Chapter Text
3:00AM
The mechanical clock in his bubbe's room screamed through the house. She'd owned the clock since before he was even born, a small red thing that rattled against the surface until it was beaten into silence. These days, it hardly ever woke Bubbe up. Instead, it snapped Robby out of his uneasy slumber - it never came easy these days - and hurled him off the bed before his mind could catch up. He padded down the stairs and to the living room, which now served as his bubbe's bedroom after she fell and hurt her back a few years ago. He opened the door and took in the sight of her.
Her CPAP mask was slightly askew across her nose but still secured well enough to supply air. The machine itself buzzed like a whisper around the room. Beside the machine was the alarm clock he'd grown to accept. It had been a feature of the house since he moved in at the age of three, and he was fairly certain it was the sole reason he'd never had a solid night's sleep since.
He tiptoed across the room and silenced the clock, glancing at his bubbe, who lay on her bed with her lips parted around a snore. Her bed was hospital grade, something that Monty, a neighbour who had died six years ago during covid, had donated. He worked at the PTMC as the chief attending and had been the reason Robby chose to go to med school.
His bubbe didn't shift. Her eyes remained closed and her chest still rose beneath the sheets, a comfort he allowed himself to enjoy for a moment before forcing himself to move.
Three in the morning. That had been the time he started every day at because of that clock. Back when it had use for his bubbe, it had been tuned to that time because she worked at a school on the edge of the city. She couldn't drive, so it required her to get several buses to get there on time. Nowadays, it served as routine. Even if Robby got rid of it, his body would force him awake at three o'clock on the dot, so he might as well keep the auditory torture.
He stretched his back as he entered the kitchen, starting a pot of coffee and groaning into his hands as he looked at the calender he'd pinned to the wall by the fridge.
He was starting his final clinical rotation before fourth year, at the PTMC's emergency department. The same place Monty died. He tried not to think too hard about that.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, wrinkling his nose at the smell. He only drank it for the energy boost, which he never really seemed to get. Long shifts at the coffee house a few blocks away from his house had burnt the scent into his nostrils and turned his stomach upside down, especially when he hadn't ate prior to work. It was a habit he'd have to overcome.
The sounds of his bubbe stirring snapped Robby out of his thoughts. He set his cup down on the countertop and stepped back into the living room, finding her blinking with blurry eyes up at the ceiling and her hands raised to try and tug at the straps of her CPAP mask.
He paced toward the bed, smiling gently down at her.
"Hey, bubbe," he whispered, catching one of her hands in his own and brushing his thumb along her knuckles.
Bubbe blinked at him, a noise escaping from the back of her throat. She couldn't talk much these days, if at all. Her eyes flickered with vague recognition, but he wasn't certain if she was seeing him as Michael or as Mathew, his zayde who died when he was only a baby. Photos confirmed that he looked nearly identical to him, sans the smile, which he inherited from his mother.
"Let's get this off ya, huh?" Robby murmured, turning the CPAP machine off and slowly unstrapping the mask from her face. "There we go," he placed the equipment in the cabinet beside her bed. "No more uncomfortable mask digging into your skin."
Bubbe made another sound, her aged and spotted hand reaching out to his face.
Robby didn't fight it. He let her cup his cheek and stare at him like she was trying to put together a puzzle. His eyes crinkled at the corners in soft amusement as she pinched the skin along his cheekbone.
"Bubbe," he laughed, leaning back slightly. "I need this face."
Bubbe's lips parted and a faint huff escaped her that Robby chose to believe was her own laugh.
He rose to his feet, leaning over her to lift the head of the bed up so she was sat straight. He took her hands into his own, bringing them up to his lips.
"The Lord is our God... the Lord is one..." Robby murmured, his eyes locked on his bubbe's.
Bubbe's face shifted into one of clarity. Well, as clear as she could get at this stage. Robby found that no matter how bad of a day she had, or how little she remembered, she still calmed to The Shema.
He finished the prayer and allowed a moment of silence. No alarm clock. No CPAP machine. Just their shared breaths. After a moment, he lowered her hands back onto the bed and moved to the kitchen to prep her breakfast. A simple bowl of porridge with mashed fruits. He didn't bother with his own.
He returned to her side, resting the bed tray across her lap and the bowl in front of her. He scooped a spoonful of the porridge, blowing lightly on it so it was cooler, and lifted it to her lips.
Bubbe stared at the spoon for a long moment before presumably the smell registered to her and she opened her mouth to accept the food. A content smile spread across her face at the flavour, and she looked at Robby with gratefulness.
"Your welcome," he beamed at her, feeding her more until the bowl was empty. He reached to her bedside table and lifted the cup of water to her lips, guiding her through a few sips before setting it back down and taking the bowl to the sink.
The sky outside shifted from dark to light, a mix of pink and purples as morning announced itself. Robby made sure his bubbe was settled, resting a monitor on the bedside table before he padded down the hall to the bathroom and started his own routine.
He squeezed the last of his three in one bottle and grumbled to himself about going to the store to buy some more, doing the mental math as he brushed his teeth, dried his hair, and stumbled out of the bathroom and up the stairs to his bedroom, a towel wrapped awkwardly around his waist, held up with one hand as the other clutched the monitor. He made it to his bedroom, pulling on his scrubs frantically.
He clipped his new badge to the chest of his shirt, staring at himself in the mirror. Michael Robinavitch, Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre, student doctor. Monty would have loved to have seen him in the Pitt.
He moved around his room with light footsteps. His room was a historical site of every stage of his life thus far. Nowadays it was mostly revision notes and books he'd collected from Monty's home a few days after he died, but along his dresser were half faded or scraped off stickers of cartoon characters he once adored. Nearly the entire cast of transformers, the scooby doo gang, and a ridiculous amount of lightning mcqueen, a result of a birthday party he had when he was six years old and had only asked for Cars related gifts. In another corner was his guitar that he never played anymore, and if he was being honest, never played when he got it, either. When he was fourteen he decided he wanted to be a musician, but did not have the determination to actually learn any songs. So instead, he learnt basic chords from YouTube videos and called it a day. A party trick he could use, even if he never went to parties.
The sound of the front door opening downstairs made Robby hurry up his packing as he almost fell out of his bedroom and peered down the stairs to find Carla, the next door neighbour, filtering through with a bag of groceries in one arm.
"Mike!" Carla shouted, watching as Robby caught himself on the banister from almost tumbling down the last few steps in his hurry.
"Carla..." Robby returned, narrowing his eyes as he followed her to the kitchen. "What are you doing here? It's only half four."
Carla unpacked the bag with careful hands, opening the fridge and deadpanning at the empty carton of milk he'd forgotten to take out, replacing it with the fresh one she bought.
"Paul's in work early today," she stated, casting a glance at Robby over her shoulder. "And I figured you might need more help, considering you're starting your last rotation today."
Robby watched her, scratching the back of his neck.
"You really don't have to. I've been meaning to look for a nurse to hire...-"
"No," Carla cut him off firmly. "You're already barely hanging on as is, kid. Just accept the help sometimes," she tutted, pausing her grocery unpacking to approach him and smooth out his scrubs shirt. "Did you even iron this?"
Robby looked down at himself. His scrubs were creased and the fleece half-zip he'd pulled on barely concealed that fact.
"The iron busted last night," he mumbled.
Carla stared at him, unimpressed.
"You should have called. I would have ironed for you," she scolded, shaking her head as she circled him.
Robby flushed under her gaze, shifting where he stood and turning to meet her face once more.
"It's fine. I need to go shopping after work, anyway," he lightly batted away her hand as it reached out to tug down his shirt.
"You need to take a break," Carla admonished, returning to her work at the counter.
Robby chuckled, rolling his eyes and moving to the cupboard to pull out a breakfast bar.
"I'm being serious, Michael," Carla took on a more grounded tone. "My brother was just like you, wanting to do everything himself. He burnt out before he could even start his residency. I don't want you working yourself to an early grave."
Robby averted his gaze, chewing slowly. He saw in the corner of his eye as Carla readied herself to talk again, but the sound of his bubbe murmuring from the living room halted her.
Robby pushed himself off the counter, but Carla held out her hand.
"No. I'm in charge now," she waved a finger. "Besides... You gotta get going," she nodded to his watch.
Robby tilted his wrist toward his face and gulped loudly on the last bite of his breakfast bar. Five.
"Shit, you're right," he adjusted his backpack over his shoulders.
He followed Carla into the living room, leaning over his bubbe to press a soft kiss to her temple and murmur a goodbye before straightening and uttering a thank you to Carla and walking out of the house and into the fall air.
He paced down the street, not allowing himself to look at Monty's old house, his eyes firmly on the concrete beneath him until he turned the corner toward his first bus stop of his travel. He pulled free his headphones from his pocket, rolling his eyes at the tape that kept them together. He really should invest in a Bluetooth set.
He pressed play on his music, embracing the comfort of how it completely blocked the outside world.
7:00AM
Jack groaned into the palms of his hands, hunched over in his chair by his station. The stump of his leg ached from where it had been chafing his prosthetic all shift, and his spine protested every movement he did. He could hear Dana talking, her voice nothing more than a faint noise in his ears as he recounted his night. The first hour or two had been surprisingly easy, mostly just broken bones that needed to be braced before being sent up to Walsh or gashes that needed suturing and could be passed off onto one of the younger residents or students. The middle dragged, long hours of trying to convince the parents of a sick toddler that the routine vaccines offered to them would not give their child autism and even longer conversations with an elderly patient with alzheimers who kept forgetting his treatment plan. His last patient had been a young woman riding on the back of her boyfriend's motorbike without a helmet and had cracked her skull open on the asphalt. There was nothing they could do. By some miracle, the boyfriend was unscathed.
"... And then there's the new med student," Dana's voice broke through the fog, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Jack turned, an eyebrow arched at the blonde.
"Another one?" He grumbled, turning back to his computer and typing with tired fingers. "We just got rid of that Ogilive kid."
"Mm," Dana hummed, tapping the temple of her reading glasses and squinting at the board above them. "I think McKay saw him last week when he came to get his badge. She said he was okay."
Jack didn't look away from his monitor, the bags under his eyes heavy as he pushed through his last few charts with what little energy he had left.
"Tall, apparently," Dana continued. "Baby-face... Looked like he thought the floor would fall from underneath him..."
"... Another Whitaker, then?" Jack glanced at her. "A tall Whitaker."
Dana chuckled, her lips quirking up into a smirk as she took off her glasses and tucked them into the pocket on her chest.
"A tall Whitaker," she confirmed, turning to her own station.
"I heard my name," Whitaker appeared with Santos trailing behind him.
"Nothing bad, kid. Don't worry," Dana eased, smiling warmly at them both. "Just talking about the new med student coming in."
"Today?" Santos blew out a breath, one hand gripping the strap of her backpack. Both she and Whitaker were still in their jackets and hoodies, having yet to visit the lockers. "We just got rid of Ogilive."
"That's what I said," Jack murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. The brief second of his eyes being closed felt like bliss, and he longed to let his head slam down onto the keyboard and pass out.
"Ah, there he is," Dana's voice caught his attention quickly.
Jack spun and locked eyes on a lanky young man stood beside central fifteen, fidgeting awkwardly on his feet and his expression tight as he chewed his bottom lip.
He wore his simple black scrubs under a half-zip green fleece with a brown corduroy trucker jacket hanging heavy over his frame. McKay was right, he had a baby-face.
The man's backpack had seen better days, one of the straps fraying near the shoulder and hanging lower than the other side. A few pins clung stubbornly to the front pocket, too small for Jack to read at the distance they were at. His hair was long and dark, cascading across his forehead.
Al-Hashimi came into view then, walking past Jack at the nurses' station and approaching the young man with a welcoming smile.
"McKay said he looked young," Dana spoke, her arms folded over her chest as she chewed on a piece of gum. "I wasn't expecting him to look like a fetus," she joked.
"Is he gonna be another Crash?" Santos stood beside the older woman, her chin tilted up as she analysed the man. "Some prodigy who got a degree before they even hit puberty?"
Jack stood slowly, signing out of his monitor and watching as Al-Hashimi shook the young man's hand and gestured to herself and around the ER. The man nodded, his brown eyes wide in a doe-like fashion as he took in whatever she was telling him.
Jack started walking before he even told himself to, ignoring Dana's question as to what he was doing as he paced toward the pair and came to a stop beside Al-Hashimi.
"Ah, Doctor Abbot," Al-Hashimi greeted. "Robby, I'd like you to meet Doctor Jack Abbot, he is the night shift attending here in the ER," she introduced.
The man - Robby - smiled nervously and extended his hand.
"I'm, uh... Michael Robinavitch. MS three," he said, visibly gulping as Jack took his hand. "But you can just call me Robby."
Jack chuckled to himself when he felt the anxious sweat on the younger man's palm, pulling back and wiping his hand on his scrubs subtly.
"Nice to meet you, Robby," Jack nodded. "Where are you joining us from?" He tilted his head.
Up close, Robby's skin was paler and his face was dotted faintly with freckles that presumably had faded as the sun frequented the sky less and less over the last few weeks. His eyes were just as dark as they appeared from the hub, still holding that innocent sparkle all med students held and inevitably lost. Jack wondered what would break the young man on this shift.
"Uh... I worked in the UPMC's psychiatric hospital... and their, er... their children's hospital, too," Robby answered, both of his hands squeezing the straps of his backpack.
"Both very good fields to come to the ED with," Al-Hashimi praised, her own hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. "Don't you agree, Doctor Abbot?" She turned to him.
Jack blinked, his eyes flickering between the attending and the young man.
"Yeah..." He breathed. "Very good," he agreed.
A silence fell over the trio. Robby shuffled uncomfortably on his feet, his lips thinning as he waited for something to happen.
"How about I take you for a quick tour of the ED?" Al-Hashimi offered, already gesturing for Robby to follow her.
"I can do that," Jack said quickly, reaching out to grab Robby's forearm before he could step after the attending.
Al-Hashimi raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.
"He'll be my student, it would-" She went to protest.
"- Yes, but I'm already off shift," Jack interrupted, smiling. "And besides, looks like Gloria wants you," he nodded to the hub, where the CMO now stood looking already annoyed.
Al-Hashimi glanced, sighing. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
"Fine. Send him right back to Dana when you're done," she pointed at Jack, her tone firm. "And you," she turned her attention to Robby, who startled slightly like he was anticipating a hit. "You'll learn a lot from Doctor Abbot. Listen," she winked before turning and walking over to Gloria.
Jack waited, watching her for a moment before looking at Robby, who was already staring at him.
"You've started an IV in before?" Jack looked the younger man up and down. He was thin, more on the poor college kid side than naturally lean, but not too thin to make him concerned and mention it to Dana, who would force feed the kid protein bars the entire shift. Maybe he still would.
"Of course," Robby nodded his head.
"I'll show you anyway," Jack smiled thinly, his eyes squinting as he turned and walked toward the triage area.
He listened to the sound of Robby somehow colliding with a cart that had been pushed against the wall, smirking as the younger man's boots thudded against the tiled floor to hurry after him.
"Donnie!" Jack called out to the nurse, who was talking to Lupe not far from the reception area.
Donnie looked up at the shout of his name, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses before he smirked and said goodbye to Lupe.
"Doctor Abbot," he greeted, taking in the young man beside the doctor. "This the new kid?"
"Michael Robinavitch," Robby replied quickly, stammering slightly. "Nice to meet you... Donnie?"
Donnie chuckled and nodded.
"Got anyone who needs an IV started?" Jack butted in, clapping his hands together.
"... You've never started an IV before?" Donnie raised an eyebrow at Robby.
"I have," Robby flushed. "I swear... I don't need to be shown-"
"- Just wanted to make sure," Jack interrupted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his scrubs.
Donnie stared at them both for a few seconds, his lips parted and his brows knitted in confusion before he sighed and glanced behind him to triage one.
"There's a young guy you can start one on over there," he pointed.
"Why, thank you, Donahue," Jack patted the nurse's arm as he guided Robby to the curtain, pulling it back and revealing a young man with pale, almost green looking skin who was hunched over a kidney dish that he clutched tightly in his trembling hands.
"Good morning, sir," Jack addressed the young man. "I'm Doctor Jack Abbot, this here is Michael Robinavitch. He's a student here at the hospital. Do you mind if he starts your IV for you?"
The patient looked up with sluggish eyes, blinking seemingly one at a time before he nodded and sighed heavily, returning his attention to the basin in his hands.
Jack caught Robby's awkward glance at him and simply nodded. Donnie reappeared, handing Jack a tablet. Sonny Hampton. Abdominal pain. Vomiting. Robby peered over his shoulder, reading silently for a moment before turning back to Sonny.
"How long have you been feeling sick for?" Robby asked, shrugging off his backpack and jacket and pulling on a pair of gloves from the box on the wall and moving the IV pole closer.
"Since... last night," Sonny croaked, groaning as he spat saliva into the basin. "... Came out... out of no where."
Robby made a sympathetic sound, pulling a stool beside the chair Sonny sat in and a rubber band from the cart nearby. He tied it around the patient's arm, uttering an apology when Sonny winced at the tightness.
Jack observed as Robby scanned the patient's arm before pulling a needle and catheter free from their respective packaging and attaching it to the IV tubing. The young man worked efficiently and quietly, inserting the needle and waiting for the flashback before lowering it to be parallel with the skin and taping it down.
"There you go, sir," Robby smiled, leaning back. "Nurse Donahue will be back to check you out soon," he stood, looking at Jack as he took off his gloves and trashed them whilst gathering his belongings where he'd set them.
Jack nodded in praise, repeating what Robby had said to Sonny before leading him out of the triage area and slowly back to the ED.
"Why did you have me start an IV?" Robby queried curiously as Jack led him to the locker area. "This isn't my first rotation-"
"- I just wanted to see you in action before I left," Jack explained, his tone casual as he stopped before his own cubby and put in his code, pulling out his bag. He watched as Robby freed a piece of paper from his scrubs pocket and scanned it with careful eyes before moving to locker eight and typing in his code.
"In action?" Robby echoed as he placed his jacket and backpack inside.
"Well, I won't see much of you," Jack hummed, leaning against the lockers as he looked the younger man up and down. "At least for as long as you stay here. But we'll work together at some point. I just wanted to see how steady your hands are," he smirked.
"We... Will?" Robby raised an eyebrow.
"What?" Jack huffed a laugh. "You think you won't be doing any overtime?"
Robby blushed, embarrassed.
"No... I'm not stupid," he defended himself. "I just..." He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. "Alright then. I look forward to when we... work together," he conceded, holding out his hand.
Jack stared at Robby's hand for a moment. Long enough for it to tremble slightly in the air as Robby reconsidered his offer before he stepped forward and took it, shaking it in a firm grip.
"I look forward to it too, Robinavitch," Jack grinned, winking at the young man before abruptly turning and leaving him in the hall.
Robby had no idea what to make of Doctor Jack Abbot. He'd met doctors with a strong presence before. During his rotation in psychiatry, his attending was a sixty year old woman named Doctor Fessenden who had, at one point in her life, been a punk rock guitarist before she went back to college to study and become a doctor. The residents in psychiatry warned him that Fessenden ate students for lunch, and for the first week of the rotation, Robby thought she would. Fessenden turned out to be one of the nicest people he'd ever met. She consoled him when he lost a patient and had a friend of hers who worked as a therapist in his own office a few blocks away from the hospital talk to him, all the way up until Robby left for the children's hospital. It helped.
Abbot was the same, in a way. When Robby first saw him walking toward him and Al-Hashimi, he thought he was going to be torn to shreds, and when the older man seemingly had no belief that Robby could start an IV, he feared that the next few weeks of his life would be spent working under doctors who thought he was incompetent - which most of the time, he felt he was. But Abbot didn't look at him like he was stupid or push him aside before he could even start the IV. Instead, he stood by and watched with an appreciative gaze as Robby did what he had done a hundred times before on both patients and fake skin. Then Abbot talked about seeing him in action. What did that even mean?
When Abbot left him by the lockers, walking away with a subtle limp that Robby only picked up on because his eyes trailed the man's frame and saw the way he favoured his left to his right, Robby shrugged and assumed that it would be last he'd see of the night shift attending until he did inevitably get stuck with overtime or get put on nights, something he started to suspect with how fast the older man took a liking to him. He closed his locker door and made his way back to the hub to find Dana, who he'd assumed was the charge nurse.
A blonde woman in nurses' scrubs and who had reading glasses perched low on the slope of her nose was already eyeing him as he approached, another nurse who looked to be around the same age as him, if not younger, beside her and glancing between the blonde and Robby as he came to a stop.
"I'm-" Robby began, but the charge nurse lifted her hand.
"Michael Robinavitch," she finished for him, taking his own hand into a firm but welcoming handshake. "I'm Dana Evans, the charge nurse here at the ED. This Emma Nolan," she gestured to the young nurse.
Emma stepped forward, offering her elbow with a wide grin. Robby tapped it with his own, huffing a laugh.
"Nice to meet you both," he greeted. "But you can just call me Robby," he looked at Dana.
"Mm," Dana hummed. "I saw you talking to Doctor Al-Hashimi and Doctor Abbot," her eyes flickered to central fifteen, where he'd been only a few minutes ago.
Robby followed her gaze, nodding.
"Er, yeah. They're..."
"Intense?" Emma spoke up, her eyes wide.
"... Yeah," Robby agreed, running a hand through his hair. "Is Doctor Abbot usually so forward?"
"He can be," Dana chuckled, taking off her glasses and placing them back into the pocket on her chest. "Where'd he take you?"
"To triage," Robby answered. "Wanted to see me start an IV for some reason," he furrowed his brows, sharing a look with Emma, who simply shrugged.
"He just wanted to see ya in action is all," Dana folded her arms loosely over her chest.
"That's exactly what he said," Robby laughed in surprise. He looked back to central fifteen, catching a brief glimpse of Doctor Al-Hashimi. She was still in deep discussion with... Gloria, if he remembered correctly. She must be a CEO. Or CMO. Someone important.
He turned back to Dana and Emma, his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Is there something going on between Doctor Abbot and Doctor Al-Hashimi?" He questioned, fidgeting with his hands. "They just seemed... I don't know."
Dana looked him up and down then, something flickering across her expression. Did he do something wrong? Was he not meant to ask questions like that? Where they more strict here in the ED than his previous attendings and residents in psychiatry and the children's hospital? He was burning his bridges already and he hadn't even crossed them yet.
"I don't know, kid," Dana snapped him out his spiral. "I'm not their mother," she joked, sharing a look with Emma who blinked blankly at her. "They're just good friends is all. Don't worry too much," Dana patted his arm comfortingly.
Robby nodded, blowing out a slow breath.
"Alright... Well-"
The phone screamed loudly then, interrupting him. Dana turned swiftly, answering it and murmuring lowly to whoever was on the line before standing straight and setting her gaze on Doctor Al-Hashimi, who had finished talking with Gloria and was nearing them at the hub.
"We've got a trauma coming in, ETA five minutes," she announced. "Compound fracture with the tibia."
Al-Hashimi nodded, looking at Robby with a smile.
"Robinavitch. I want you on this with me," she ordered.
Robby gulped, scrambling to follow after the attending toward the ambulance bay entrance. He could definitely do this. Maybe.
12:00PM
Robby thought he'd seen everything during his rotation at the children's hospital. Kids were stupid, in the nicest way possible, and a lot of the patients he'd helped with were in due to breaking a leg whilst roughhousing with their siblings or doing something just because their friends dared them to. He'd sutured cuts that kids would inevitably go on to lie about getting from a bear attack, and he'd developed a strong enough stomach after dealing with a young patient with a viral stomach infection that didn't know whether to come out through the mouth or through the other end.
He thought all that would be in the past. That the more often than not adults that came through the ED would have slightly more mature reasons for their injuries, or at least the decency to aim for the basins given to them when they were sick or otherwise. But no. The ED had been unpredictable his entire shift.
His first patient had been a college girl who played soccer. She'd come in with a compound fracture to her tibia after a nasty tackle during training. Robby had seen fractures before, but never a compound one. Not in person anyway. He'd nearly passed out right next to Al-Hashimi when the attending pulled back the bandages to expose the injury. He didn't, though. He'd gripped the exam table and kept himself steady, listing every step they needed to take before sending the girl up to surgery. Santos, the second year resident, told him how Javadi, or Crash as she'd apparently been renamed by Santos only, passed out at the sight of a degloved ankle. The word degloved made Robby green on the spot and he tripped over an IV stand trying to get back to the hub to sit down.
His second patient had been a middle aged man who was trying to prepare dinner for his wife's birthday and ended up cutting his arm with a butcher knife. The cut itself wasn't too concerning. It was easily fixed by some stitches that Robby performed whilst Whitaker hung back and talked him through it. What had earned the patient a ride to the hospital was the fact he fainted at the sight of blood and hit his head on the counter. The scans showed that nothing was wrong, somehow, and he was moved to one of the south corridor rooms for observation until he could go home with his very annoyed wife who had been pulled from her spa treatment early to come up and stay with him.
His most recent patient had been a houseless Jane Doe. He'd been put with Doctor Samira Mohan, an R4 who was about to start her fellowship in a few months.
Based off appearance alone, Jane Doe was in her eighties and despite being houseless, had seemingly clung onto her fashion sense. She wore large glasses with thick lenses, the right side slightly cracked, and her hair was a faded blonde, thin and almost translucent. She'd come in on an ambulance after she was found wandering the street with a small gash on her temple by a concerned citizen; a young man on his way to a lecture who had come with her in the ambulance to make sure she got there okay before he left to go back to college.
Robby hung back by the door to central nine, watching as Doctor Mohan scanned her badge into the monitor.
"Hi there," Mohan greeted the patient. "I'm Doctor Samira Mohan, this is Michael Robinavitch. He's a student here at the hospital. Can you tell us your name, ma'am?" she asked Jane Doe, her tone soft.
Robby doesn't know much about Mohan. It's his first day, after all. Everything he'd learned about her so far was what she'd told him within the first ten minutes of knowing each other, which was a lot more than any other resident he'd worked under had given him so far. She was pretty, and her hair was pulled back into a loose bun.
Jane Doe didn't reply. Instead, she remained sat on the bed, hands cupped in her lap as she observed the room.
Mohan glanced at Robby, who met her gaze and furrowed his brows to mirror her expression.
Jane Doe's cut had stopped bleeding, the blood now dried and crusted along her face, but there were faint specks of gravel clinging to the edges of it that desperately needed cleaning.
"Do you know where you are?" Mohan stepped away from the monitor and approached the patient slowly.
Jane Doe looked up at Mohan, her lips parting like she wanted to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she sighed and raised a hand to her temple, her fingers tracing the cut and a small whimper escaping her.
"You have a cut," Mohan rested her hands on the mattress of the bed, near Jane Doe's lowered hand. "Can we clean it for you?"
Jane Doe made another distressed sound, leaning away from Mohan with panicked eyes.
"I think she has dementia," Robby observed, standing still by the door.
Mohan looked up at him, nodding slightly in agreement.
"Can I try?" Robby gestured to Jane Doe.
Mohan smiled and stood from the stool.
"This is a learning hospital after all," she encouraged, moving back to the monitor to begin charting.
Robby approached Jane Doe with careful steps, making sure his shoes made little to no noise against the tiled floor until he stood beside her.
"Ma'am?" He tried to gather her attention. The patient's gaze lifted after a moment, looking up at him with slightly unfocused eyes. "Hi," he greeted with a gentle smile. "I'm Michael Robinavitch. I'm a student doctor. Can you tell me your name?"
Jane Doe's lips parted again.
"Eleanor," she whispered in a hoarse voice.
"Eleanor?" Robby repeated, looking at Mohan, who typed it quickly into the chart. "And what about your last name, Eleanor?"
Eleanor's face crumbled and she quickly dropped her head into her hands.
"I can't remember," she cried, trembling. "I'm sorry."
Robby lowered himself further, trying to catch the patient's eyes.
"Hey... There's nothing to be sorry for," he comforted. "It's okay if you can't remember. All we want to do is help you."
Eleanor lifted her head, looking at Robby.
"You've got a cut on your temple, Eleanor," Robby pointed to his own temporal. "Do you remember how you got it?"
Eleanor's expression shifted into one of deep thought.
"... A wall," she finally answered.
"Okay," Robby breathed. "Does it hurt?"
Eleanor nodded, her lip trembling.
"We're gonna help you," Robby offered a hand, letting it hover until Eleanor accepted it. He cupped her hand between his own, mirroring the way he'd done a thousand times for his bubbe at home. His thumb brushed Eleanor's knuckles soothingly. "We're gonna clean the cut so that it doesn't get an infection. Is that okay?"
"... Okay," Eleanor croaked, her wet eyes squinting as she smiled.
Robby leaned back so that Mohan could step in, echoing every step taken.
When a cold pad of numbing solution touched the area of Eleanor's temple, she cried again, cowering and rocking slightly.
"Hey," Robby whispered. "It's okay..." He looked at Mohan, who held the same sympathetic expression as him.
Eleanor started to hum then. An old tune he recognised from his bubbe's collection when he was only young.
"... I love that song," he murmured, leaning closer slightly so Eleanor could hear him.
Eleanor's rocking slowed slightly and she turned her head to him.
"My Dearest Darling, right?" He grinned. He squeezed Eleanor's hand slightly and hummed along with her. "Great song."
Eleanor straightened, her eyes wide as she listened to him finish the song. Mohan resumed, gently applying the numbing solution and pressing slightly. Eleanor didn't react.
"Was it your favourite?" Robby asked, keeping the patient's attention on him.
"Me and my husband..." Eleanor answered, her eyes flickering slightly. "... Our song."
Robby nodded.
"It's a beautiful one," he glanced up, observing as Mohan worked on cleaning the cut.
"We used to dance to it," Eleanor continued, a blissfully smile appearing on her face. "All the time."
"My grandmother does, too," Robby replied. He didn't let the brief moment of sadness show itself on his face. The knowledge that his bubbe hardly reacted to the song anymore.
"There we go," Mohan announced, stepping back as she finished applying the last layer of bandages. The cut wasn't deep enough to warrant stitches. "All better," she smiled at Eleanor, who blinked and touched her temple in awe. "We're going to send you for a CT, okay? Just to be safe."
Eleanor watched them both stand.
"Will you come back?" She asked Robby.
Robby looked at Mohan, who nodded supportively.
"I'll be back in a short while," Robby answered.
Eleanor relaxed on the bed, nodding as she let her gaze flutter up to the ceiling.
The pair left the room, both reaching for the hand sanitiser and cleaning their hands swiftly.
"You did good in there," Mohan praised as they walked toward the hub.
"I did?" Robby blinked.
"Yeah," Mohan grinned. "You knew exactly what to do. Did you have a lot of dementia patients during your psychiatry rotation?" She questioned, stopping at one of the computers to continue charting for Eleanor.
Robby contemplated for a moment. He did have a few patients with dementia during his rotation, but they weren't the ones he learned everything he knew with. He learned everything for his bubbe.
"Er... Yeah," he decided to answer with. "A few patients or so. I read a lot about the condition, too," he leaned against the counter when Mohan now sat. "Did a paper for it back in second year."
Mohan hummed.
"Well, you did great," she glanced up at him. "I worked with a few during my time at the VA. People tend to forget they're people, too."
Robby lowered his gaze and nodded.
"I'll call you when Eleanor comes back from the CT," Mohan informed, standing and plucking a tablet from the charging station nearby. "And if you need anything, feel free to come to me," she grinned before turning on her heel and walking toward the north corridor.
Robby watched her go, tapping his hand slightly on the counter before the buzzing of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. He lifted his phone from his pocket, frowning when he saw Carla's ID appear. He looked around. The ED was relatively quiet - well, as quiet as it could get - and he concluded he could spare a few minutes to go out to the ambulance bay and answer the call.
He paced down the hall and out through the double doors, walking toward the motorcycle racks and allowing himself a millisecond to admire the ones there before lifting the phone to his ear.
"Carla?"
"Mike," Carla breathed a sigh of relief on the other side.
"What's wrong?" Robby panicked quickly. "Is my bubbe okay? Is she having another episode? Is she-"
"- Mike, Mike!" Carla cut him off. "Everything is fine. I was just calling to ask you where you kept her shampoo and conditioner."
Robby was silent for a moment, his brows furrowed.
"Her shampoo and conditioner?" He echoed.
"Yeah. I can't find it anywhere, and I promised her a spa treatment," Carla laughed.
A beat of silence passed.
"Shit. I'm sorry. I've probably scared you," Carla apologised. "This could have been a text."
Robby dragged a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"No... It's fine," he sighed. "They should be in the cabinet above the mirror. That's where I put them last time."
"Thank you..." He listened to the sounds of Carla moving around the bathroom. "How's your first shift?"
"Good," Robby replied curtly. "I've really got to get back-"
"- Yep. Don't let me hold you back," Carla interrupted. "I'll see you, kid."
"Everything is fine?" Robby asked one last time, one hand on his hip.
"Everything is perfect. She's eating, she's taking her meds... She even napped. You don't have to worry. Now get back to work."
Before Robby could reply, the call ended, and he stood there for a few moments trying to will his heartbeat to slow down.
"Everything alright?" A voice startled him.
Robby scrambled to catch and secure his phone as he spun and found Doctor King watching him from where she stood by the ambulance entrance, arms crossed loosely over her chest. "I just... I saw you with the Jane Doe patient, and then I saw you run out with your phone," King continued, stepping closer. "I'm not- Not... Stalking you, or anything," she laughed awkwardly.
Robby looked her up and down. She was blonde, her hair tied back neatly into a ponytail. She wore square glasses that were perched high on her nose. She was smiling, though it trembled like she was unsure if he would get angry.
"Is everything okay?" She repeated her question, gesturing to his phone.
Robby blinked, running a hand down his face and nodding with a small laugh.
"Yeah... Just..." He looked around. They were alone. "My... grandmother. She's sick at the moment, so..."
King's face morphed into one of understanding.
"Oh. You're a caretaker?" She tilted her head, walking closer to him till they were stood side by side and observing the road together.
"Yeah," Robby sighed. "She has dementia."
King nodded.
"I'm sorry," she gave him a sympathetic smile. "... I'm a caretaker, too."
Robby looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
"My sister," King continued. "She's autistic. She's actually in a- a support facility. Just so I know she's being taken care of whilst I'm in work," she fidgeted with her stethoscope as she spoke.
"A facility?" Robby echoed.
"It's in North Hills... So... close," King nodded. "Do you have... help for your grandmother?"
Robby looked back to the road.
"My neighbour comes over when I'm not there," he replied.
"And if they don't?" King questioned curiously.
Robby blinked at that. So far, Carla had never been 'unavailable'. She had an impeccable immune system and was hardly ever sick, and her husband was a workaholic. Her kids were grown up and lived out of state, which meant they only appeared for the holidays, and the most travelling Carla did was to the driving range a few blocks away with her sister.
He didn't have any other options outside of her, and he'd naively allowed himself to disregard planning for the inevitable day Carla was too busy or unable to come over whilst he was in work or on a rotation.
"I... Don't know," he murmured, fidgeting with the fabric of his zip-up.
King observed him for a moment before digging into her pocket and pulling out her own phone.
"I can give you the number I used to get help with my sister?" She offered, pulling up a phone number and showing it to him. "They help with... Everyone, pretty much. Respite, care..."
Robby stared at the number and then back at King.
"Oh," he breathed. "Well... Thank you," he unlocked his phone and added the number to his contacts.
"It's fine," King smiled. "It's a lot... To be a caregiver and a doctor," she said understandingly. "I'm also here in case you just... Wanna talk," she added.
Robby mirrored her smile, nodding.
"Thanks," he whispered. "... It's Melissa, right?"
"Just call me Mel," King shook her head.
"Michael Robinavitch. Or Robby," he extended his hand.
"Well, Robby, it's-"
"Hey!" Dana's voice cut through the moment. They both turned to find the charge nurse half stepped out of the entrance to the ED, staring at them with narrowed eyes. "No time for flirtin'. We've got two coming in from triage after a fight in chairs. C'mon!" She clapped her hands.
Robby scrambled alongside King toward the entrance, muttering an apology with a flushed face as he followed after her back into the ED.
8:00PM
All things considered, Robby regarded his first shift at the Pitt to be relatively easy. Eleanor, the houseless patient, ended up being Eleanor Vega, an eighty year old retired woman who had lost her benefits and house a few months ago and ended up on the streets. Robby and Mohan worked to get her in contact with Kiara who promised to get Eleanor into a support system and preferably a home.
His other patients consisted of a man who'd gotten into a fight in chairs with another man and ended up swallowing his own tooth and breaking his nose. Another was a young girl who broke her leg falling down the stairs whilst playing with her dad. Santos, the resident he'd worked with for that case, had been worried, but a quick check in with Kiara confirmed there was no suspicious activity involving the parents or anyone else in the girl's life.
His last patient had been a toddler who stuffed two crayons up each nostril. Robby spent twenty minutes trying to removing both crayons in their entirety whilst McKay comforted the parent saying that her own son did the same.
He'd stayed an extra hour to finish his charting and visited Eleanor on the floor she'd been moved to before he finally collected his stuff from his locker and stepped out into the night.
The air had dropped to a biting temperature that forced him to zip his corduroy jacket all the way up to his chin as he crossed the road and caught his first bus.
His first bus crossed the Fort Pitt and dropped him off nearby a supermarket that he frequented. The parking lot was mostly empty beside a few cars dotted in various spaces. There was one in the handicapped bay; a sleek grey hybrid that he slowed to appreciate before pressing on and entering the store. He collected a cart and pushed it to the appliances aisle, sighing at the shelves in front of him. Since when did steam irons become so expensive?
He pushed his cart slowly as he read the price tags, cringing at the high-end options that almost made him sick to think about paying the price of, until he stopped in front of the cheapest option he could find. Twenty-five dollars. He could spare that.
He pulled the box from the shelf, placing it gently in his cart with a mumbled complaint. He made a quick stop to grab some more three in one before he continued toward the frozen aisles. Maybe he could pick himself a nice boxed meal that would take twenty minutes in the oven and allow him an extra hour or so of sleep.
He turned, pausing when he caught sight of a familiar figure.
Doctor Abbot stood before one of the freezers with a basket in one hand, squinting down at a box of frozen pizza he held in the other like it personally offended him. He wore a simple black t-shirt beneath an old jacket with the American flag pressed to the sleeve of it. The shirt itself was tucked into the waistband of grey cargo pants that cuffed just above a pair of black trainers.
The older man must have sensed a set of eyes on him. His head lifted and he twisted and spotted Robby standing there gawking at him.
"Robinavitch?" The older man called out to him.
Robby blushed, averting his gaze and pretending he had a great interest in the cut-out of Guy Fieri promoting his Flavourtown Sauces.
Abbot came closer, an amused grin tugging at his lips.
"You stalking me, kid?" The older man teased.
Robby stammered slightly.
"No," he barked out a laugh. "I'm just-"
"- Shopping for irons?" Abbot raised an eyebrow at Robby's cart.
"My one at home busted... So..." Robby swallowed. "Do you... live around here?"
Abbot hummed, tilting his head back.
"I do, yes," he nodded. "You?"
"Garfield," Robby answered.
"Huh," Abbot huffed. "I used to live in Garfield a few years back. Small world."
Robby tried to laugh, but it came out stiff and awkward. He didn't know why. Outside of work settings, he was usually relaxed. But something about the older man made him shift and fidget on his feet like he was standing trial for a crime he didn't commit. Or maybe it reminded him of being in middle school again and having his classmates swarm him whenever they found out who he had a crush on.
"Well," Abbot looked down at his basket. "I've gotten all that I need. You?"
Robby looked down at his cart and then at the freezer to the right of him.
"I, uh..." He slid the freezer door open and pulled out a random ready-made meal, not even checking to see what it was. "Now I am," he smiled.
Abbot observed him before chuckling and nodding.
"I'll walk you to the till, then, he brushed past Robby, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he followed.
Robby had never felt more grateful for his card not declining than he did the moment they reached the tills. He was certain that he'd somehow done the math wrong in his head and had actually overestimated how much he could afford. But his dignity remained intact when he scanned his card and the reader accepted it instead of embarrassing him like it had done a few weeks prior when he'd tried to buy a shitty little energy drink to hold him over after a long shift at the coffee house.
Abbot paid for his own groceries, following behind Robby as they walked out to the parking lot.
"Which one's yours?" Abbot asked, looking around the lot.
Robby gulped, adjusting his grip on his bag that dug slightly into the skin of his fingers.
"None," he answered. "I- I get the bus."
Abbot stared at him like he'd grown two heads.
"I'll drive you home," he stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Huh?" Robby gaped at him, watching as the older man already made a move toward the hybrid he'd admired earlier.
Abbot opened the trunk of his car, placing his bags of groceries inside before looking up at Robby and nodding for him to do the same.
After a moment of hesitation, Robby stepped forward and placed his singular bag inside.
"You really don't have to..." He protested softly even as he climbed into the passenger side of the car. He watched as Abbot buckled his seat belt and brought the car to life.
"Don't," Abbot shook his head. "It's not like I'm buying you a house. It's a ride home," he looked at Robby. "Where about in Garfield do you live?"
Robby met the older man's eyes, confusion flickering across his face when his chest tightened slightly.
"Uh... North Beatty," he whispered, sounding unsure.
Abbot nodded, leaning back to pull out of the spot slowly before leaving the parking lot and joining the road.
A silence fell between the pair. It wasn't uncomfortable, Robby found, like he'd expected it to be. It felt like they'd done this a million times before, even though they'd only just met today. He glanced at the older man, who kept one hand on the wheel and the other on the armrest with a casualness that made Robby shift in his seat slightly.
"People usually ask by now," Abbot started in a low murmur as he turned. "About me being in the handicapped bay."
Robby looked down at his hands.
"Yeah?"
He watched Abbot avert his gaze from the road for a moment to look at him.
"You're not gonna ask?" The older man pressed.
"Do you want me to?" Robby returned.
Another silence.
"... I don't mind," Abbot shrugged.
"Okay," Robby breathed. "How come you use the handicapped bay?"
Abbot chewed his bottom lip for a moment.
"I lost my leg in Afghanistan," he answered.
Robby nodded slowly.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Don't be sorry," Abbot shook his head. The car slowed to a stop at the end of Robby's street. "This alright?"
Robby felt whiplashed by the sudden stop. He blinked a few times, orienting himself before he nodded.
"Yeah... Thank you," he smiled at the older man.
Abbot hummed, watching as Robby opened the door and stepped out.
"I'll... see you tomorrow?" Robby leaned down slightly so he could look at the older man through the door.
A smirk tugged at Abbot's lips.
"I'm off till Thursday," he replied. "But I'll see you then."
Robby mirrored Abbot's smirk, standing straight and shutting the car door behind him. He moved to the back of the car, opening the trunk enough to take his bag out.
He walked toward his house slowly, waving at the older man over his shoulder as he climbed the short stairs to his front door and finally stepped inside.
"You're home a lot earlier than I'd expected you to be," Carla called from the living room, peaking her head through the doorway and smiling at him.
Robby kicked off his shoes with a tired groan, listening faintly for the sound of Abbot's car driving past.
"A... coworker drove me home," he explained, walking past the living room and to the kitchen, where he set the bag down.
"A new iron," Carla observed, peeling the plastic of bag back enough to read the label. "You could have asked me. I have a spare."
"I can't keep relying on you," Robby shook his head, taking the ready-made mac and cheese and pulling the sleeve off it.
"It's what I'm here for," Carla shrugged, leaning against the wall as she watched Robby pierce the film and carelessly toss his meal into the oven. "She's alright, by the way."
Robby looked at the older woman.
"Sleeping now," Carla added. "CPAP machine on... Medicine taken..." She listed. "You don't have to worry about anything. Just eat and go to bed."
Robby chuckled.
"That was already the plan," he dragged a hand down his face. "Thanks... For helping."
"No problem," Carla smiled warmly. She pushed herself off the wall and glanced to the clock. "Alright. I gotta go. Paul'll be home soon."
She kissed Robby lightly on the cheek, pulling him down to her height as she did so and chuckling when he scrunched his face in mock-disgust.
"Have a good night, Mike," Carla whispered before she turned and walked down the hall and out the door.
Robby sighed as silence enveloped him, the only noise left being the faint hum of his bubbe's CPAP machine.
"I can do this," he murmured to himself, fighting the exhaustion off enough to enjoy his meal, brush his teeth, and collapse onto his bed.