I became an angel.”
“Angels don’t exist.”
“Neither do you now.”
Her smile sent a shiver up his spine.
“What’s your last name Clare?” Robby asked.
“Angels don’t have last names, Michael.”
He sighed. “Right. And when did you decide you were an angel?”
“I didn’t decide anything. It was decided for me.” She descended the stairs with a surprising amount of grace. “Just like it was decided that I would be assigned to you.”
“Lucky me,” he muttered.
They reached a landing and Robby pushed through the door into a hospital corridor. No one gave them a second glance as Robby was still in his scrubs from his earlier shift. The normalcy of it all was a stark contrast to this very surreal conversation.
“You don’t believe in angels,” she observed as they walked.
“As a concept, sure. As an actual physical being, no.”
“You not believing doesn’t change what I am.”
They rounded a corner, heading for the elevators that would take them to the psychiatric floor. Robby punched the button with more force than necessary.
“You’re good at what you do,” she continued seemingly unfazed by his silence. “Saving lives. Teaching others to save lives. But you’re very hard on yourself when you fail.”
The elevator doors slid open and he ushered her inside. “Everyone fails sometimes.” The words were bitter on his tongue.
“Yes, but not everyone blames themselves for things beyond their control.” Clare’s gaze was unnervingly direct. “Like Montgomery Adamson’s death.”
Robby froze, finger hovering over the button. “How do you know about that?”
“I told you—”
“No. No angel bullshit. Who told you about Adamson? One of the nurses? Jack?” There was a dangerous edge to his voice.
Clare seemed unmoved. “No one told me, Michael. I know because it’s my job to know. Just like I know you’re afraid you’ll fail your wife they way you believe you failed your mentor.”
The elevator began its descent, the walls seeming to press in. “Shut up,” he said quietly, voice tight.
She nodded, respecting his request. They rode in silence to the seventh floor where behavioral health was located. When the doors opened, Robby guided her to a nurse’s station.
“Excuse me,” he said to the man behind the counter. “I found this young woman on the roof. I believe she might be one of your patients.”
The nurse looked up, expression confused. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any patients unaccounted for. And she doesn’t look familiar.”
“She claims to be an angel. She needs to be admitted for a psychiatric evaluation.”
His eyes narrowed. “And you are?”
“Dr. Michael Robinavitch, ED attending.” Robby reached for his badge only to find it missing. He patted his pockets realizing that not only was his badge gone, so were his keys, wallet and phone. “I…I must have left my ID downstairs.”
The nurse’s posture stiffened. “Sir, I’m going to need you to identify yourself properly before we can admit anyone.”
Robby felt a flicker of panic. “Listen I work here. I’m the head of the emergency department. You can call down—”
“It’s okay,” Clare interrupted, touching his arm gently. “We’ll leave. I apologize for the disruption.”
The other man should have protested. Should have called security. Instead, he simply nodded and went back to his work.
Clare guided Robby away from the desk, her grip surprisingly firm on his elbow. “I told you, there is no Michael Robinavitch anymore.”
“That’s ridiculous. They just need to check the employee directory.”
She shook her head once. “Come on. You have more to see.”
Robby allowed himself to be led away, his sanity starting to crack at the edges. Where were his keys? His badge? Why hadn’t the nurse recognized his name at the very least? He pulled away from her grip and jabbed the elevator call button. “This is insane.”
Clare stood beside him, hands folded in front of her. “It’s disorienting, I know.”
The doors opened and they stepped inside. Robby stared at his reflection in the polished metal and clocked the crazed look in his eyes. “What is happening to me? Is this some kind of mental break? Did I actually jump from the roof and this is some twisted afterlife?”
“You’re not dead and you’re not crazy. I told you I granted your wish. You never existed.”
The elevator descended. Robby stared at the floor indicator watching the numbers slowly count down. They stepped out and Robby hesitated. The quickest way to the ED required badge access after hours.
“We’ll have to go around,” he said, turning toward a side hallway.
“It’s fine,” Clare said, walking to the restricted doors. “Just follow me.”
Before he could object, she pushed gently on the doors and they swung open with no resistance, no alarm, no guard appearing to challenge their presence. She looked back at him and smiled then continued forward.
Robby followed, his unease deepening. “That’s not possible. Those doors are always locked after eight.”
“Not for us,” Clare said.
They moved through the corridors, passing nurses and orderlies who gave them no more than a passing glance. Robby tried to catch someone’s eye, people he worked with every day surrounded them and their gazes slid past him with no recognition.
His heart began to pound, a cold sweat beaded on his forehead. This had to be some elaborate prank. Or maybe he’d lost his mind. Perhaps the whiskey had been laced with something. Maybe he was in a hospital bed hallucinating all of this.
They rounded the corner and Robby’s gaze fell on Lena at the main hub, her hair pulled up in the same style she’d worn the entire time he’d known her. Relief flooded through him. Lena would know him.
He approached the desk, leaving Clare a few steps behind. “Lena,” he said, voice more emotional than he’d intended. “I am so glad to see you. I was wondering if this young lady is one of your patients.”
Lena looked up from her computer, expression blank. She glanced from Robby to Clare then back again. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
His stomach rolled. He searched her face for any recognition, any hint she was joking. There was none.
“It’s me. Robby. Dr. Robinaivitch.” His voice cracked slightly. “I’ve been your attending for years.”
Her expression shifted from neutral to concerned. “Sir, I think you might be confused. Dr. Caldwell is the attending on duty tonight.”
Robby took a step back, legs unsteady. Clare appeared at his elbow, her touch light. “Excuse us for a moment,” she said to Lena who nodded and returned to her work.
Clare guided him away from the desk, steering him toward a hallway that branched off from the main ED.
“What did you do to everyone?” Robby demanded, voice hoarse.
“I didn’t do anything to them. They simply never knew you.”
“Where’s Jack? Jack will—”
Robby cut off as Clare turned him to face a wall of portraits. The memorial wall. It had always held too many faces, too many memories. But now his eyes were drawn to a familiar face that most certainly did not belong there.
Jack Abbot stared back at him, his expression serious but kind. It was the PR picture they took for the website. Jack had always hated it. Underneath was a small plaque with his name and his dates of service.
“No.” The word was a broken whisper. His head swam and it was hard to breathe. “No. That’s not possible. I just saw Jack. He was at my house a couple of days ago. He was—”
“Jack Abbot killed himself two months after his wife died,” Clare said gently. “Without you, without your wife, there was no one there for him. No one to talk him down. No one to take the guns from his house to make sure he didn’t use them.”
Robby staggered backward, his back hitting the opposite wall. “No. No. I—”
His eyes darted frantically across the portraits finding three faces of colleagues that he had treated during the pandemic. Colleagues that had lived. Now they were dead. Gone.
And there, just slightly off from his normal position, was Montgomery Adamson. His mentor, the man who had shaped him as a doctor, as a person. The man whose death had left a hole in Robby that never fully healed.
“See, you didn’t kill him, Michael,” Clare said softly. “It was just his time.”
Robby’s legs gave out and he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold floor. His breath came in short, painful gasps. Clare knelt beside him, her presence oddly comforting in the midst of this nightmare.
“I don’t understand,” he managed, voice rough and broken. “How is this happening?”
“You wished you’d never been born. I granted that wish. This is the world without Michael Robinavitch.”
Robby pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to deny the reality that was pressing in around him. When he lowered his hands, nothing had changed. The portraits remained, the evidence of lives lost without his existence.
“Sally Jones, six. Drowned.”
“Nathaniel Harrison. Fifty-four. Heart attack.”
“Pauline Stewart. Thirty-seven. Sepsis.”
“Julian Nichols. Forty-three. Complications from COVID.”
“What are you doing?” Robby asked, staring at her through tear filled eyes.
“Listing the people that died because you weren’t here to save them,” she said simply before continuing.
“Thomas Strands. Twelve. Intercranial Hemorrhage.”
“Jack Abbot. Forty—”
“Stop. Just stop,” he shouted. “I…” Fear slammed into him. “Oh god. My wife. Where is my wife? I have to go home.”
Clare shook her head. “She’s not there, Michael. She’s not your wife.”
A fresh wave of panic crashed over him. The thought of you not being in his life, not waiting at home, not sharing his bed, not challenging him and supporting him and loving him despite his flaws was more terrifying than anything else he had seen.
“But she’s alive?”
“She is.”
“Where is she? I need to see her.” Desperation clawed at his insides. “Please take me to her.”
“You won’t like what you find,” Clare warned, her expression troubled for the first time.
“I don’t care. I need to know she’s okay.” Robby struggled to his feet. “Please.”
She studied him for a long moment then nodded. “Alright.”
***
Clare led Robby through streets he barely recognized. They’d left the hospital on foot, walking away from the more affluent medical district past darkened storefronts and empty lots. The night had grown colder or perhaps it was just the growing dread that was twisting his insides with each block they traveled.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to your wife. Just as you wanted.”
They turned down a narrow street lined with aging apartment buildings, facades crumbling, graffiti coloring the lower walls. A group of men huddled around a burning trash barrel eyed them suspiciously as they passed.
“This can’t be right,” he muttered. “She wouldn’t be here.”
The neighborhood was nothing like the tree-lined street where your home stood. A three-bedroom house with wrap around porch that you had fallen in love with at first sight. This area was all concrete and desperation, the kind of place that created patients for the ED, not where its doctors lived.
“This is where her path led without you in it.”
They approached a convenience store, its harsh lighting spilling onto the sidewalk through barred windows. Clare stopped and pointed across the street. “There she is.”
Robby followed her gesture and felt his heart break. There you were, walking alone along the opposite sidewalk. Your head was down, shoulders hunched against the cold in a thin jacket that wasn’t nearly warm enough for the weather. Even from this distance he could see the weariness in your gait.
Without thinking he crossed the street, ignoring a car that honked angrily as it swerved around him. “Hey!” he called after you. “Wait!”
You didn’t look up.
Robby quickened his pace, coming up behind you. “Please wait,” he said reaching your side and stepping into your path. Your name fell from his lips in a plea.
When you looked up, the shock of your appearance gutted him. Your left eye was swollen, a faded purple bruise extending across your cheekbone. A small cut at the corner of your mouth was scabbed over. Your right wrist bore the yellowish remnants of finger shaped bruises.
He assessed your injuries with a critical eye. The eye injury was 4-5 days old. The lip more recent. Perhaps even that night. The wrist bruises were older. A week, maybe more.
“What happened to you?” he asked, voice quiet as he reached toward your face without thinking.
You stepped back, your eyes widening in alarm. “Excuse me?”
“It’s me. Michael.”
Your confusion was absolute, your body language shifting from confusion to outright fear. You glanced around as if looking for help. “I don’t know you.”
“Please, listen. I’m a doctor. I can help you.” He struggled to keep his voice steady, professional even as he filled with rage at whoever had hurt you. “You don’t have to live like this. There are resources, shelters—”
“You don’t even know me.” Your words came out sharp and defensive.
“I do know you,” he insisted, taking a step forward. “I know you better than anyone. Please just talk to me for a minute.”
Your face hardened. “Is this a test? Did Roger send you?”
Robby sucked in a breath at the name. Roger. The asshole you’d dated briefly before meeting Robby. The relationship you described as ‘intense’. The man Jack had called a walking red flag.
“No,” Robby said quickly. “I don’t know any Roger. I just want to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. Just leave me alone.” You jerked away from him.
Before he could respond, you turned and ran. Robby started to follow, but Clare’s hand on his arm held him back. “Let her go.”
He watched you vanish into the darkness, your form growing smaller until there was nothing left to see. The absence of you, not just in this moment, but in his non-existent life, hollowed him out.
His legs gave out and he sank to his knees on the pavement. Tears fell freely now, hot tracks down cold cheeks. “What happened to her?”
“She still dated Roger but this time you weren’t there to talk to her about your concerns. To help her leave when she was ready,” Clare’s voice was soft but clear.
“But Jack—”
“Without you there, she was just another resident. There was no reason for him to get to know her better,” she explained. “She stayed with Roger. Eventually they married and she dropped out of the medical program. She was walking home from her shift at the convenience store when we found her.”
“Roger was always jealous of her potential. He didn’t want her to succeed where he failed. Without you and Jack supporting her, encouraging her, she didn’t have the strength to leave him.”
“But she’s so strong,” Robby whispered. “She’s the strongest person I know.”
“Everyone needs someone to believe in them, Michael. You believed in her when she didn’t believe in herself.”
The night air seemed to press in around him, suffocating him.
“You touched hundreds of lives,” Clare said, hand warm on his shoulder. “You saved far more than you hurt. You taught those who saved even more. Your life matters, Michael Robinavitch. You matter.”
Robby raised his head, meeting Clare’s gaze through his blurry vision. In that moment, his earlier despair seemed pointless, self indulgent. How could he have considered throwing away a life that had made such a difference? How could he have been so blind to the effects of his existence?
He got to his feet and grasped Clare’s arms. “I want to go back. I want my life back. I want to live.”
Clare’s smile was radiant. “Go home, Michael. She’s worried about you.”
***
Robby jogged through the familiar streets, breath forming clouds around him. The neighborhood around him transformed as he traveled. Gone were the crumbling buildings and empty lots. Now there were the tree lined avenues and well kept homes of the area where he lived. He reached into his pocket somehow unsurprised to find his belongings had returned to him. The weight of them was comforting, reminding him he was real. That he existed again.
His pace quickened as he turned onto his street. Each house was exactly as it should be. The Sullivan’s basketball hoop was in their driveway. Mrs. Abernathy’s excessive Christmas lights were illuminating her front yard and her crooked mailbox that she never bothered to straighten. Everything was gloriously, perfectly normal.
When he reached his own house, light spilled from every window, warm and inviting. Cars lined the drive and stretched down the street. His heart pounded from exertion and anticipation as he bounded up the porch steps. Not bothering with the key, he pounded on the front door.
Mere seconds passed before the door swung open. Jack stood there, his expression switching from irritation to relief to anger in a flash.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded pulling Robby inside. His eyes scanned Robby’s face, his concern evident in the lines of his face.
Robby wrapped his arms around his best friend and sucked in a ragged breath. “Jack, you’re alive.” His voice was thick with emotion.
Jack leaned back, grabbing Robby by his upper arms. His brows shot up. “Of course, I’m alive. Unlike your phone apparently. Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been? You disappeared without a word, didn’t answer calls or texts.”
Robby’s focus shifted past Jack as movement in the hall caught his attention. And there you were, appearing from the direction of the kitchen, your face unmarked and beautiful, eyes widening at the sight of him.
“Michael? Are you okay? I was so worried.”
He pushed past Jack, crossing the distance in two large strides. He pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck to breathe in your scent. You were warm and solid and real. Your arms came up to hold him just as tightly.
“I’m so sorry.” The words were inadequate for the depth of his regret. “I love you so much. I didn’t mean any of the things I said. I was an ass. I was wrong. I’m so fucking sorry.” His voice broke. “You can’t leave me. I won’t survive it.”
You pulled back enough to look at his face, your hands moving to cup his cheeks. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. I love you too. Are you okay? You’re scaring me a little.”
Robby couldn’t stop staring at you, drinking in every detail of your face. No bruise. No fear in your eyes. Just you, as you should be, looking at him with love and concern.
“I’m perfect,” he said, meaning it completely for perhaps the first time in his life.
You studied him a beat longer then seemed to accept his answer. At least for now. You took his hand leading him further into the house. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting.”
It was only then, Robby fully registered the number of people in his home. The living room was filled with familiar faces. Colleagues from the day shift in the ED. Nurses, residents even a few of the administrative staff. They looked up as he entered, expressions ranging from relief to curiosity.
“What is this? What’s going on?” he asked, confused by the gathering.
A well-dressed man it took him a moment to recognize stepped forward. Frank Capra, the attorney for the Carpenter trust. “Dr. Robinavitch, nice to see you again. I’d like to arrange a meeting to discuss the funds and their distribution.”
Robby stared at the man, trying to process the information. “But the paperwork…”
Capra smiled, the expression transforming his serious face. “All complete and turned in by your lovely wife.”
Robby turned to you. “What? How?”
Your expression hardened. “I thought it odd that Gloria came down to check on the paperwork just before it disappeared. No one saw her take anything but I wanted to talk to her. I found her in her office shredding it. The only reason she hadn’t gotten to it all is she was copying our figures onto her own papers.”
His mouth fell open in disbelief before snapping shut. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, she is,” Jack piped up. “Tell him what you did then.”
Jack’s grin meant nothing good. Robby turned slowly from his best friend to his wife.
You rolled your eyes. “I slapped her and grabbed the papers I could. She fired me. Like I cared at that point. I called Frank and he brought the replacement forms. Everyone pitched in to complete them using the data we’d collected.”
Robby looked around the room, taking in the faces of his colleagues gathered in his home to salvage what he thought lost. The lump in his throat made it difficult to speak.
“Gloria fired you?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Worth it.”
“If the board doesn’t see sense, she has a good case for wrongful termination. I’ll be happy to represent her,” Capra announced. “There’s no need to worry. She won’t be unemployed for long.”
“I told you to share the burden, baby,” you reminded Robby gently. “You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
Robby gave a little shake of his head. “You always were smarter than me.” He pulled you close again and pressed a kiss to your temple.
As he turned to speak with Capra about the next steps, a soft tinkling sound caught his attention. He froze, listening intently. “Did you hear a bell ring?” he asked, looking around with a frown.
“Oh yeah, I got Zuzu a new collar,” you said as you bent down. When you straightened you were holding your fat tabby cat. You adjusted the small bell attached to the cat’s neck. “What’s wrong?”
Robby stared at the cat then at the bell, a memory of Clare’s words drifting back to him.
If I help you, I get my wings.
He smiled and reached out to stroke the cat’s head. “Nothing’s wrong. Absolutely nothing.”
A profound contentment settled over him. The despair that had driven him to the roof was a distant memory now. His home was warm. His friends were here. Jack was alive and well. You were safe beside him. The Carpenter trust would fund life-saving changes to his ED. And maybe, just maybe, an angel had earned her wings.