When Robby turns, Jack is standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe.

Neither of them speaks. Jack is staring at him in that way– the way he looked that night, twenty fucking years ago, all unreserved heat and everything unspoken.

He pushes off the doorframe and moves forward.

Slowly, careful not to jostle anything on the counter, Samira takes two steps across the tiled bathroom floor until she can see Trinity and Parker again. Just to keep an eye on them, so I know when they’re leaving, Samira tells herself, deliberately ignoring the shiver that washes over her as she peers through the crack in the door. Samira can just make out the edge of a bed behind Parker, and the thought — the possibility — makes her lower belly clench with sudden, traitorous heat.

They look incredible together, the lamplight by the bed casting them both in a deep, bronze glow, shadows slip-sliding down to the space between their bodies. Trinity’s hair is loose around her shoulders, Parker cupping the back of Trinity’s head as they kiss, and Parker’s shoulder flexes slightly as she pulls Trinity closer.

They…this is not my fault, they shouldn’t be doing this…Parker’s her attending, this is so…so…

So hot, Samira squashes the thought before it can fully form, refusing to acknowledge the pu

Jack wants breakfast, Robby cares too much, and now they’re mixed up in an armed robbery.

If asked, Jack could rattle off a couple pretty good reasons why he trails Robby out of the park that night, and they might even be true, but none of them would be the real one.

Jack flashed a grin, but didn’t let himself get distracted. “Fun message I got today. It seems that someone rode his midlife crisis to work while conspicuously not wearing a helmet.”

Underneath his hand, Robby stilled, his heart beating faster than normal. “What?” he asked, but that was a stall, Robby playing for time to decide on his approach. Which was cute, really, but Jack knew all his tricks.

So he just nodded, mocking. “Yeah. See the thing is, when you do shit, I hear about it.”

Isa Briones, who plays Dr. Trinity Santos on ‘The Pitt,’ breaks down the second season, what’s ahead and her musical theater background.

They have been locked in a slowly decaying orbit for some time now, passing close but avoiding the destructive inferno of a full collision. If Armand tries to abandon his fledgling completely, some irresistible urge draws him back. If Daniel claims to want nothing to do with his maker, some morbid streak of pathological curiosity keeps him talking. So it has been now for a while—a stalemate of mutual fixation.

Daniel and Armand engage in a friendly conversation about memory, mercy, and that which lingers on.

Every Boston Raider knows that although their captain has a girl in every port, he’s got a soft spot for the one in Montreal. Dr. Shane Hollander knows it’s better to have a semi-regular source of casual sex than try to make a relationship work during residency. Ilya Rozanov knows that the doctor he’s fucking in Montreal is unaware that he plays hockey, and in fact probably thinks he’s Bratva.

    Hi Mr. Hayden,

    We’re pretty sure you’ve never noticed, so you might find this funny. Over the years, a few of us have been piecing together the Rozanov-Hollander saga from your fanmails.

    In mine, Ilya Rozanov was chatting in Russian in the background saying some very colorful things about someone's something.

    For a second, I actually wondered if he was your secret lover. But at this point, aren’t we all just second-guessing?

or: Hayden Pike finally realizes he never actually double-checked any of his videos

If he’s honest with himself, Shawn has, in theory, wanted to suck Noah’s cock since 1995. He’s wanted to suck his cock for real since about 10 minutes after he met him.

No one is going to win a Pulitzer interviewing him, and Shane is okay with that. He spends most interviews rephrasing the same five sentiments–I’m happy we won or We need to work harder after that loss.

They are a good team; the win was hard fought or They are a good team; there is a lot for us to take away.

And finally: I love playing on this team, for our fans.

Then Ilya Rozanov bursts into his life, and answering questions becomes a little more complicated.

or: Shane Hollander, interviewee, throughout the years.

In Wyle’s blue-gloved hands, Dr. Robby is one of the most magnetic characters on TV: an expertly titrated mixture of confidence, empathy, recklessness, restraint, humility and smoking hot charm.

yara @troycabaret tried to get oomf into hockey and now she’s obsessed with FUCKING HOLLANOV? THEY’RE 50 YEARS OLD

Or: Ten years, as seen through fandom.

The history of Hollanov, primarily as seen through the MLH Tracker on Twitter.

Sometimes when Trinity was being a real bitch it felt like flying.

Jack and Robby figure out sleeping together, and get more than either one anticipated.

Three times in one night that Jack wakes with Robby in his bed.

“I just,” Robby says. He looks down at his feet, hands wringing by his side. Robby’s impersonation of someone who’s doing just fine falls to the floor with his gaze, fracturing on impact. Fingers curl into fists, and it’s like he’s elbows-deep in Jack’s chest cavity, twisting at something visceral when he clenches tight enough that the skin around his knuckles pales from the pressure. “I need—”

Jack knows what Robby needs. They’ve traded off existential crises enough times that he’s lost count of the running tally, taking turns picking each other up from rock bottom like they’re alternating who’s picking up the check at dinner. Robby doesn’t have to subject himself to the mortifying ordeal of saying it out loud; being here at all is telling Jack everything that he needs to know, and frankly, it’s easier on both of them if they step right over that part altogether.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jack says, resting his hands on his hips and tilting his head in assessment. Santos was right—Brad is a little impaled. It’s been something like twenty years since the last time Jack saw him, yet he looks infuriatingly unchanged. His hair’s a little darker, less sun-bleached blond, but for all that he’s still golden California tan he’s got far fewer lines around his eyes than Jack can say about himself.

Brad shrugs nonchalantly, the composure that was the stuff of legend holding strong. “Looks worse than it is.”

or, after an old familiar face crash-lands in the ED, Jack comes to a few realizations about something (and someone) he’s spent a little too long trying not to think about.

Jack gets home from PTMC and finds Robby sitting on his doorstep.