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It's dark out when Robby finally emerges from the ER, from The Pitt. He's grown really fond of the place, even if it's somewhere he actively tries to avoid when not at work.
Something changed this past year. He's refused to see someone about this because he's a goddamn doctor, and maybe his ego is too high for comfort. Still, after everything that happened during Pitts Fest last year, he's had a lot of time to think about his life going forward. At times, he barely even recognizes himself when looking in the mirror. The shell of a broken man stares back.
He remembers the feeling of standing at the edge of the rooftop, the urge to jump greater than his will to live. He lost a lot of patients that day, and he lost Jake, and he lost Langdon. Most of all, he lost himself. How could he call himself a doctor if he had broken down?
His worth as a doctor fell the moment he shut down. People rely on him to keep a steady head, to keep going through it all, but the honest truth is that he isn't all there. The past year, he's been somewhere else, at least mentally. Every dying patient, every loss, it adds up in him until he goes home and has another sleepless night alone. He's seen his fair share of death throughout his years of working in The Pitt, but somehow it got to a point where he feels himself slipping further down.
He has endless flings to keep himself distracted. Women, men, it doesn't matter who. He has always needed someone to distract him, but even more now. They never last, they never do. He isn't someone people stay committed to; he has never felt the need to commit. That's his problem. He can't even commit to living.
That was until last year. For the first time, someone caught his eyes, someone he thought he would never look at twice. Maybe it was the chronic loneliness in him speaking out, or perhaps it was out of pure curiosity.
Whitaker. Dennis Whitaker.
Maybe at first, he tried to delude himself into caring for him in a fatherly way, in a professional way. The more he saw him, the more he longed to brush past him. It was an HR violation waiting to happen. He kept his distance because what else could he do? Dennis was much younger than him, but he's never felt this calm around another person before. There was something about Whitaker, something about the way he moved about, the way he smiled at him, his kindness. It stuck with him. It pierced him throughout.
He couldn't be that selfish to want this; he's thought it over a million times. Even the possibility of it happening is too much for him.
Admittedly, he acted out of jealousy when he found out that Whitaker was seeing a patient's wife from last year. Something in him called out to ask about it, to make it stop. That was when he made the mistake of making Whitaker promise to take care of his apartment. Knowing where he would be when Robby wasn't there gave him a sense of calm.
It was the least he could do for the other.
So as he stepped outside, with Whitaker behind him, he took in a deep breath to ground himself. He turned around and fished up the extra key and a note with the security code on it. It would be a lie to say that he didn't plan to leave Whitaker with his apartment. Ever since he found out that Santos had taken Whitaker in with her, he's felt compelled to try to get him into his house instead. He couldn't do that, of course, Santos and Whitaker were friends. He was Whitaker's superior, so having him move in with him would be wrong.
Now he could cover his desire with the fact that Whitaker would be house-sitting while he was gone.
"Here's the extra key. I'll text you the address, and here—" He hands him the note, "That's the security code to get into the apartment complex." His arms swing by his side awkwardly, "Well, I'm happy you're willing to house sit while I'm gone." He looks over his shoulder and points with his thumb. "I'll get going now."
Whitaker nods with a strained smile, holding the key and the note. "Yeah."
He wants to say more, he needs to, but he can't. The words are caught in his throat, and he turns away before Whitaker gets to guess how he feels, before it overspills.
He only gets to take one step before his wrist is grabbed and he's turned around again to face Whitaker, now much closer than he was before, "Wait, Robby." Their eyes meet, and for once in his life, he's speechless. "I really can't let you leave like this."
"Like what?" His tone is harsher than he intends, so he closes his eyes for a second and breathes, "Like what?"
He hears Whitaker swallow, feels the shake and determination in his hand, "I don't know why you're planning to go on vacation, but I'm concerned. For you." He blinks as he looks at Robby with worry, "I'm concerned for you. You've been snappy all day, you refuse to talk to anybody, and you keep making these awful jokes about leaving like."
There's a strain in his voice.
"Like you're planning to kill yourself."
He swallows, and he goes stiff. Maybe he wasn't exactly subtle, maybe his big mouth overshared at times, but for someone to confront him like that. "That's—That's absurd, Whitaker. I am not suicidal, and if I made you think that, well, I'm sorry. I have to get going." But Whitaker's hand won't budge from his grasp around his wrist, so he's forced to keep standing in front of his concerned coworker. "Let go."
Whitaker shakes his head, "I don't believe you. Abbot told me about what happened last year, that he found you on the rooftop past the fence, and—" His face scrunches up, and he shakes his head, "That's not something a mentally stable person does, even for fun, that's worrisome. You can get the help you need, but I can't let you leave today in this state."
"Please let my hand go, Whitaker. I am your attending."
"Like I fucking care about that right now, we're not in The Pitt, right now. I am speaking to you as your friend!"
He looks up at the sky and prays to God, I just need to get to my bike, and then I'll have free rein. "Whitaker."
"Call my name all you want, I won't listen. I can set you up with a therapist, heck, even a psychiatrist! Please don't leave today, please stay here, I'll get Abbot, I'll gather everyone."
He yanks his wrist free from Whitaker's grasp, "Don't." His hand runs through the remainder of his thin hair, and he looks around before he looks at Whitaker, "Good night."
As he turns and starts making his way to his bike, he hears Whitaker yell from behind him.
"I know how you feel! I wanted nothing, I wanted to feel nothing, I wanted to be gone from it all! And you know what I did? I did exactly what you are gonna do, I did the stupidest mistake of my life. And I didn't learn from my mistake the first time, so as I entered the hospital for the second time, I couldn't help but cry out for help."
Robby has turned around, and he watches as Whitaker walks closer to him, his voice lowering the closer he gets, "I was 13 the first time I attempted to take my own life. I found every kind of pill imaginable in my parents' medicine cupboard and took them. The doctors told me it was a miracle I survived, my parents told me I was stupid and that next time I shouldn't take the pills but the knife. Because medicine is expensive. My relationship was already strained before my attempt, but It got worse after my attempt. I was only 13, and all I wanted was to be accepted by my parents. They didn't care if I died or not; it would be the will of God if I were to die." Whitaker takes a breath, and Robby listens. He can't help the shaking that's started in his hands, throughout his body. Hearing about how another person struggled, it hits something in him.
Whitaker continues without stop, "The doctors that treated me. I didn't appreciate them enough, and I didn't try to cooperate. It was my younger brother who called the ambulance and found me." He shakes his head, "I have kept apologizing to him, but what good was it when 2 years later I found myself with the same thoughts, with the same suicidal tendicies which went untreated. I didn't have access to a therapist, I didn't get diagnosed, I didn't get treated. So it wasn't a shock when at 15, I took the knife, and I sliced open my anterior compartment. I can still remember it. The stab, the slicing, the blood. It didn't hurt for the first few seconds. I stared in wonder at what I had done. The blood ran, and I lost consciousness."
Robby feels dizzy when Whitaker pulls up his jacket sleeve, and there's a clear white line from his wrist almost all the way up to his cubital fossa. When he reaches out to grab his arm, he feels something fall down his cheek. "Dennis." He can't help the way he finally addresses Whitaker by name.
"You don't know how lost I felt, how angry and bitter and sad I was. I felt trapped in my own house with my parents and brothers. I didn't have any way out, and I was bullied in school. It added up in the end, everything. I was 15, I couldn't handle it on my own, I didn't have anyone to talk to, I wish I had someone I could have gone to. But that doesn't mean I would have gone to someone. I think I needed someone to remind me that I was worth something. I needed someone to pull me away from everything, someone who saw me and understood my pain." Dennis looks up at him, "When I came to it in the hospital, the first face I saw was a lady. She was the one who stitched me up; she sat by my bed and was my primary doctor. She spoke to me about what I had done, asked if I had anyone she could call. I shook my head. I said that my parents would rather I pass away than come home with a medical bill. She was so soft spoken, unlike any doctor I had met before. Maybe I had just been too bitter before, maybe I had just given up on fighting the system." A smile spreads across his face. "She told me something,
Life isn't easy. Life isn't fair. The only person who can start the journey of healing is yourself, so ask yourself: Am I willing to get better? Am I willing to receive the help I need? Either we restrain you, and you'll never know peace, or else you turn to the people willing to help you. Dying is a choice for some, but for most, it is a slow inevitability.
If you cut your life short tonight, you'll miss hundreds of memories that could have helped prevent it." Dennis rolls down his sleeve again and reaches out to grab Robby's hand, "Please don't leave."
His vision has gotten blurry, and he hears a small sound leave his throat as his breathing has quickened. He shakes his head, "I can't, I can't." His voice is wavering, and suddenly he's 20 years old again, coming out to his parents, terrified.
Dennis nods his head, "Robby, I'm here for you, we all are. If you need help, you need to tell us."
He averts his eyes, "I've never had someone look out for me. I've never wanted anyone to care, to look for me. I can't keep in contact, I can't even commit to one relationship. I'm terrible."
"So what? Do you deserve to die over it?"
"You don't know how messed up I am—"
"Shut up, okay?" Dennis squeezes his hands, "Okay. I'm gonna say this once, but you need to find something to live for, even if it's small. Clearly, going to work doesn't work for you, and whatever you have going on with Hastings isn't working either. So, please, find a hobby you enjoy, shit, I even saw a furry come through, maybe that's your calling: Furcon."
He can't admit that Dennis has been the one person holding him back, making him hesitate in it all, so he shakes his head, "No, I'm not into that." Dennis removes one of his hands, and he feels the sudden chill run over his bare hand, not having noticed the warmth emitting from the other. Dennis runs his thumb over his cheeks, wiping away his tears, and Robby can't help the way his heart leaps.
"Trinity can help you make a fursona." He halts, "I'm sorry, she isn't a furry, I was just making a joke, don't tell her I said that." He lets out a small laugh, "Do you have anything that can ground you?"
"Yes." He doesn't hesitate to answer, "I do."
"Then don't let go of that." Instinctively, he holds tighter around Dennis' hand, "Keep holding on. We need you, I need you. I can't work this job without you."
His eyes lowers and he shakes his head, "You can, though."
"Like hell I can, you are the best attending out of them all, it's your ER. It wouldn't run without you. Do you know how panicked Mel and Javadi are because you're going on vacation for 3 months? Do you know how panicked I felt when I noticed subtle signs of your suicidal tendencies throughout the day? Giving things away, mood swings, absent-minded, and avoidant. I can't lose you, you mean too much—" Dennis eyes widen, and he shakes his head, "You mean so much to all of us."
Robby tilts his head a smidge, then shakes it off. He might have misheard; it was nothing.
They stand for a moment in silence, then Dennis breaks it, "Maybe I need a vacation too. Actually, coincidentally, I called in 2 weeks off work."
"Dennis—"
"And I think I know where I'm going—"
"Dennis—!"
"Michael." Dennis shuts him up, "I think I'm gonna strap along with you. Hitch me a ride. Starting from today? I'll walk you home, I'll even stay to watch over you. Unless."
Robby raises his eyebrows.
"Unless you agree to get the help needed."
He shakes his head, "You are relentless."
"I learn from the best." Dennis smiles at him. "But, I probably still need to hop along, because I did put in 2 weeks."
Robby can't help but laugh, and something lifts off his chest. He squeezes the other's hand, "Alright."