Chapter Text
September 5th, 2025, post-Pittfest
With a few quick turns, the locker opens with a click. His Tupperware of leftovers had sat there untouched for the last few hours. A quick change of clothes, scrubs shoved into the flimsy backpack, and the metal door closed once again. The fluorescent lights lead the way to his escape.
Head down, Vincent consciously kept his stride straight. A dream last night about fainting on the sidewalk had spooked him enough. This night had spooked him enough.
Mass casualty—blood dried under his fingernails, an influx of patients, Abbot barking orders. The typical chaos of it all.
The morning shift attending wasn’t supposed to be there; it was his day off (he would check, every week, to make sure he would never cross paths with him). But Michael Robinavitch was a person, unpredictable and uncontrollable.
And when Dr. Robinavitch yelled “Yang!” during a code, in the way everyone said it with too much “ay” and no “ah” in the “a,” he came to his side. Never mind the cringe at the mispronunciation he had grown familiar with, he still moved because the attending called.
Now, he went through every possible way in which the two have interacted. Yes, he was an R4 and it was very possible they had talked briefly in the four years of his residency—but he had made an effort to stay under everyone’s radar the past few years.
Reserved, hardworking, level-headed—hopefully that’s how Abbot viewed him. Not the guy who was too quiet, too lonely, too…weird.
As Vincent passed the park, he paused on the sidewalk. He could hear it, the few doctors and nurses gathered there for a drink. Abbot had asked if he wanted to go—he’d said no, for his own sake.
If he said yes, he’d fall too hard, too quickly. He already knew too much. His soft eyes that made him want to drop his guard. His smile that crinkled those same eyes in such an endearing way. Those small details had already been carefully wrapped and archived in the special section of his brain reserved for Dr. Robby.
The walk to the apartment complex wasn’t long, but his chest felt tighter and his breathing grew weaker. Fumbling with his keys and quickly shutting the door behind him, Vincent peeled off his scrub top, his binder quickly following. He really needed to try binding tape soon or he’d pass out during a shift.
After his shower and laundry, while sitting on the pathetic excuse of a couch (he had bought it at a yard sale, actively falling apart), the resident fluff ball made its place on Vincent’s lap. She wasn’t exactly patient as she nudged his hand, signaling for food.
“Alright, Freddie…”
A sigh escapes him after taking care of the remaining chores: dinner, dishes, bedsheets. Sometimes Vincent regretted dragging a cat into his mess of a life, but he wasn’t one to say no to a stray.
And as he’s about to turn off his bedside light, having just brushed his teeth, his phone vibrates to life with a notification.
The name Jack Abbot without a contact photo pops up.
Jack: can you take day shift tomorrow?
Vince: can no one else take it?
Jack: I trust you the most
Vince: theres at least 4 residents on day already
Jack: Langdon is on leave
Vince: they got new residents + med students today
Vince: day is fine without me
Jack: Parker already said no, do it.
Vince: if you pay all my vet bills
Jack: yes or no?
Vince: you owe me big
Jack: 7:00am, okay?
Lord, give him a fucking break. Day shift with Dr. Robinavitch. It’s all a sick joke. He’s gonna kill Abbot.
A long sigh escapes him, changing his phone alarm to 6:10am. This better be a nightmare. He better not wake up tomorrow and actually have to do this.
September 6th, 2025
Binder on, coffee in hand, and “Baby” from Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise playing in his ears, Vincent hummed to himself as he walked to PTMC. His song, he hoped, would mentally prep him for the 12-hour shift where he would undeniably have to work with the attending.
At the red light of the crosswalk, he stopped and checked his watch. 6:45am, on schedule and hopefully early to the hospital.
Mentally accounting for everything, Vincent made sure he had done all the little chores and brought all the necessities to survive for the next twelve hours. Fed Freddie, made his bed, lunch and snacks packed, phone charged…
“Stepping up, hm?”
Following his voice, his hand landed on his shoulder, giving Vincent a light squeeze. He almost dropped his coffee right then and there.
“Yeah. Not out of choice.”
He hoped Robby didn’t notice it, the way he had stiffened and barely managed a response. Fuck his body and mind for reacting to him so easily.
“You don’t mind that we walk and talk?”
The senior doctor pointed to Vincent’s headphones. Quickly, he removed them.
“No, no. Go ahead.”
The light turned green and the pair continued to walk.
“Nothing’s that different from night shift. I’m sure you know everyone already,” Robby paused, sighing as both of their eyes drift to the ambulance passing by. The siren pierced through the silence of the early morning. “I’ll introduce you during rounds.”
“Sounds good.” He nodded along to his words with what he hoped was a smile.
By the time the two made it to the Pitt, Robby had briefed him on every person, expected events during the day, and other miscellaneous details. Something about a few frequent fliers he gave a nod to left his mind as soon as the older left. His coffee had gone cold, forgotten in his hand during the walk.
Vincent had to stop himself from banging his head against the locker as he unpacked. Jacket off, stethoscope on. A small sigh escaped him, clipping on his badge.
There’s nothing to worry about. Dana is here, Samira too. It’ll be fine. Dr. Robinavitch won’t even be in the picture. Lord knows he’d end it all in the middle of triage if Robby even spoke to him.
He’ll survive, right?