Chapter Text
Robby leaned against the wall as he sank down to the floor, his face twisted and reddened with the sobs that wracked his body. The bodies opposite him in Peds said nothing in response as he breathily recited the Shema - never once getting adequate air, despite the heavy gasping inhales that punctated the words.
This wasn't his first MCI. Not by a long shot. You work in the ER long enough, you see the very worst of humanity and all it has to offer. You see humans ripped apart in ways you weren't even aware they could be. Robby had gotten good at shoving it down until the end of a shift, climbing over the roof's railing (a truly laughable attempt at keeping people away from the edge) to contemplate being one of the mangled patients himself.
This was his first MCI where someone he cared about - daresay, loved, even after this short time - was caught in the crossfire. Robby had sent yet another patient upstairs to the OR, and Mohan had yelled to him for help with her patient. Robby spun around, and honest to God hadn't even realized - not at first. His vision had zeroed in on the injury and the yellow slap band on the wrist, not the person. GSW to the shoulder, packed and pressured with what looked like a shirt or hoodie in the field. Given the amount of blood, it had most definitely nicked or hit an artery. It was hard to tell, given how many of the festival goers were covered in blood that wasn't theirs. Mohan rattled off what she'd observed and done - potential ricochet against the bone, but with an exit wound on the back, and the patient had come in somewhat awake but had lost consciousness due to the blood loss.
Finally, his gaze traced up to the person's face, and Robby felt like he'd actually taken the step off the hospital's roof. Sandy hair, eye bags to rival Robby's own, and an expression that could've been the same one he'd smiled at fondly leaning against him on the couch a few days ago. As if he was still asleep like then, worn out by his rotation in the NICU. Instead, the life was draining out of Dennis Whitaker before his very eyes.
"Doctor Robby!" Mohan practically yelled, and he finally tore his eyes off of Dennis. "There's blood pooling in his lung now - I tried to intubate, but - " she continued rattling off information, and Robby grabbed the tube from her.
"Move. I've got it. Check with the OR coordinator - he's going up now." Robby did what Robby does best: locked away his emotions and did the job in front of him. He managed to successfully tube him and motioned for Perlah to bag him. The vitals responded accordingly, in the right direction, but Dennis was nowhere near out of the danger zone. Dennis. Dennis. Robby nodded towards Mohan and the others and stayed to watch the gurney get wheeled to one of the ORs. He'd touched the same face only a day ago, cradling it for a relatively chaste goodbye kiss, and he balled his hands into fists. Robby's ears rung, and the world narrowed to one door where he knew it would be quiet: their makeshift morgue, Peds.
The day they met wasn't anything special, not at first. It was one of Robby's rare days off, and he'd begun the morning with a quick gym run. He was now freshly showered, wandering into the coffee shop just few blocks away from his townhouse. A Lovely Little Coffee House. No, really - that was the name they went with. Robby could look past the name because their coffee was excellent and they were not a chain. He also appreciated that they always had something new to try. In some things, he was a man of habit; you had to be sometimes, given the sheer unpredictability of his chosen profession. In others, he enjoyed the thrill: a motorcycle ride with the wind blowing through his hair on the first sunny day after a long winter, going somewhere he'd never been, and sampling some coffee-adjacent drink that the barista had come up with that week.
He came here often enough that they knew him (and he'd met them all on his home turf in the ER once when one of the newer baristas had burned the hell out of her hand). It was a Q-Word day in the Pitt when that happened, so Robby had taken it upon himself to bandage her up. She was at the register today, and smiled warmly as he approached in the line.
"Doctor Robby!" She exclaimed.
"You know the drill," he murmured, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
She nodded, and began writing on a cold drink cup. "One of our specials for the doctor. Blackberry cold brew with vanilla cold foam. Large?"
"You got it." Robby fished the wallet out of his back pocket, but she shook her head. "On the house today!"
"You've got to let me pay sometime." He continued to pull cash out of his wallet anyways and dropped $15 into their tip jar.
"Never!" She teased, and he wandered down to the pickup counter. It was now that he realized how full the place was; there was nary a seat in the whole place, which wasn't saying much given how tiny it was, but still. Usually, Robby didn't have an issue in finding somewhere to sit and contemplate for a few minutes.
His eyes landed on a table near the back, a two seater that had only one person at it. All he could see was a head of softly curled sandy brown hair, hunched over a laptop that looked like it might be on its last legs. The person was in black scrubs, identical to what they wore at PTMC.
He had no idea what possessed him to approach the table after grabbing his drink - in hindsight, maybe it was the strings of fate pulling them together - but Robby said "hey" once he got there, and felt himself take a mental note of how blue the man's eyes were. "Is this seat taken?"
"Oh, uh… n-no." It took him a moment to respond, only after he'd looked Robby up and down and glazed over the rest of the coffee shop. Still not a seat in sight.
Robby nodded gratefully, sat down, and took a sip of his drink. Blackberry and coffee was an interesting combination; probably not one he'd repeat, but at least he'd tried it. The other man looked younger than Robby had initially clocked from across the shop, but he was here now. He still had his badge clipped to the scrub's chest pocket, boldly declaring: Dennis Whitaker. Student Doctor. Christ, a lot younger. Robby probably would've screened him out by age alone on one of those dating apps he'd downloaded but never talked to anyone on.
"Studying hard?" Robby asked, sitting his drink down on the table. "I can also shut up, if you prefer. I just like to take a moment and drink this here."
"No, no, it's… fine. I could use a break anyway," Dennis smiled, and Robby's heart flipped in his chest. He wanted to keep making him smile, wanted to keep being the reason. That thought was immediately followed by: What the fuck is wrong with you?
"Which rotation are you on?" He asked conversationally, gesturing towards his badge and scrubs, being careful that his tone did not betray what was happening in his chest and stomach. Internal medicine was written right underneath Dennis's position on the badge, but Robby didn't want to come across as any more of a creep than he maybe already was.
"Just started Internal Medicine, and I'm trying to follow up on some of the cases I saw today and review." Dennis said, a heaviness to his voice. "I just finished Psychiatry, which was also hard, but… differently hard. Are you…?"
"ER attending at PTMC. I'm not going to say how long I've been that." That earned Robby another smile.
"Wow. You deserve a medal. I've thought about Emergency Medicine, honestly - I think I'd prefer the fast pace." He held out his hand for Robby to shake. "I'm Dennis."
"Robby. We'd be lucky to have you."
Dennis scoffed. "You don't know anything about me - how do you know you'd be lucky?"
"You get a sense for who can handle it and who can't. Do you think I'm right?" Robby could feel his own intensity, but he also wasn't inclined to let up. His interest was piqued in a way it hadn't been by any of those best foot forward dating profiles. Dennis had clearly come off a night shift, if the bags under his eyes were any indication. The coffee in his ceramic mug had long since been drained, since it was starting to dry on the edge. Dennis looked like a deer in headlights at the question.
"I, um. I hope you are."
Robby smiled at him, watching him intently as he took a long sip of his drink. "I know I am."
He should've known that coming to work today was a mistake; nothing good could happen on the anniversary of losing Adamson. Now Robby was probably going to lose his fresh start, the one person who made him feel like was was still alive. He should've known that beginning to love someone would only put them in danger. His whole damn life - everyone left, either willingly or otherwise.
Robby might've been there with Dennis, had he not been scheduled to work; one of Dennis's med school friends couldn't make it after all, and he'd asked Robby in a very roundabout way. Do you know Pittfest? Yes. Have you ever been? No, have you? I have tickets for this year Cool, have fun. Would you want to come? I have an extra…
Want? Sure, Robby would've loved to hold Dennis in front of him as they swayed to the music. The temperature for this weekend wasn't slated to be overly hot and humid, like it could get in Pittsburgh. It took time for Robby to come around to their age difference, but Dennis made him feel young again. Like he had something to plan for, to hope for. Hell, he could've protected him.
Robby pushed the heel of his hands into his head, hard, wishing for anything to shock him out of this panic attack. They needed him out there. Yet, the longer he stayed down on the floor, the more it felt like he was encased in quick-drying cement. He'd be stuck here, forever, a casualty of Pittfest without ever being there.
Ultimately, it was Dennis that brought him off that floor - he had to get through this godforsaken shift if he was going to sit by his bedside. Robby could practically hear him - auditory hallucinations, now? Fucking great - they need you out there. We're fucked without you.
He rubbed the back of his neck and reached up to a gurney to pull himself to a standing position. His breath was still shaky, but his legs and hands weren't; he tucked his necklace back into his shirt, staring at the white sheets covering human-shaped forms. Some of them were dotted with bright red blood. The wounds and the death weren't even an hour old.
Robby swallowed down a hard lump in his throat and turned to face the door. He would get through this shift; not for himself, no, but for Dennis Whitaker, the man he'd fallen in love with more quickly and definitively than any past relationship. The same man he'd just intubated and sent up to a trauma OR in desperate hope of repairing the damage done by a bullet and single person. His hands still felt like they were burning, and with the next swallow, Robby knew he was pushing down vomit.
It'd been years since something in the ER had triggered such a strong wave of nausea. Robby steeled his jaw and pushed out to the chaos.
The only way out is through.