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Part 12 of Maisie's Medwhump May 2025
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Medwhump May 2025
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Published:
2025-05-12
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1/1
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the best of all charge nurses

Summary:

Medwhump May Day 12- Migraines

Robby has a migraine at work.

Work Text:

“Dr Robby, I have a seven year old girl in Central 6 with a fever and a sore throat, strep test sound good?”

“Dr Robby, ICU won't take the elderly sepsis until we show them more recent blood work, do I order it or send him up anyway?”

“Dr Robby, someone in chairs just vagalled.”

The questions and comments never stop, piercing through the thin veil of his consciousness every few seconds, so sharp he finds himself wincing with each syllable. His head pounds, not the usual band of tension but a concentrated attack behind his right eye that pulses relentlessly. 

He digs his palm into the offending eye socket, other hand tapping a quick rhythm against the desk. His leg jolts up and down. 

“Dr Robby, there's a dislocation in North 7 that…” McKay’s voice trails off. “Are you okay?”

He fights the urge to snap at her, instead nodding mutely and shooting a weak thumbs up in her vague direction (he can't look at her directly, because the lights in the ED are so bright he knows he'll vomit if he so much as glances upwards). 

“Are you sure, because-”

“I’m fine, Dr McKay.” He says, perhaps sharper than he intends. Today isn't the anniversary of some traumatic event. He's in therapy. He's doing… better. His old excuses won't stand any longer, and they shouldn't, either. “Sorry, I just- my head hurts, that's all. It's nothing to worry about.”

“Did you want me to get you some painkillers?”

He swallows thickly, almost laughing. He's had practically every over the counter pain medicine under the sun in the past few hours, and none of them have even touched the surface, so unless she wants to knock him out with a hefty dose of morphine, there's nothing she can do to help. 

“No thank you, Dr McKay. The, uh…?”

God, what was it she was talking about? Somebody in… South? No, North. A sprain. Nope. A-

“Dislocation?”

“Right.”

Of course. Trying to retrieve any piece of information right now is like wading through a swamp, and his boots are getting pretty fucking waterlogged. 

“Uh, don't worry about it. Thanks anyway.”

He's feeling so rough that he doesn't question her sudden migration away from him, instead digging his palm even deeper into his right eye and hissing when he reaches a spot that, for just a second, seems to press right against the centre of the pain. Within moments, though, it's gone. The nausea swoops back in. The dizziness too. 

And fuck, the pain. 

He lowers his head slowly towards the desk, pillowing it against his arms and burying his face deep enough into the crook of his elbow that no light seeps through. Inhales a shaking, queasy breath. 

It's not like he hasn't had migraines before. He's been bowled over by them on multiple occasions, had to spend hours curled in a single position because moving even an inch made him puke. He's swallowed down heavy doses of pain meds and drifted in an intoxicated haze across feverish nights. He’s taken scalding showers at three in the morning because the blistering heat was at least a distraction from the agony. 

Most of the time, though, they happen off shift- usually, after a particularly rough one. He'll head home, kick off his shoes, and then it will hit. 

Having one at work is… less than ideal. 

He exhales, tries to block out Princess and Perlah chattering quietly behind him in Tagalog. It doesn't take a linguist to realise his current predicament is probably fueling their conversation. 

Fragments of other voices drift nearby, too. 

“Is Dr Robby okay?” Dennis. 

“It… certainly doesn't look like it.” Santos. 

McKay’s voice, again, except he can't make out any of the words. She's talking to someone in hushed tones nearby, and then there are footsteps and-

Ahhhhhh. 

“Fuuuuck.” He exhales, the curse drifting out of him softer than ever. There's ice on the back of his neck, and it's divine. 

“Y’alright, Cap?” Dana whispers. Her hand lands on the prickly gooseflesh of his arm, thumb swiping against it while presumably, her other hand holds the ice pack in place. 

“M-mmm. F-fine.”

“Did you forget who you're talking to? I can tell when you're lying. Besides, you're slumped over the desk like a victim of the mob, so I know you’re not tellin’ me the truth.”

He sighs heavily, but before he can even force the shameful word from his lips, she voices it for him. Quiet and private as always. 

“Migraine?”

The urge to deny melts away beneath the desperate urge to lie down. He nods. 

“Pretty fuckin’ bad one?”

He nods again. He'd known it was going to be rough from the moment the aura started and he'd been barely able to read a simple admit form, but this? This is worse than he expected. 

“Alright.” Her hand squeezes his arm, then moves to rub his back. “C’mon, hon. Central 7 is free and I've got a shot of Sumatriptan with your name on it.”

The thought is oh so tempting- burying his head underneath a blanket and letting the medication take him somewhere far away from the pain- but a twinge of stubbornness pulls guiltily at his gut. 

“It's the middle of the shift.” He murmurs, pausing to swallow through another wave of nausea before continuing. “And we're too busy to be down an attending.”

“I can call in the cavalry. This hospital doesn't rest only on your shoulders, y’know? And I'm sure even Atlas took a break once in a while.”

Robby chuckles, regretting it when it causes the pain to lance through his eye again. “He did, when Heracles tricked him, and afterwards he was tricked into… holding up the sky again. I think the break only made it more- more miserable to return to.”

He can practically hear Dana roll her eyes. 

“Alright, pack it in, Plato. C’mon, before you puke out here and make a mess for the janitors.”

It's this that finally pulls him shakily to his feet- because he knows she's right, and he can't stand the thought of placing another burden on their shoulders while also degrading himself. If he's going to throw up, he'd prefer to do it away from prying eyes. 

And speaking of eyes…

He pauses, swaying a little on his feet, when the realisation hits him. 

"D-dana?”

“Yeah?”

“I can't open my eyes.”

She doesn't ask for an explanation. Doesn't have to. Instead, she simply presses the ice tighter against his neck, letting the pressure guide him. Her other hand takes his. 

“We can go slow.” She assures him. “I’ve got you.”

And so he lets her guide him across the perilous ridge between his desk and Central 7, trusting her to keep him from toppling, barely trusting himself not to throw up all over her shoes. 

Eventually, a door is closed behind him. The noise of the ER is muffled, nearly silenced, and it's only a few more steps to the bed. 

“Here we are. Lay down, sweetheart, and let me get some meds into you. There you go.”

He obeys, sinking against the gurney, exhaling a shuddering sigh of relief that the world is no longer rocking beneath him. One arm is slung over his eyes immediately to ward off the remaining light, the other moved gently by Dana. There's a vague, painful clattering, a murmured apology for the noise, then she's tugging the sleeve of his jacket down, lifting the scrub sleeve and gripping his bicep.

"Sharp scratch, hon."

The pierce of a needle he barely feels. The slightest clinking as it's, presumably, softly placed into the sharps bin. She moves soon to his forearm, touch gentle as she palpates for a vein. 

“I’ll turn this main light off as soon as the IV’s in for fluids, alright? Promise.”

He hums appreciatively. Even this small trip has exhausted him, and the pain is spiking so much he can’t risk opening his mouth. 

The cannula slips in. He doesn't notice it until the coolness of the saline slides its way into his vein (and it's not just that he's distracted by the ache in his head. She's good). Before Dana can pull away, he reaches out a hand and gropes along her wrist until he can interlock his fingers with hers and squeeze. 

“Th-thank you.”

Her other hand brushes a feather-light touch across his forehead. 

“Don't even mention it. I’ll getcha another cool pack.”

As she drifts away from him and he slowly begins to drift off, he thanks his lucky stars that the best of all charge nurses decided to stay. 

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