Archive of Our Own ^beta

Robby keeps his head down as he steps through the heavy double doors. The too loud music in his ears turns the grumbles and complaints around him into abstract noise, hiding all groans behind thick strums of an electric guitar. He maneuvers his way around the impatient bouncing legs and frantic bodies, one of his hands clasped around his black thermos like a life line and the other on his badge. The locked door beeps as he swipes in, it swings open and the familiar smell of antiseptic fills his noise. The drowned noises of the unhappy are left behind and in its place comes the usual hubbub of the emergency department. He nods at the people he passes, jerking his headphones from his ears and shoving them deep into his jacket pocket, where they no doubt will become a tangled mess. 

And like some sick ritual he forces onto himself every morning, the sharp corner leads him face to face with the ever looming portrait of his mentor, smiling down at him as if he’s forgiven Robby’s failings. He takes a moment, he always does, in the way of a faltered step, in the tightening of his shoulders, the dryness in his throat, to pay a second of respect to the man, to every one, he’s let down. Humbling and mind numbing all at once. It feels like a righteous punishment as he walks away. 

He barely shucks off his jacket before Dana sidles up next to him, frown already firmly in place and clipboard clutched tightly in her hands. 

“Morning.” He greets, trying to sound happy, as he splays his bag over the nearest surface. He rummages through for his stethoscope and casts her a wary look when she doesn’t say anything immediately. “Something wrong already?”

“Gloria came by.” She says, chin tilting up. He makes a face as he sets his thermos next to his things. “Something about changes upstairs.”

“What’s that gotta do with us?” 

“Dunno, didn’t ask.”

“Oh joy.” He deadpans. She rolls his eyes at him.

“Have you tried not pissing her off for a day?”

“Well, you know how charming I can be.” 

“No comment.” She snorts. He tucks his bag away beneath the desk, slinging his stethoscope over his neck. It settles like a noose. His gaze flickers upwards at the glowing board behind her head, unsurprised at its already crowded rows of neatly printed names and colored boxes. There’s a headache brewing, despite it being much too early for that.

“Where’s Abbot?” He asks, looking around. Dana pins him with her gaze. 

“Gettin’ some air.”

“Ah.”

Robby makes his way up the stairs, the motions all too familiar. It’s a walk they’ve taken so many times before. He throws open the double doors to the rooftop expecting Jack’s broad backside, but finds himself staring at someone else entirely. Robby freezes as the doors swing close behind him with an echoing slam that the still air of the rooftop seems to amplify. 

Fuck. 

It was much too late to retreat now. To his immense relief, the stranger doesn’t react, instead remains as motionless as Robby was. There’s a brief second where Robby considers turning tail, leaving before whatever unspoken truce of ignorance they have breaks. But for some inexplicable reason, Robby just stares.

The man is leaned up against that railing Robby’s found himself on the other side of all too often. He’s wearing a large brown jacket that seemed to swallow him, swathes of folded fabric bracketing him in. Robby could just make out the back of his head, the soft curls a touch too dark to be considered blonde but a shade too bright to be considered brown, they shift between the two in the gentle glow of the lightening sky. Like a mystery begging to be solved, the invisible force that’s curiosity pushes Robby forward step by step until he comes up next to the man, who only spares him a passing glance. His forearms rest on the cold metal barrier and Robby sees a pack of cigarettes cradled in his palms, careful fingers turning it over contemplatively. 

“Those things’ll kill you.” Robby finds himself saying before he can help it. The words feel piercing in the cold air, the edge only softened by the huff of laughter that comes from the younger man. 

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that.” He just shakes the pack a little at Robby, showing him the unbroken seal at the top, the cellophane crinkling as he makes his point. Robby chuckles at the motion. They lapse into a comfortable silence, both their gazes drawn to the dawning horizon. 

Robby had forgotten how peaceful it could be watching the sun rise on a waking city, the dark of the night giving way to the haziness of morning, blurring the line between dream and reality. It felt like time stalled, like all your problems could be shrunk down into something pocket sized that could be tucked away to be dealt with later. He takes in a breath, the air crisp and refreshing in his lungs. This was nice.

A flash of white in the corner of his eye catches his attention, the younger man shifts a little to tuck his cigarettes back into his jacket, exposing the corner of his hospital badge. The plasticky sheen confirms something in Robby’s brain. 

“First day?” He asks. The man startles a little, then looks down where his ID peeks out from the hem of his jacket. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Something like that.” He looks young in the light, Robby notes, and there’s something like disappointment in his chest when he realizes he’s most likely an intern, or resident. 

“Well.” He tries to go for comforting. “It gets rough but nothing worth jumping over.” It’s hypocritical and he knows as much. The man gives him an incredulous look, somewhere between disbelief and amusement. 

“You know.” He says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Gotta cover my bases.” Robby shrugs, “Can’t let anyone slip through the cracks.”

“Better safe than sorry?”

“Exactly.” 

They share a huff of laughter at their exchange. It felt a little ridiculous. 

“I hope I didn’t jack your spot though,” The man says earnestly, “I just needed some air.” 

“No, no. It’s not like my name’s on it or anything.”

“Maybe it should be. Pretty good real estate, open floor plan, view of the city and everything.” The man rocks on his heels a little, gesturing around. 

“And be a landlord? No thank you.” Robby retorts with a disgusted tone. This draws a loud laugh from the younger and he feels his own lips curling at the sheer levity of the sound. “You know, sounds to me like you’re the one who wants to make an investment.” 

“Maybe, as long as you don’t jump. It’ll really bring down the property value.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“The landlords of Pittsburgh thank you for your consideration.” He jokes, pushing away from the railing now. He turns to Robby, “Well, don’t wanna be late for my first shift. Can I trust you not to make any rash decisions while I’m gone?”

“No promises.”

They grin at one another. The man’s eyes are a lovely shade of cornflower blue as they scan Robby up and down, lingering on Robby’s badge. 

“It was nice to meet you,” He murmurs, tilting his head a little to read the small text, “Dr. Robinavitch.” 

Robby feels his throat dry a little as his blue eyes flicker up to hold contact while he says his name. There was something about the way he said it. The pleasant click of the syllables as they left his lips had Robby hesitating to tell the younger man to call him just ‘Robby’. He grins one last time at Robby, then turns heel to leave.

“Likewise.” Robby calls out a beat too late. He receives a casual wave of a hand as the man disappears behind those creaking doors. He shakes his head to himself, taking another minute to look at the now bright sky. There’s a slight smile playing at his lips that promptly drops when he realizes just how long he’s been up here, with no Jack to be found. He stalks across the roof top, hurrying back downstairs. There’s a passing thought as he descends each floor, of which one the younger man stopped at. It all fades to the background with every step he takes towards central.

“Where’ve you been?” Dana interrogates as he steps into view. He gives her a look. 

“Better question is where’s Abbot.” She jerks her finger behind her somewhere.

“He’s been chartin’ for the past few.”

“Thought you said he was getting some air?” He grumbles. She shrugs.

“Can’t be on top of it all the time.”

“Not like you to say that.” Robby says as he walks away, locating Jack easily enough. His arrival earns him a quizzical look from his friend.

“Late today?” He asks.

“Nope. Dana sent me on some wild goose chase for you on the roof.”

“Yeah, I got pulled for a surprise rupture.” 

“Fun stuff.” 

“Always is.” Jack mumbles, finishing typing with a succinct few clicks. “Well, now that you’re here…”

“Lay it on me.” 

It doesn’t take too long for Robby to be caught up, Jack’s summary of the night was short and efficient, reminding him on what labs and tests are being done, who’s got priority for what, and who needs to be shuffled up to surgery when. 

“Robby. Incoming.” Dana calls across the room just as they finish their debrief. There’s a familiar twitch in Robby’s right eye. He and Jack both pivot and Robby catches his arm before he can make it too far.

“Absolutely not. Time for you to go home.” He steps in front of him. “I got this. Go home and get some shut eye.”

“Do I ever?” Jack scoffs, eying him.

“No, but it doesn’t hurt to try.” 

“Ever take your own advice, Robinavitch?”

It’s meant to come off as a jib and Robby takes it as much, rolling his eyes. But suddenly there’s a flash of memory from scant moments ago.

“Dr. Robinavitch.” Pink lips rounded around his name and the agreeable lilt of his voice. He must pause for a second too long because Jack’s ducking his head to catch his attention again.

“You alright?” Robby swallows, banishing the thought. 

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I will be once you get outta here.” He pats Jack’s arm, once, twice, then lets go with a curt nod.

“Right.” The other man concedes but still eyes him with a small level of concern. “Call if you need me.”

“Will do.”

“Robby!” Dana calls again, more impatient now. He looks over at her, she’s glaring with a phone tucked beneath her ear. She gestures to the opening doors and the patient being hurried in. Robby quickly grabs a pair of gloves from a nearby station.

“What’ve we got?” He asks, snapping at the bottom of the latex as he approaches the incoming gurney. There’s a small child sat up on the moving bed, whose eyes are frantically taking in her new surroundings. Robby smiles at her in what he hopes is a comforting way. There was blood drying across her chin and neck, her cheeks flush from crying and tracked with new and fresh tear stains. Otherwise, she was stable and alert. She has her hands fisted in her dirty shirt, and from what Robby could see, there were angry red scratches across the pale skin. 

“Two, maybe three years old. Found on the highway with just a chin lac but there’s some bruising along her ribs and legs.” 

“Parents?” Robby asks. The medic just shakes her head.

“No one knows.” Perlah comes up next to them, helping push the gurney. She gestures them towards pedes and the medic continues as they pivot. “The police are checking any public cameras along the highway but nothing so far. She was too far out for her to have walked all the way there so-“ 

“Someone must have dropped her off.” Robby concludes.

“Yeah.” Robby clicks his tongue hearing that and Perlah sighs heavily next to him. 

“What’s the world come to?” She mumbles. He can only shake his head, helpless in the way they all were when children come in alone and hurt. They wheel their way towards the brightly painted room, Robby takes this moment to lean down a bit so he can address the girl, who turns her fearful eyes towards him the second he shifts. 

“Hello there,” he tries to keep his voice light, “I’m Dr. Robby. What’s your name?”

She blinks at him, the edges of her lips down turned and upset. They wobble briefly before she speaks.

“Maisie.” It comes out as a croaky whisper, as if she’s cried herself hoarse. 

“That’s a very pretty name,” Perlah says, drawing the little girl’s attention. “Do you know where you are, Maisie?”

“Ho’pital.” 

“That’s right.” The wheels on the gurney come to a screeching halt and Maisie flinches whole bodily at the sound. Robby shares a glance with Perlah at her recoil, her lips thin. “We’re going to help you, okay? But first we need to lift you up onto a new bed, are you ready?” 

“Okay.” She nods nervously, curling her shoulders in on herself. They count down from three, hoisting her as gently as they could onto the new bed, where she looks even smaller than before. Robby waves as the emts file from the room once she’s settled.

“Thank you guys.” He calls, then turns his attention back to Maisie, whose face is curiously watching as Perlah tucks a blanket around her. 

Her hair was tangled, falling into her eyes and matted in the back, it was a color not unlike the man from the roof. She tries to brush it from her face and Robby catches the mottled bruises on her small arms, some blue, some a fading yellow. There’s an uncomfortable twist of his stomach as he notes them.

"Maisie, can you tell me what happened? How did you get hurt here?" Robby asks, tapping at his own chin to show her. 

"I fall.”

"By accident?”

She offers a jerky nod, twisting at her fingers. Robby purses his lips, he shares another look with Perlah, who wears the same concerned expression. 

"And your hands? How did you get all these scratches?”

"Fall." She repeats, then stuffs her hands behind her as if attempting to hide them. She keeps her eyes trained in her lap and sits uncommonly still. Robby draws in a breath.

“Can you excuse us for a second, Maisie?” She doesn’t respond. He motions for Perlah to come over to the corner of the room. He keeps his voice low. “Can you get someone from social services down here?”

“Sure.” She glances back. “Also someone from pedes? Maybe see if Dr. Harper can set up something more comfortable for her upstairs. Might be better.”

“Yeah.” Robby nods, “Sounds good. Let’s get her checked out and make sure she’s okay before sending her up.”

“Got it.” She moves quickly to leave. 

“Thank you.” 

He turns back to Maisie, who’s now shyly looking around the room, particularly interested in the fox painted onto the wall. He approaches, keeping his body language open, but the whites of her eyes still flash as he steps closer. 

“Maisie, we’re going to get you some medicine to help you feel better, okay?” She nods clumsily. He sets up a small tray nearby, taking care not to make too much noise. 

“Can you lift your chin up for me so I can see?” He asks. She juts up her chin, and Robby carefully examines it, making sure not to hurt her as he cleans the area. It wasn’t too deep, thankfully there was no need for stitches. He applies the derma bond as gently as possible and she watches each movement with a trepidation that slowly dissipates as more time passes. Robby then wipes her hands meticulously, taking note of the fading scars and new scratches. 

“Does it hurt anywhere else?” She shakes her head, spreading out her fingers as they dry. She curls her fingers several times then looks at Robby.

“T’ank you.” Her words trip over themselves but the innocence in them makes Robby want to cry. 

“You’re very welcome.” She regards him a beat longer. 

“Mommy coming?” Robby feels his heart break, he wants to say yes. Instead he takes her hands very very gently in his, they were so small. 

“Maybe.” He says softly. “We’ll try our best to call her, okay?” She hums, looking down at where her hands rest in his. She pats his palms. 

“Okay.” He opens his mouth to say something, anything, more comfortingly but there’s a quick rap on the door and the moment is gone. He swivels to see Dana poking her head in. 

“Cap, you’re needed in trauma one.”

“Now?” Dana nods seriously. 

“On it.” He turns to meet Maisie’s inquisitive eyes, giving her a smile, “I have to go but someone else will come in and help you, okay?” 

“Okay.” She parrots. He gives her a thumbs up and she blinks at him before giving him one of her own, except with less dexterity, she was still too young to isolate her thumb so he receives a thumb and pointer finger. He stands and peels off his gloves, tossing them into a nearby bin. 

The usual commotion fills his ears as soon as he steps out, automatically going to a nearby station to sanitize his hands. He hurries to the trauma bay, stopping only briefly to ask Perlah to finish up an examination on Maisie. 

“The usual?” She asks as he skates by. 

“Yes, and come find me once all the labs are in.” He tugs on a sterile gown before throwing open the doors to trauma one. “What’ve we got?”

—

Robby shakes his head as he tears off the blood covered gown. He peels off the equally stained gloves. 

“You okay?” Dana comes up to him as he walks out. He glances back into the room, where the patient was covered in a white sheet, blood slowly seeping through the fabric like some cruel print.

“Let’s get her cleaned up and put in the viewing room. Family’s on the way.” He mutters, Dana gives him a sympathetic look.

“Okay.” She says, putting a hand on his arm, “Hey, take a moment.”

“Can’t.” He shrugs her off, taking long strides towards central, swiping his badge a little too aggressively at the computer login and sitting down. “Got work to do.” 

It all feels a little underwater as he types, noting what went wrong and what measures they had taken to try and save her life, to no avail. He exhales hard. She was only twenty, had her entire life ahead of her. He feels his fingers freeze, thinking about the way she had looked at him, brown eyes wide and terrified, her hands slippery with her own blood as she desperately grabbed onto his.

“My-my dad-“ She had tried to say. “Tell him-“ 

He never did figure out what she wanted to say. She flatlined after that. He stares hard at the text on the screen. The curser blinks in and out and in and out. 

“Hey.” Dana pulls him from his trance, pushing his thermos into his hand. “Topped it up for you.”

“Thanks.” He takes a burning sip. It curdles in his stomach.

“Emma’s gonna get her cleaned up and handle the rest.” Robby lets out another long breath, just nodding silently. 

“Wanna talk about it?” 

“Not really.”

“You can’t keep it in forever,”

“I’m not-“ He rubs a hand along his nape, feeling the tension brewing beneath his skin. He looks at her, a little peeved. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t do that.” She casts him a disappointed look. “Don’t push people away who just wanna help.” 

“I don’t need help. What I need is to finish-“ 

A vivid flash of pink in his periphery derails his entire sentence. He turns to his left, following the pop of color. Dana mimics him, peering over her glasses. 

A young man dressed in soft pink scrubs emerges from the corner, just barely dodging a nurse pushing a loaded cart into the spot he came from. He has his stethoscope looped around his neck and a clipboard held loosely in his right hand, his back was turned as he apologizes to the nurse. Robby couldn’t quite make out his face from the angle but he could see a little white clip in the shape of a rabbit tangled in his hair and how there was a bright yellow sticker clinging to the fabric stretched across his back. His shoes squeak against the tiled floor as he stumbles a bit down the hall. 

“Lost pup?” Dana whispers conspiratorially at Robby. 

“Looks like it.” He mutters, focusing back on the dimming screen. “Wonder what he’s doing down here.”

“Oh look. He’s comin’ our way.” Dana elbows him to pay attention but he just stares resolutely at the computer. There’s a final squeak of a shoe as the man stops a few feet in front of them.

“Hi, hon, you lost?” Dana asks warmly.

“Hello, oh no, I’m-uh-Dennis Whitaker?” 

Robby freezes, fingers coming to a stand still over the keyboard. He knows that voice. Soft not blond-not brown curls flash in his vision. 

“I’m from upstairs, pediatrics. I heard there was a little girl I could help with?” 

He slowly looks up, and standing in front of him, with a shy smile on his lips, is the man from the roof. His hair is brighter in the harsh light of the hospital, curlier now too after a few hours of work, falling cherubically against his temple. Robby stares.

“I know Dr. Harper usually handles cases like these, but today’s her last shift before her maternity leave.” He explains then gestures to himself, “I’ll be her replacement while she’s gone so I’m here to, um, cover my bases.” 

The man-Whitaker, Robby mentally corrects, waves a friendly hand at him. 

“Hello again, Dr. Robinavitch.” He greets, and there it is, Robby thinks, that satisfying collection of syllables that make up his name. He nods back and Dana looks between them, an eyebrow raised.

“You two know each other?” 

“We’ve met. Briefly.” He says it like some inside joke. 

“Is that so.” Dana says, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Dr. Whitaker.” 

“Likewise…?” He extends a hand to Dana, who takes it with a pleased smile. 

“Dana Evans, charge nurse.” 

“Ah, so the real boss of the place.” Whitaker remarks, shaking her hand firmly. Dana barks a laugh.

“I’m liking him already.” She lolls her head to look at Robby, “Can we keep him?”

“Unfortunately I think you’ll have to take that up with Gloria,” Robby says. She makes a face.

“Never mind then, sorry kid.” A shrill ring from across the desk has her jumping to it, “Ah shit-one sec. PTMC charge nurse?” She turns away. Whitaker just smiles, then focuses on Robby. 

“So…” He looks at him expectantly. 

“So…” Robby echoes. Whitaker looks amused, he then holds up the clipboard in his hand. 

“Are you going to lead the way or do I have to guess where she is?” 

“Oh, shit-right-“ Robby stands up abruptly, the chair he’s in skidding a few feet back. “Ah fuck-“ He hurries to stop it before it goes too far, feeling entirely too uncoordinated and lanky. When he returns, Whitaker is fighting back a laugh and Robby feels his ears burn.

“I hope you’re not using that language around my patient.” Whitaker teases. 

“Believe it or not, I’m usually well behaved.” Robby says, pushing the chair back into place. The younger man hums. 

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

They fall into step, walking tightly together. Robby notices for the first time just how much he towers over the other man, he shortens his gait to accommodate to the other’s pace. He also notices, as Whitaker brushes past, that he smelled pleasant. A mix of neutral laundry detergent and faint shampoo. 

“So you’re taking over as attending? For Dr. Harper?” Robby asks offhandedly, trying to distract himself from the fact that he was overly aware of the younger man. Whitaker nods, seemingly oblivious to Robby’s observations.

“Just until she gets back, then I’ll be moving to a more surgical focused unit.” 

“Oh, is that what you wanted to do originally?” A weird look passes over Whitaker’s face, but it passes so fast Robby just barely catches it.

“In a way.” He answers, clipped and short. Robby takes the hint. 

“Were you based in Pittsburgh before this?” 

“I was at Presby, did my rotations there, and my residency.” 

“Really?” Robby blinks, “Then why are you here? I can’t imagine our offer was very competitive.” This startles a laugh from Whitaker, a bright thing that has Robby jolting in surprise.

“Sorry, sorry.” Whitaker covers his smile with his hand, there’s a crinkle in his nose that Robby finds incredibly endearing. “I mean, you’re right. The money was good there but…” 

He waits for Whitaker to elaborate, but he just twists his lips a little, knit forming in his brow. 

“It was just my time to go.” He shrugs. Robby nods, he’s shut down enough conversations of his own to know when to back down.

“Here we are.” Robby announces after their short walk, pausing a bit to impart some more information, “Bathroom’s right over there if you ever need it, and so’s the break room.” 

“Great, thank you.” 

“And I’m sure you’ve seen her chart but this is Maisie, she was brought in about an hour ago with a chin lac. They found her wandering the highway. She’s alert and responsive. We’ve sent in her labs and they should be back soon.” Robby opens the door, letting Whitaker go in first. They’re greeted with the sight of a very much asleep two year old, curled up beneath the bright yellow blanket they draped over her earlier. Whitaker frowns, taking a moment to sanitize his hands before making his way over to her bedside. He hurriedly snaps on a pair of gloves.

“Was she very tired when she was brought in?” He asks. Robby shakes his head, perplexed as he follows Whitaker’s suit. The younger man reaches and shakes her arm lightly. “Maisie? Can you wake up for me?” 

She doesn’t respond, her breathing is deep and loud as she lays prone.

“Maisie, honey?” Whitaker says louder, rubbing his knuckles over her chest. She makes a pained noise, instinctively flinching away from the pain. Her arms come up weakly to try and push away his hand, where it’s now laying flat against her body. 

“She feels hot.” Whitaker mumbles, “Let’s check her temp.”

Robby’s quick to grab the scanner, coming near to line up the device. They press in close together as it beeps, flashing 101 at them. Whitaker blows out a breath. 

“Alright, ibuprofen, keep her hydrated, and keep monitoring. You said she was found on the highway? About, what, like two hours ago, roughly estimating?” Robby nods. Whitaker examines her hands, turning them over in his, then moves the blanket from her legs. He shifts her slightly so he can roll up her pants. More mottled flesh comes into view, mirroring her arms. His frown deepens as he lifts her shirt, “Some new bruising on her arms and legs, most likely from today, and some older ones that are fading but still pretty bad.” 

“We’re bringing social services in,” Robby reassures. Whitaker chews the inside of his cheek, nodding tersely as he smooths her clothes back into place. He then tucks her back into the soft yellow blanket. There’s a careful silence in the air. The quiet only broken by the intermittent noises of the emergency room outside. Maisie fusses in her sleep, making an unhappy noise that has Whitaker wearing a heartbroken expression. He reaches a gloved hand to smooth the damp hairs from her forehead. 

“Poor babe.” He murmurs. Robby watches the careful way Whitaker’s fingers wipe the sweat off her brow. There’s a sweet tenderness in the motion that has his breath hitching in his throat. “You must have been so scared. I hope we can give you the help you need.” 

His voice is low, vulnerable. There’s a quality to it that has Robby feeling like he’s intruded on a private conversation between the two, a prayer made in good faith that should only be heard by those involved. Maisie settles back down after a few seconds, her breathing evening out. 

“You’re good at this.”

“I hope so.” Whitaker huffs a laugh, “It is my job, after all.” 

“Some people see it as just that.” Robby nudges his shoulder, “You care.” 

Whitaker looks at him for a second, eyes searching Robby’s face for any sign of mockery, when he doesn’t find it, he smiles; but it’s a fragile thing. He looks back down at Maisie, his hand cradled at the crown of her head. 

“I have a big family.” He says softly. “Lots of nieces and nephews. It’s hard not to care.” 

“They must be proud then.”

“Not exactly.” Whitaker fiddles with Maisie’s hair, lips downturning when he sees how matted it is. “We don’t really talk anymore.” 

“I’m sorry.“ Robby’s stunned. He wants to slap himself, he should’ve kept his mouth shut. Whitaker makes a indifferent noise, taking a second to rearrange Maisie’s arms so they rest more comfortably on top of the blanket. 

“It’s not your fault.” There’s a careful blankness to his expression as he speaks. “They weren’t too keen on me practicing medicine. We were…religious, to say the least.”

“Ah.” Whitaker coughs awkwardly, turning away from Robby.

“She’ll be alright. She just needs rest and lots of fluids. I’m gonna, um, run up, try and get a comb for her, see if we can detangle this. Also check to see if someone can prep a room for her there.” 

The younger man moves past him, stripping off his gloves and tossing them into the nearby bin. Robby catches the barest hint of strawberry as he breezes by, surely a shampoo or fragrance of some kind. There’s an urge to follow it and his body twists to catch the last few notes. Whitaker hurries towards the exit and Robby speaks up again before he loses the chance. 

“For what it’s worth,” He hears himself saying, Whitaker pauses by the door, hand already pushing up against it, “I think you’re a fantastic doctor.” 

He blinks at Robby’s words, once, twice, then a smile breaks across his face. Robby is reminded of the sunrise they shared this morning.

“You’ve only just met me.” Whitaker raises an eyebrow, seemingly entertained by his antics. 

“Oh, I’ve been around long enough to know.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Dr. Robinavitch.”

“Well, I didn’t just become chief because of my good looks.”

“No. I’m sure you didn’t.” His smile softens as he turns to leave, “Call me when she wakes up?”

“Of course.”

“Bye bye now.”

“Bye bye.” Robby feels only the slightest bit silly when he raises a hand to Whitaker’s retreating back. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, staring a moment longer that the space Whitaker had occupied, feeling its lack. His stomach flips. He turns back to Maisie, whose cheeks were still flush with fever and mimics the younger man’s light touch, skimming over her dark brown hair. He lets himself have a minute, taking in a meditative breath and letting himself feel gratitude that she’s still alive and breathing, and that she’ll have her whole life ahead of her. A knock interrupts his small moment of gratitude. 

“Robby?” Jesse’s voice quips from the doorway, he looks up. 

“What’s up?”

“Labs came back for the patient in South 17,” Jesse looks over at Maisie, “Whenever you’re done here.”

“Got it, be there in a bit.” Jesse gives him a thumbs up, then leaves. Robby heaves a sigh, feeling the usual weariness settle in his bones. 

“Duty calls.” He mutters to the empty air. He stalks from the room, careful to close the door quietly behind him. 

—

Robby makes quick work of checking in on the patient in 17, it was just an older gentleman who was a bit of a hypochondriac. 

“Mr. Sanders, you have a clean bill of health.” Robby explains, “Labs came back negative for all serious concerns and you’re as fit as a horse.” 

“Is that so?” The older man eyes him skeptically. “You know, my neighbor had the same problem, he went to get the mail one day and-“ Robby nods, half listening as he speaks when suddenly there’s a fleeting blur of pink just behind the curtain. Robby’s up before he registers what he’s doing.

“Just a second, Mr. Sanders, someone will be with you in a moment-” Robby ducks past the curtain, catching Jesse’s arm just as the other man passes, “Hey, Jesse, this gentleman’s good to go. Can you help him?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Great.”

He shuffles out, scanning the room like he was hunting for something, and in a way, he was. Though he didn’t have to look very hard, Whitaker stood out like a sore thumb, a blinding beacon in pink in the vast ocean of black and grey scrubs. He was leaned up by the desks, talking to Santos, who was looking up at him with a fond but long suffering expression. Her hand was tucked beneath her chin, charting forgotten. 

Robby pauses. He hadn’t considered-

An emotion not unlike irritation unfurls in his chest. They looked close, oddly familiar with each other’s presence. There was none of that bristly atmosphere that tended to linger when people first meet Santos, instead there seemed to be an easy back and forth, their voices blending into the background. Robby’s feet take him closer. 

“-and the hot water actually works, I didn’t know it could do that.”

“You better not be talking shit about our old place, I should remind you it got us through medical school and residency.”

“Yeah, barely.” Whitaker snorts. 

“Dr. Santos.” Robby calls out. He winces internally. His tone was all wrong, too accusatory with no semblance of reason. It’s affirmed by Santos’ puzzled look as she swivels in her chair to look at him.

“Yeah?” He stops in front of them, feeling a little foolish at his sudden loss for words. They both peer curiously at him, and he’s struck by how uncannily similar their joint judgement was. 

“I see you’ve met Dr. Whitaker.” He manages to recover. Santos blows a raspberry, pointing at him with her thumb.

“This loser? Yeah, we used to live together.” She says, sighing. “Can’t seem to get rid of him no matter how hard I try.”

“Oh please, you literally texted me last Thursday ‘white boy come home’.” Whitaker raises his hand in quotation marks. 

“I needed help replacing my shower head.” She shrugs, “Which by the way, is still not done.” 

“Garcia couldn’t help?” 

“Don’t start.” 

Robby watches their back and forth. 

“So you two are….aren’t….?” He asks slowly. A gagging sound comes from Santos at that and Whitaker makes a deeply disgusted face.

“Oh, God, no. Absolutely not, Robby.” She shakes her head. “Don’t ever suggest anything like that again.” He tries to ignore the relief he feels at that. He turns his attention to Whitaker. 

“Thought you were heading up?” 

“I was, but then I saw Trin in charting hell and thought I’d rub it in that I was all caught up.” He grins at her and Santos groans, dropping her head in her hands.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m so behind.” She then levels a glare at him, “And you’re distracting me. Don’t you have a job? Or other coworkers to bother? 

“No, not really. First day, remember?”

“Go away,” She whines, shooing at him.Whitaker chuckles, taking a step back, hands held up.

“Alright, alright. I know when I’m not wanted.” He gripes good-naturedly. “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t get too comfortable down here, huckleberry.”

“Trust me, I won’t.” He looks to Robby, “But call if you need me.” He waves good bye and they watch as he disappears around the corner where the elevator is. Robby turns to Santos, who’s resumed her typing, looking all the world like she would rather be anywhere else. 

“You two are really close, huh.” He says, taking up Whitaker’s spot and leaning against the counter. She nods. 

“Yeah well, living together since med school will do that.”

“You’ve known each other that long?”

“Since our first year. He moved out a few years ago when our lease was up, said something about privacy.” She mumbles, squinting at the screen. “I tried to get him to switch, y’know, from pedes to emergency medicine.”

“Really?” Robby looks back to where Whitaker was, “Shame you couldn’t convince him. We could really use someone like that here. Any reason you couldn’t change his mind?” 

Santos glances at him and stabs at the keyboard a little harshly, her brows knitted hard as if she’s just encountered something unpleasant. Robby watches as she meticulously types out a few words, like she’s mulling over more than just what she’s charting. 

“He’s a good guy.” She settles on. “People take advantage of that.” 

Robby feels a foreboding sense of dread settle in his skin. Of course, it only made sense. From what he’s fathered in their limited interactions, Whitaker seemed to have empathy in droves. It wouldn’t take the worst person alive to exploit that. 

“Is that why he left Presby?” 

Santos goes still at the question. There’s a tense few seconds where she just stares at the dull light of the screen, then she turns to him, pinning him under her scrutinizing gaze. 

“That’s something you should ask him.” 

—

Robby’s just finished up with an open dislocation in trauma one the next time he’s made aware of Whitaker’s presence. The younger man having just stepped off the elevator, making a beeline towards pedes.

“Hey, Mel, you got this?”

“Uh, yup. I can-“

“Great, catch me up when you’re done.” Robby strips off his gloves, tossing them half-hazardously into the nearest bin. 

“Dr. Whitaker!” Robby calls out, a grin threatening to split his face. He turns, surprise written all over his face until he sees who called him. 

“Dr. Robinavitch.” Whitaker pauses on his war path, hands coming to his hips as Robby catches up with him in a three long strides. He looks up, “You never called. I was beginning to fear the worst.”

“I got caught up in a trauma,” Robby holds his hands up as if in trouble, “My apologies.”

“You’re forgiven.” They stand there, smiling at each other for a second longer before they both snap out of it. Whitaker turns on his heel and Robby falls in step with him, the young man stops briefly on their way to pedes to nab some sanitizer from a near by station. The sharp smell of it mixed with the sweet shampoo Whitaker uses sends a pleasant relaxed feeling through Robby’s body, like a pavlovian response except he’s pretty sure that level of conditioning doesn’t happen within the scant twenty minutes they’ve shared. 

“How are you liking PTMC so far? Is it everything you dreamed?” Robby follows his suit, rubbing the cold gel into his hands. Whitaker laughs.

“Well, you know the pay could be better.” He admits, “But so far so good. I’m still adjusting so I can’t complain too much.” 

They pass by central, Robby catching Dana’s eye for a brief moment, she’s got a phone perched between her ear and shoulder, her hands flipping through a clipboard, and her gaze slides over to Whitaker next to him, she meets his eyes again and raises an eyebrow. He ignores it, choosing to focus his attention on what Whitaker was saying. 

“I will say, the people upstairs are nicer, much more welcoming. It doesn’t feel like someone’s going to bite my head off for making a suggestion.”

“And the people downstairs?” Robby asks jokingly.

“I plead the fifth.”

They pass by the full rooms, the glass doing nothing to hide the fact that Robby was walking much too close to Whitaker or the fact that every few steps their shoulders would brush, with neither of them moving away to break contact early. Robby feels the curious stares as they walk by, knowing he would have to answer to them later, but now he couldn’t be bothered. He was tethered by some invisible force to Whitaker’s side. 

“I take it Presby wasn’t too friendly?” 

“Not exactly. They were, maybe even too friendly.” Whitaker trails off a little at the end, walking a little further ahead in his haste. “Either way, it felt very corporate.”

Robby’s eyes trail down his back, snagging on that little sticker still on there from this morning. He reaches for it. 

“And they were-oh-“ Whitaker pauses when he feels the gentle pressure. 

“Sorry, I should’ve told you-“ Robby peels it off, offering it back to him. Whitaker shakes his head.

“I always find one or two on me,” he shrugs, “I carry a sheet of them in my back pocket for the kids. You can toss it.” 

Robby looks at the bright yellow sticker in his palm, and inexplicably keeps it. It settles heavily in his pocket like some secret stone. 

“You were saying?” 

“Oh nothing, just typical hospital crap from Presby.”

Robby takes a long step forward when they reach their destination, opening the door for Whitaker and letting him enter first. The younger man’s face brightens as soon as he sees Maisie, sat awake in her bed. 

“Oh, hello!” He greets happily, “Did you have a good nap?” He snaps on a pair of gloves on his way over to her side, where she regards him with sleepy eyes, the imprint of the pillow on one pink cheek. 

“‘lo.” Maisie mumbles in greeting. She looks apprehensively at them. Whitaker tugs his stethoscope over his head, tucking the ear pieces in and rubbing the end against his torso to warm up the metal. He leans so he’s more eye level with her and shows her the shiny flat surface. 

“I’m Dr. Whitaker, I’m just going to check your breathing with this. I’ll put it right here, and here.” He gestures to her torso and back. “Is that okay?”

Maisie takes a moment to consider and then nods very slowly. Whitaker smiles comfortingly. 

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” He asks, pressing the device to her chest. She huffs and he then switches it to her back, “One more please?” She obliges. Dennis beams at her, and loops the stethoscope back around his neck. She watches him as he does, her fingers twist where she’s gripping at the soft blanket in her lap. 

“Thank you so much.” He says earnestly. He turns to Robby, “Good sounds bilaterally.”

Robby stands off to the side as Whitaker slowly walks Maisie through his exam, explaining his steps in digestible detail. His voice is even and patient while speaking to her, always making sure she’s aware of his next big motion before he does it. It was comforting to see when Maisie’s walls begin to drop, her body relaxing as she warms up to him, cracking a tiny precious smile when he tells her how helpful she’s being. 

“Can you wiggle your toes for me?” Whitaker leans against the railing a bit more, poking a gloved finger at her feet. There’s a giggle from Maisie and she does just that, toes wriggling in her thin socks. “Good job! And can you lift your arms?” She raises them high with a toothy grin.

“Thank you so much!” Whitaker exclaims, “You’re being such a good helper! Actually, I have just the thing for you.”

Whitaker reaches into his back pocket, extracting a sheet of bright yellow stickers shaped like stars, just like the one Robby has squirreled away in his pocket. The words ‘good job’ printed in bold letters inside the shape. Maisie’s eyes go wide as he peels one off and offers it to her. 

“For me?” 

“Yup! It says ‘good job’ right here.” She takes it gingerly from him. Robby takes this moment to excuse himself, stepping out for just a moment to bring over a seat from the nurses’ station. He refuses to look Princess in the eye as he steals the stool from next to her. The wheels squeak as he re-enters the colorful room, Whitaker doesn’t break his attention from Maisie so Robby scoots it behind Whitaker’s knees and gently grabs the younger man’s shoulder to guide him to sit. 

“Oh, thank you.” He smiles, then looks back at Maisie. “Isn’t Dr. Robinavitch so thoughtful? He brought me a seat! Maybe he should get a sticker too.”

Maisie turns her large brown eyes to Robby as if just noticing he was there, Robby waves a tentative hand. His heart grows three sizes when she reciprocates and flaps her wrist and hand the charming uncoordinated way children tend to do, the bright sticker hanging off her palm. Whitaker’s smile grows at the action, he then taps gently at the side of the bed to grab her attention again. 

“Maisie, is it okay if I ask you a few questions?” His tone remains light but her body tenses up, her eyebrows furrowing. Whitaker hurries to reassure her.

“There’s no right or wrong answers. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, okay?” She looks away, head lowered as her fingers play with the sticker. Robby’s heart clenches, the bruising has developed since her nap. Her hands a patchwork of angry red scratches and swathes of blue.

“Okay.”

Robby hears the barely there hesitation before Whitaker speaks. “Do you live with someone?”

It takes another long moment before Maisie nods. 

“Who do you live with?”

“Mama.”

“Do you know where she is?” 

“I dun’o.” 

“Do you live in a house?” 

She shakes her head, her curls tumbling into her face as she does. Robby sees the hard line of Whitaker’s shoulders as he presses forward, voice impossibly gentle despite the topic. 

“Where do you live?”

“Not allowed t’say.” She just presses a clumsy finger to her lips, “Shhh.” 

“Okay.” Whitaker swallows, his next question comes out shaky. “Do you remember how you got on the highway?”

“Highway?”

“Where you were found, with all the moving cars.”

Maisie scrunches her nose and picks at the blanket for a long while.

“Mama say get out.” She mumbles. Robby’s blood runs cold at that and when he looks over, Whitaker is wearing a blank but warm expression. 

“Thank you so much for answering my questions, Maisie. I really appreciate it.” He says very gently. He leans a little bit further to catch her eyes again, “Are you hungry? Would you like me to get you something to eat?” She focuses on his face, woeful and scared when she speaks up.

“Eat?” The hesitancy in her face breaks Whitaker’s heart, he sees it in real time before he schools his expression again.

“Like some pudding? Or crackers?” Whitaker offers, “We can also get you some fruit if you’d like?”

She continues looking at him warily, and after a beat, nods. There’s a turn in Robby’s stomach as he considers her response, wondering if maybe she wasn’t given the option of food when under her mother’s care, or if food wasn’t as readily available and proffered. 

“I’ll go and get them. I’ll be back in a little bit.” He takes an extra second to help her lay back down, tucking the blanket around her and petting her hair. She looks up at him with large eyes. “Get some more rest, okay?” 

“Okay.” She murmurs, shutting her eyes. His chest aches at the tender look on the younger man’s face.

Whitaker strokes her hair one last time then turns and walks out of the room with a barely controlled edge in his step. Robby follows close behind and when the door closes behind him, Whitaker’s shoulders slump and a frustrated sound comes from him. 

“Fuck.” He chokes out, ripping off his gloves and throwing them into the bin with a force that has Robby reaching for him, gently spinning him around by his shoulder. There’s no resistance, just fight drained out from his body as they face each other. He sees his own concerned reflection in the clear sheen of his eyes. 

“We should-“ Whitaker’s voice cracks down the middle. “Ah fuck-“

He presses a hand over his face, inhaling then exhaling a long quivering breath. Robby squeezes his shoulder. 

“C’mon, let’s take a moment.” He steers him to the nearby stairwell, the younger man silent in his arm as he pushes the heavy door open. It was empty, nothing but the faint echo of their footsteps. The muffled sounds of the hospital feel miles away in this space. He guides Whitaker to sit at the foot of the stairs with a firm hand, and then sits next to him. They don’t say anything for a while, just taking in the liminality of the space. Robby could feel the heat radiating off his body, their shoulders just a breath away from touching. 

“I’m sorry.” Whitaker breaks the silence. Robby shakes his head.

“No, never apologize.” 

“I’ll never understand-“ His hands quiver as they grip his knees, the pink fabric scrunching beneath them. “She’s just a baby still, how could someone just leave her like that? She could have died.” 

He trembles, taking in measured breaths and Robby presses their shoulders together. Whitaker tenses, then relaxes into it, leaning into his support. He rakes a hand through his hair, his curls unruly once he’s done. Robby tries to ignore how the bunny clip at his temple slides down a notch.

“It never gets easier.” He whispers to Robby, like some terrible secret.

“It will.” Robby says, his voice ringing in his ears like a lie. “You’ll learn to live with it, learn to accept it. Find balance where you can.”

“Have you found it then?” He glances at Robby, “ Balance?” 

“No, not even fucking close.” This gets a broken laugh from Whitaker, the tension loosening around them. Robby studies him, the slope of his nose, the freckles on his face, the slight curve of his lips, and finds himself stupidly fond. He leans in and like an utterance, “Listen, you’re doing great.” 

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“It never does.” Robby presses into Whitaker’s shoulder a little more, “But take the compliment anyway.” 

“Do you?” Whitaker raises an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“Ever ‘take the compliment’?”

“Not in a million years, which, by the way, is how old I am if you ask Maisie.” This gets a full laugh from Whitaker, the sound bouncing up the stairs and chasing away the last dredges of his bad mood. Robby can only look, a bit smitten, at him. They soak in each other’s presence, staring at the door that is the divider of this precious moment and the chaos outside that awaits them. Whitaker lets out a smaller breath, like he had been holding it. He fiddles with his fingers, twisting them like Maisie. 

“Is it bad if some part of me hopes I don’t?”

“Find balance?”

“Find it easier.”

“Why’s that?” Surprise colors Robby’s voice. Whitaker makes a noise, shrugging. 

“Maybe because easier means…I care less.”

“Not necessarily. Sometimes taking care of yourself has to take priority.”

“And if I don’t want that?” There’s a knit in his brow. “I mean, I want to always care. For them.”

“In spite of yourself?”

“It feels like the least I can do. Who else if not me, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then, what about you?” Robby nudges his shoulder again. It was odd, the easy familiarity they seem to already have. It’s as if all of Robby’s reservations and walls shattered the moment Whitaker stepped into his life. 

“What about me?” He asks, turning to look at him, bright eyes contemplative. 

“If you spend all your time caring about your patients, who’s going to take care of you?” 

Whitaker doesn’t say anything for a beat, just searches Robby’s face as if he’ll find some answer there. Then very softly-

“You tell me, Dr. Robinavitch.”

Robby couldn’t look away. There was something in the blue of his irises, the all consuming spread of his pupils. He realizes he’s never really understood eyes being the window into the soul until Dennis Whitaker turned his question back onto him. He was stripped bare beneath his careful gaze, the artificial glare of the lights above seem to illuminate every nook and cranny of his inner workings, laying it all out for the younger man to examine.

He thinks about what Whitaker will find, if he sees all of Robby’s failings, the sordid ghosts that haunt him, the very ones that line the hallway. He thinks about the girl from this morning, the one who clung to his hands and her unfinished messages. He wonders how many more will linger before they decide they’re done with him, before he joins them. 

Robby averts his eyes as to keep some semblance of shame, clearing his throat, and looking to his own hands, aged with spots and lined with wrinkles. He flexes them. 

“I don’t need taking care of.” He hears himself say. 

Whitaker says nothing, a beat passes, then the younger man reaches over and covers Robby’s hand with his.

“That’s not true.” His voice is barely above a breath. “We all need help from time to time.” 

Whitaker’s hand was calloused and warm, strong where he squeezes Robby’s. His throat is dry and there’s a prickle in the back of his eyes as he reciprocates the squeeze, it’s a weak thing but one nonetheless. It was grounding. A tether. It seems that’s what Whitaker has become ever since Robby ran into him this morning. 

“Not letting you slip through the cracks.” He murmurs, reminiscent of the words Robby shared with him on the roof. There were a lot of those moments today, invisible strings tying them together. 

Their mutual trance is only broken by a particularly loud crash from beyond the door, followed by a muffled shout. Whitaker blinks, attention drawn away, and Robby feels the world slowly seeping back in as if some bubble had burst, his skin prickles with a chill where Whitaker’s hand has slipped from his.

The younger man stands, brushing his pants as he straightens. 

“We should go.” 

“Right.” 

Robby shakes his head to clear it, and when he moves to stand, Whitaker’s held out his hand again. He looks at it, then at him, and huffs. 

“You know, I’m not that old. I don’t need the help.” 

“I’m offering it anyway.” 

It isn’t lost on him what else it all means. He takes it, letting Whitaker haul him to his feet, and relishes in the brief warm contact again. They hold onto each other for a second longer than necessary, only letting go when they step through the threshold of the emergency room. 

Whitaker thinks out loud as they make their way towards the snack cart, laying out his next course of action. 

“We’re setting up a room for her upstairs. Once she gets something to eat, we can go ahead and move her. She should be more comfortable there.” He says, grabbing a pudding cup off the cart. “We can just redirect social services up, the police also, and go from there.”

“Sounds good.” Robby crosses his arms, amused as Whitaker hems and haws over whether or not Maisie would have the stomach for a sandwich.

“Probably not, right?” He examines the bread warily, “I think just the pudding is good, maybe some juice if she can stomach it. If she’s hungry after, we can get her something more substantial upstairs.” 

He tucks the pudding into his pocket with a finality. 

They meander their way across the busy halls, Robby hardly paying attention to where they’re going. Instead, his attention is solely at the back of Whitaker’s head, eyes caught on the mess of curls flush against the younger man’s nape. It was all swooping half rings and cute flyaways Robby’s hands twitched to smooth. He thinks about the little bunny clip holding the scant curl by Whitaker’s temple, and wonders if it’s still there. 

“-and I’ll keep you updated after.” Whitaker pauses suddenly, spinning around to address Robby, the sudden force of the turn jostles the already precarious clip in his hair, answering Robby’s musings. “Deal?”

“Yes.” Robby agrees reflexively, “Absolutely.” 

“Awesome, now-“ 

Robby’s arm moves before he can think about it.

“Are you-oh-“ Whitaker makes surprised sound but realizes quickly what Robby’s doing. He hums a bit and leans into his reach. Robby fumbles to readjust it with one hand, his fingers uncoordinated and clumsy. It’s not as if he’s had a lot of practice with fixing fiddly hair accessories. Whitaker’s hair is delightfully soft where it grazes his knuckles and the desire surges within him to want to touch more. His hand hovers after he’s done, and he finds himself brushing an errant curl from Whitaker’s temple, it was entirely too intimate, most certainly inappropriate but Robby does it anyway. The younger man’s breath hitches and his own mouth goes dry. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” 

His hand falls back down to his side. Whitaker clears his throat, eyes flickering to the side then back to Robby’s.

“Speaking of which…” Whitaker pats his pockets, “I should try and detangle her hair while she eats, hopefully it’ll be more comfortable for her. The matts can’t feel good.”

“No, they can’t.” Robby says softly. Whitaker gives him an unreadable look, licking his lips.

“You should update her chart.” 

“I should.”

“Maybe even eat something.” He suggests. Robby instinctively wants to dismiss it, make some joke about not having time, something about it being too early even though it’s nearly three pm, but in the face of Whitaker’s earnestness, Robby can only reciprocate his sincerely.

“Are you?” He asks. 

“Touché.” A mischievous expression crosses his face. “Tell you what, I’ll run this to Maisie and give her a little makeover. And when I’m done, we can share one of those gross looking sandwiches. Sound good?”

“How can I say no?”

“You can’t.” Whitaker shrugs in a what can you do way. It was incredibly cute. 

“It’s a date then.” Robby mimics his casualness, then throws in lightly, “Look at us. Taking care of ourselves.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.” 

They must look ridiculous, standing and smiling at one another because an over-exaggerated cough startles them from their bubble. 

“Ahem.” Robby spins and is met with the immovable force that is Dana’s eyebrow, which is raised the highest he’s ever seen. 

“No loitering. You’re in the way.” She gripes, tapping his arm with her clipboard. 

“Right, right.” Whitaker laughs, waving a hand and turning to leave, “Catch you in a bit.” Robby’s eyes linger on his back as he makes his winding walk back to pedes. Dana coughs loudly again. 

“Now I know you’re not sick.” Robby grumbles.

“What the hell was that?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, Robinavitch. It’s not a good look on ya.” She casts a judgmental look over her glasses. “Seriously, kid’s walkin’ you like a damn dog.”

“He’s not.” Robby moves around her, walking away briskly. 

“I don’t know who you’re fooling but it’s not me.” She follows, “Seriously, you like him or something?”

“I respect Dr. Whitaker.”

“Looks a whole lot more than respect, he’s got you agreeing to lunch.” 

“A man can’t eat?”

“Not when the man is named Michael Robinavitch.” She throws back. “You know how many people I’ve seen try and strong-arm you into takin’ lunch?” 

She cuts him off before he can get a word in.

“Too many. All it takes is a fresh pretty face, huh?” Robby grimaces at her words.

“Don’t say it like that, it makes me sound gross.” 

“Just callin’ it like I see it.” They circle back to central, Robby settling down with a sigh into his chair. He pulls up Maisie’s chart, skimming over its brief contents before beginning to add his notes. Dana stands beside him, tapping her feet.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not-“ He blows out an impatient breath, scowling, “It’s not like we’ll be seeing each other often.”

“Don’t get him caught up in something he can’t handle.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s over the age of thirty, he can make his own decisions.”

“Yeah right, how many smart decisions did we make at thirty? Or now?” Dana mutters. “Seriously Robby, the kid’s been through enough.” Robby pauses his typing, slowly turning.

“What do you mean by that?” Before Dana could answer though, he holds up a hand. “Actually, don’t tell me. I should hear it from him.” 

“Hm.” She studies him. “Alright.” 

There’s a commotion by the bay, the doors sliding open to an incoming gurney. Robby’s welcome to the distraction as he stands up, hurrying over, catching the tail end of the diagnosis. 

“-Penetrating trauma from a screwdriver to the right chest-lost the pulse ‘bout two blocks back.“ He claps his hands, pointing to the back. 

“Alright, let’s get them set up in trauma 2.”

—

Robby curses under his breath as he tries mountie the knot of his sterile gown, fingers clumsy from adrenaline. 

“Fuck.” He mumbles, missing again. He cranes his neck as if that will help him see. 

“Here, let me.” A ghost of a voice pipes up from somewhere behind him. The tension bleeds from his body almost involuntarily as recognition settles in him. He finds himself bending a little in his knees to give them access. Deft fingers free him from the tangle, and he turns, eyes settling on bright blue irises and that oh-so-familiar shade of pink. Whitaker stands close, not having moved when Robby turned. 

“Dr. Whitaker.” He greets like a inside joke only they know. 

“Dr. Robinavitch.” He receives a slight grin in return, then something more devious when Whitaker tugs harder at the gown, ripping it off and away. “Excuse my forwardness.” 

“Usually you’d have to buy me dinner first.” 

“Well, how about lunch?” Whitaker holds up a sandwich from the bin, shaking it in the same way he did the pack of cigarettes from this morning.

“I could make an exception.” 

Whitaker takes a look around the now emptied trauma room then back at Robby who was stripping himself of his gloves. 

“Are you needed anywhere else or do I have you all to myself?” He asks in a stage whisper. Robby laughs. 

“All yours.” 

They fall into step, Robby taking in the shy expression that’s overcome Whitaker’s face when he says that. He ghosts a hand on the younger’s back as he guides their way to the break room. There was a lull in the erratic energy of the hospital, a rare moment of catch up amongst all the staff. Robby sends a quiet thought into the universe that it stays like this until they finish eating. 

The break room was unsurprisingly empty, the smell of stale coffee and leftovers linger in the air. There’s a pile of unused napkins strewn across the table. 

“Ignore the dummy in the corner.” Robby warns. Whitaker stares at its crumpled form on the couch, adorned with old holiday decorations. 

“Big ask but okay. Ignoring.” 

He eyes at the dummy with suspicion but says nothing else. Robby helps pull out a chair for him when they near the table.

“Wow, does every doctor here get such treatment?” He teases as he settles into the seat. 

“Only the good ones.” Robby sits down next to him, tugging his chair a breath closer when he does. Whitaker hums at his response, a knowing look on his face. He unwraps the sandwich and Robby wordlessly passes over some of the napkins. He places Robby’s half on top of one and slides it over to him. He picks it up, making sure to wrap the napkin around. 

“Not a fan of crumbs on the table?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Shame, this will never work out then.” Whitaker sighs, leaning back in his chair with his half cradled in a loose hand. 

“Well, it’s been a good run.”

“Can’t say we didn’t try.” 

They take a bite around their shared grins. It was bordering on disgusting. The bread was both dry and soggy, the filling too salty yet lacking all distinctive taste. Despite all that, Robby thinks this is the best meal he’s had in ages. Whitaker clearly disagrees, his nose crinkling in displeasure. He swallows roughly while Robby categorizes this new expression into his mind. 

“Ugh. I am so glad I didn’t get Maisie a sandwich.” He groans, but takes another bite anyway. Robby can only nod and they sit in respective silence, chewing on their bread that bordered on inedibility. This was nice, much like their small bubble in the stairwell, it was a respite they’ve managed to carve away. 

Robby chokes down another mouthful when the door to the break room suddenly opens a crack, and he nearly wants to snap when he sees Ogilvie’s head popping in, shock written all over his face.

“Dr. Robby, oh, wow, I didn’t think I’d actually find you here-“ 

“What is it.” Robby interrupts, impatience threaded in every word. Ogilvie’s jaw promptly snaps shut, an audible click that echoes in the room. He pushes past the doorway. 

“I, uh, just got the 12-lead back? On the patient in North 4?” He fumbles with the paper in his hand, holding it out awkwardly for Robby to take. “You said to keep you updated so-“

Robby takes in a measured breath, unclipping his glasses from his collar, sliding them over the bridge of his nose. He takes the offered paper. 

“There’s no STEMI, he doesn’t need to go to Cath lab, or at least not right away-“ Ogilvie rambles as Robby scans it. He feels Whitaker lean in close, normally Robby would be a little miffed at the idea of someone from another department being nosy but he finds himself angling it so the younger man could see more clearly. 

“Oh,” Whitaker suddenly says, loud enough that Ogilvie stops mid-sentence. “You might want to repeat this with the 12-leads on his back.” 

Robby turns to look at him, and he shyly ducks his head when he notices the attention. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insert myself. Just ignore me.” 

“No, no. Go for it.” Robby sits further back, letting him speak. Ogilvie looks between the two, thoroughly confused when Whitaker turns to address him.

“T Waves are kinda high with ST depression anterior. I mean, you see them all the time, but it would be a posterior MI. Better safe than sorry.” He explains. Ogilvie stares at him with a blank expression and Robby schools his face to be something less shit-eating. Ogilvie then turns to Robby.

“Dr. Whitaker is absolutely correct.” Robby just hands the paper back to him. “You heard him. Get to work.” He looks like a deer in headlights as he stumbles out of the break room wordlessly. They watch as the door closes behind him with a resounding sound, and burst into laughter. 

“Sorry again, really, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, you were right. Fantastic even. I couldn’t have said it better myself.” Whitaker beams at the praise.

“Are you always so complimentary?” 

“Depends on who you ask.”

“And if I ask anyone other than me?”

“They would tell you only when it’s earned.”

“Well, I hope I’m not getting any special treatment.” 

“You’ve deserved every one.” Whitaker’s cheeks flush at his earnestly, and Robby’s own ears burn when he says it. But it was true, however overt his flattery sounds. 

“So…I’ve been meaning to ask.” Robby says once they’ve finished swallowing their last bites. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Whitaker glances at him, then brushes the residual crumbs from his fingers. 

“Go for it.” His voice was careful, as if he already knew what Robby may ask. 

“Why did you leave Presby?” 

Whitaker makes a resigned sound, something shuttering over his face; he looks down at the table and the silence that falls on them is deafening. Robby hurries to fill it.

“I mean, they’ve got a pretty good reputation as far as hospitals go, at least in comparison to PTMC, though the bar is pretty low. It can’t have been easy making that choice.” He overcompensates, rambling now more than anything. Whitaker’s fingers twist in his lap. Robby curses internally. 

“Listen, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-you don’t have to answer-“ Whitaker’s head snaps up at that.

“No, it’s not-I want to.” He reassures. He blows out a breath, cheeks puffing when he does. “I’m just trying to find the words.” Robby shuts up, giving the younger man the space he needed.

“Did Trin tell you? That I originally wanted to go into emergency medicine?” He asks, looking to Robby for confirmation.

“She said she tried to convince you, not that you planned on it.” Then gentler. “I told her it was shame she couldn’t. You’d be just the kind of doctor we needed.” This gets a small smile from him, and just as fast as it was there, it drops. 

“Yeah, well, not everyone is as great a mentor as you.”

Robby stays silent, sensing there was a lot more to the story. Whitaker takes in a deep breath, picking at the skin of his fingernails. Robby’s own hand twitches with the need to reach over, to cover the smaller hands with his own, but he remains as he is, hoping he conveys how much he wants Whitaker to feel heard. 

“There was…” Whitaker begins slowly, “A doctor that worked there. Who took a special interest in me, even after I said no.”

Robby’s heart drops to his feet. 

“He-“ Whitaker hesitates, eyes flicker to Robby’s then back down at his twisted hands. “I’m not sure how much I can say.”

“I promise it doesn’t leave this room.” 

“Okay.” It comes out as a whisper. “He was nice. And in the beginning, I thought he was just being a good mentor. It made sense, I wanted to specialize in emergency medicine and he-well, he was the emergency department. So when I finished my rotation there, it was easy enough to justify why he started texting me privately. Presby’s a real stickler for stuff like that, family and whatnot, big group chats. I guess most hospitals do that stuff but it was a thing there. That’s how he got my number anyway. And it was normal stuff at first, he would offer help on my applications or I would ask him about difficult cases. Then it got…weird.”

Whitaker frowns at his memories, a sad downturn of his lips that Robby never wants to ever see again. He makes an encouraging noise.

“How so?”

“He started texting me late at night, asking what I was doing, or where I was planning on being on my days off. If I answered him, it would be fine but if I didn’t, he’d say something the next time he saw me. I was-it wasn’t fine but if the trade off was my entire career, I guess I was willing to put up with being mildly uncomfortable.” 

“But you shouldn’t have to.” Robby says sternly.

“I know.” Whitaker shrugs, “But at the time, I thought it would blow over…” He blows out a breath, arms coming around himself. “Then he started showing up at the apartment.”

“The one you shared with Santos?” 

“Yeah. I don’t even know how he found out where we lived, or-or how he got in.”

“Got in?” Robby’s voice raises, Whitaker nods grimly. 

“He was leaving notes, gifts also.” He winces, “Flowers and chocolates, anything really, just at our doorstep. And we lived on the fourth floor so it’s not like it was easy to get in. I hid it from Trin for as long as I could, thankfully our lease was up soon…”

“So you moved out.” 

“Yeah.” Whitaker’s shoulders curl in smaller, “I couldn’t do that to her. I was-she already did so much for me. I didn’t wanna burden her any more than I already did.”

“How could you have ever been a burden?” Robby asks bewildered, he couldn’t imagine it. Whitaker chews on his lip, there’s a brief bit of silence as he contemplates his next words.  

“She found me sleeping in the school library our first year.” He admits, rubbing his arms. Robby was floored. “My family, um, they gave up a lot for me to go to school, but only for the ‘right’ reasons.” 

“Oh.”

“So when I abandoned, in their eyes, the ‘right’ path, well…” He makes a cutting motion. “Bye bye family, I guess.” 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Robby says quietly, “It can’t have been easy.”

“Only way out is through, right?” Whitaker tries for a smile. 

“Are you though?” Whitaker looks at him, “Through?”

Robby watches a shadow pass over his face, and a terrible feeling settles over him.

“He’s not still bothering you, is he?” Robby asks, sitting up straighter. 

“Oh no, no. Well.” Whitaker’s lips thin, “Not as much.”

“But still?” 

A curt nod. Robby wants to put his fist through something. 

“Did you report him to the management at Presby?” He shakes his head, rephrasing his question, “No, did they do anything about it?” Whitaker shifts, hands back in his lap so he can pick at them.

“They weren’t of much help, pulled him into a meeting and told him to stop. He did but then he started spreading rumors that I was trying to get him fired, which isn’t entirely wrong, but still. So I left. And I blocked him but he keeps finding a way to text me. I would change my number but…” He pauses. “It’s the only number my family knows and well, if anything happens, I would need to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not for you to apologize for.” 

“Someone should. And I should. I’ve asked a lot of you today.” 

“Nothing I didn’t already want to do.” 

“Still, I should just-“ He makes a locking motion with his hand to his lips. Whitaker shakes his head.

“Never that.” He says, “Trust me when I say you’re one of the kinder ones, Dr. Robby.” 

Said man stills. 

“Robby?” 

Whitaker’s face turns shy at the acknowledgement of the change. 

“That’s what everyone else calls you. I hadn’t realized until earlier, I hope you didn’t think I was being purposely obtuse.”

“Uh-“ Robby finds himself at a loss for words. Whitaker watches his expression carefully, then something like insecurity flickers. 

“Unless, I mean, we did just meet today, if you prefer-“ He stammers, “I could just keep calling you Dr. Robinavitch, I just thought-“

“I do.” Robby cuts in, wincing at how rude he sounded, “I mean, yes, I prefer if you’d call me by…that.” The younger man’s face falls.

“Oh.” He shrinks into himself. “Okay, um-“ 

“Not because-not like that.” Robby hurries to explain, “You’re the only one.” He receives a blank look. 

“What?”

“You’re the only one.” He repeats, as if that makes it any clearer. He rubs a hand along his nape, he was really screwing this up. “You’re the exception.” 

“Oh.” Whitaker says still confused, then like a lightning strike of epiphany, “Oh!” 

“But it’s up to you,” Robby coughs lightly, “It would be special either way.” His words come out awkwardly, stilted. He chances meeting Whitaker’s eyes and his heart leaps from his chest when they make contact.

“Okay.” He says, just barely a breath. 

A loud knock startles them from their stupor. They swivel to the intrusion. 

“Hope you’re decent!” Santos’ voice comes through the wood. The door swings open and Santos leans leisurely against the frame, arms crossed. 

“Not to interrupt your guys’ date, but we got an incoming MVC, eta 2 minutes, one of them a partial amputation.” She says, “Thought you might wanna know.” 

“Be there in a second.” Robby turns back to Whitaker. “Are you going to bring Maisie up?”

“Yeah, not too difficult of a transfer. Should be able to do it myself.” Whitaker stands, sweeping the trash from their lunch into his hands, balling it up and tossing it in the nearby trash. He looks at Robby when he’s done. “Do you want me to pass along your goodbyes?”

“If you don’t mind.” 

“Never.”

They share a long look and Santos blows a raspberry, thumping the door with her hand.

“Aaand I’m gone.” She says loudly, “Don’t take too long kissing goodbye, huckleberry.”

“Trin!” Whitaker shouts, indignant, cheeks flushing a pretty pink not unlike his scrubs. He turns flustered, “Sorry about her.” 

“No, no.” Robby smiles, they’re both stood close to one another. He finds himself cataloging every detail of Whitaker’s face as if he’ll never see him again. 

“I guess this is farewell.” Whitaker’s voice is low, “For today at least.” 

“I guess.” Robby hears the faraway rush of gurneys, he sees Whitaker’s eyes flicker to the door. He’s loathe to leave. “I should go.”

“Mmm, you should.” Whitaker hums, rocking a little on his feet, peering up between his lashes at Robby. His lips look pinker than before, where it’s caught between his teeth. 

“I should.”

He stands rooted in place, not entirely sure what he’s waiting for. A scream from somewhere beyond shocks him into movement. 

“Fuck-“ He mumbles, taking a step back. It takes a herculean effort to walk away. Robby makes it a few paces, just to the exit before turning, unable to help it. Whitaker gives him a salute, and a smile to send him off. A trill runs up Robby’s spine. 

“Go get ‘em, cap.” 

—

Robby stares at the clock, eyes burning with exhaustion. The digital numbers seem to blur into just abstract shapes, he rubs a hand over his face, willing the dull ache in his head to go away. He’s long since passed over his duties to Jack, who as soon as he came in, checked in on him; as if the conversation from this morning was still fresh on his mind, and knowing him, it probably was. 

He avoids meeting the other man’s eyes. 

Robby lets himself wallow a little longer, sighing to no one in particular, before grabbing his bag from beneath his desk, piling his things into it with abandonment. Dana walks up to him, already dressed to leave. 

“Heading out?” She chirps.

“Home sweet home.” He mumbles, slinging his bag over his shoulder, empty thermos in hand. 

“You did great today,” She pats his arm, “Seriously, the last few patients were rough.” 

“Yeah, well-“ He starts, the self deprecating joke already sitting at the tip of his tongue when-

“Ever just take the compliment?” He blinks. Whitaker’s question echoes hard in his consciousness, he almost looks around. Dana’s paused, looking at him to finish his sentence. He tries again.

“Thanks.” He ends up saying. It comes out strangled but it was out. Something like disbelief blooms across her face, slowly turning to a small smirk.

“Alright, old dog,” She huffs, impressed. “New tricks?”

“Never too late.” He shrugs casually as she laughs, hitting him on the arm in farewell. 

“See ya.”

“Bye.” 

He moves to follow her path out, only making it just around that corner before he falters. Feet stalling like it does every morning, like it does every evening, at that framed wall. The ache that usually settles bone deep is duller now, the once bleeding wound that opens daily less ragged at the edges, staunched in the ways only healing can do.

“It’s not for you to apologize for.” Rings in his ears, he swallows and for the first time, maybe let’s himself believe it.

Robby takes in a shaky breath, shoving a hand into his pocket, mystified when it brushes against a rumpled piece of paper. He fiddles with it, trying to guess what it could be before pulling it out, and as he holds it out in the light, he finds himself smiling.

The shiny yellow sticker sits crumpled but vibrant in his palm. Frankly, the timing felt comical. A sign even. He smooths it out as best he can, the back of it still miraculously sticky. He turns it over, replaying the memories of the day. On a whim, he tacks it onto his thermos. The gloss of it stark against the smooth matte surface. It was fitting, a apt comparison to Whitaker, to seeing that beacon of pink against the dark of their circumstances. There’s meaning in that, if Robby looks close enough. Instead, he caresses the edge of the sticker with a thumb, mouthing the words silently to himself.

“Good job.”

He can almost hear Whitaker saying it, paired with an easy grin, the tilt of his head.

Something squeezes in his chest. He wildly glances up at the clock looming above him, its ticking hands seem pointedly loud and his feet move before his mind catches up. Pushing into the stairwell, he takes two steps at a time, his heart beating in tandem with his gait.

A long shot, he thinks. Ridiculous, far fetched, impossible-

All the ways he could be wrong flash through his head in the few minutes it takes to reach the roof. But he doesn’t stop, hardly breathes, until he’s stood in front of the closed door, chest heaving and his heartbeat so loud he wonders if he’s ever really felt anything before. He presses his hands against the cold surface, then his forehead, taking a moment to brace himself for disappointment.

The cold wind whips into the vacuum of the well when he pushes, and he can hardly bring himself to look but as his gaze settles in that dark horizon, it’s like deja vu.

All the colors of the universe inverted, everything thrown off balance, like his own world off its axis today. All of it similar but different.

And the figure turns around this time around, eyes wide with surprise, mouth open as if ready to give some excuse as to why he was standing on the edge. Whitaker physically relaxes when he sees him. Robby feels as if his face will split with the force of his grin. He strides over, trying to play his role of casual.

“Dr. Whitaker.”

The night air wraps around them and he watches as Whitaker smiles back, lips parting, and the breeze carries over his name, in all its sweetness when said by him.

“Dr. Robinavitch.”