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Santos had had a really rough first shift at the emergency department, between Langdon, the shooting and then everything else with patients it really just hadn’t been the shift she’d expected to have.
Inviting Huckleberry back to her apartment after following him to the eighth floor, was a spur of the moment decision, but the idea of leaving him after that shift in the cold and eerie hospital ward, where he didn’t have access to a proper shower, and would be on edge the whole time. It had been a no-brainer.
It wasn’t like Whitaker was that threatening either, and in any case she was better able to look after herself now, better able to defend herself. But really, it all came down to the fact she couldn't imagine leaving him there, to deal in silence from the horrors of the day.
Santos didn’t live too far from the hospital, and the drive to was done in silence. She lived on the third floor of an older apartment block. It wasn’t massive, but it was enough and would be enough for two of them. She had needed to live alone, had never been good at roommates or housemates, but she could manage with him.
Santos guided him to the spare room, which was spare in all definitions of the word. There was an assortment of her things, things she hadn’t put away and had just tossed in there out of the way.
There was no mattress, though there was a bed frame. She hadn’t been living here long enough to have bothered getting a second mattress - there had been until now no reason to.
“You can sleep on the couch today, and I can pick up a mattress online, get it delivered here,” she says. “I’ll move the rest of the stuff out, and you can put your clothes… is that all you’ve got or is there storage elsewhere?”
Santos trails off, and looks at the singular, small bag which Whitaker has. It seemed filled to the brim, but not exactly big, she doesn’t imagine he has a lot of stuff in it, and the clothes he’s currently wearing are ill-fitting, and worn.
“Oh no, I can’t make you pay for that, I can sleep on the floor. This is also it, I didn’t have a lot to begin with,” Whitaker is quick to say.
“My mother will pay for it,” She says.
“Just don’t worry about any of that for now. Help me by helping out around the house. You grew up on a farm, you know plenty about fixing things like you said,” she adds, when she sees him going to argue.
“Yeah, and sewing and cooking,” he lists and she laughs.
“Fucking Huckleberry,” she mutters.
She watches him as he places down his bag and slips off his old shoes. His socks are a right mess, clearly stitched back together, they had presumably once been white and now were much closer to grey.
Santos shows him around the apartment, there isn’t really much to show, but she does. She points out where things need done or fixed. In the kitchen she points to where everything was, and made a point of telling him which foods of hers were too precious to share.
“But aside from that, take what you want, okay? No martyr stuff, no ‘I didn’t pay, so I mustn’t eat’,” She tells him firmly.
“You need to be eating,” She presses the final point, keeping her gaze on him unflinching. He holds it before he looks down.
“Thanks,” he says it quietly, with so much sincerity it makes her so sure of her choice to bring him home. She’d seen how thin he was in the hospital, the emergency department didn’t lend itself well to lunch breaks, or any breaks. Santos also couldn't be certain given the low light, but she was almost sure there had been some scars on his back and torso.
They had had sandwiches gifted, and she’d eaten one, had turned her nose up at the way Whitaker had eaten, and as gross as it had been, she could at least understand it.
“We’ll split the chores, the main bathroom locks, but you have an en-suite, do not come into my room without knocking, and I’ll do the same for you,” She says.
“If you make a mess tidy it up, you can bring people round as you want, but a text heads up is absolutely necessary, I’ll do the same for you. Got it?”
He nods.
“Got it,” he replies.
“Right I’m going for a shower, you do whatever it is farm boys from Nebraska do,” she stalks out of the room and goes to the bathroom. She washes off the day, tries to wash down everything which happened during it. The shower helps ache her sore muscles, it helps relax her too awake mind.
She gets into her comfy house clothes, knowing she needs to eat something and then wants nothing more than to sleep.
In the kitchen in a bowl next to the microwave is a simple bowl of rice, sweet corn and carrots, all cooked and covered to keep its warmth.
“Farm boy,” she mutters. She ventures into the living room and sees him passed out on the couch snoring softly.
His whole body curled up and pressed against the back of the couch. He’d draped over himself the thin jacket he’d been wearing for warmth, and she rolls her eyes and grabs a spare blanket before tossing it over him.
She heads to her room and eats her bowl of food before falling asleep.
When he tries to hand her back the blanket she scoffs.
“When it’s got your gross hick germs over it, no, thanks,” she bristles with a forced tone, and he gives a little smile, holds the blanket in his hands, hands tightening their grip as if marvelling about being able to keep it, as if marvelling at another thing which gets to be his.
“Thanks Santos,” he whispers. “I don’t know how I can repay you for all of this,”
She rolls her eyes at him dramatically.
“I don’t need you to. Now, get dressed let’s go to work,” She says, and he nods before going to do just that.
—
Dana had really expected to be done, she had been a nurse for so long, had seen so much in her career and just after Driscoll and after Pittfest, she was done. She took a little bit of time off, and was due to hand in her notice. She had given enough to this career, to the people of Pittsburgh, but she needed time for her.
It was just, after two weeks of being about the house, of relaxing, of going on a weekend away, of spending time with her family, she found she missed it. Missed the rush of it, missed helping people, missed doing something more with her. So no notice was handed in, instead she arranges to do a gentle return, half the shifts she’d have otherwise done, for a month, and then full-time return.
No one questioned her, or brought her up on how long she’d managed to stay away and why she had returned, it hadn’t been relevant. It hadn’t been necessary, they did not have the kind of time for that. She focused more of her time on the interns, of helping Donnie or Perlah, on people who would be the future of the place like that, those who needed the extra guidance to help them along.
She liked the Pitt-lings, as they’d been dubbed. Santos was a sharpshooter, no-nonsense and also had a set of morals on her that Dana deeply respected. Javadi was an exceedingly bright young woman, Dana was curious as to which path she’d take, what type of medicine she would go for. Whitaker was quiet but with a growing confidence, he listened and respected nurses like he’d been raised by one. He was kind in a way a lot of people weren't.
She also was absolutely not blind to the way in which he seemed to be around Dr. Robby, or the way in which she felt almost sure Dr. Robby felt back.
Dana knew too, that she was a bit of a mother-hen. She always guided and got Javadi out of conversations she did not want to have with her mother, made sure to push Santos to the best of her abilities and to provide an ear for gossip and moans. Whitaker she treated maybe a little more delicately, he seemed skittish if she yelled too loud near him, and felt almost sure she'd seen him flinch a few times.
On her first shift back, he’d approached the nurses station before he was due to start, and offered her a little homemade cupcake, with a ‘welcome back’ which didn’t quite fit on the cupcake. It was a kind gesture, something that made her feel loved without being overwhelmed.
In the evening of that shift, he’d approached again.
“Dana, do you happen to know who I contact to update my address, and emergency contact?” he asks, and she knows it’s not her typically.
“Hospital admin, but they have office hours,” she says. “Which start at 10am and finish at 5pm,” she watches him grimace, since of course, the time needed to update such things.
“Listen, I can do it for you, kid, one time offer, it’ll just mean I see your file,” she tells him when he hunches and frowns, trying clearly to figure out what to do. He perks up and doesn’t even seemingly think before he nods.
“Right,” She says, she pulls up his file, and it takes her momentarily by surprise. His address listed was still that of the one in Nebraska, Broken Bow, Nebraska. There’s no next of kin or emergency contact.
He lists off the address to update it to and then lists Santos as the emergency contact.
“Santos?” she questions as she types. He frowns and then nods.
“Yeah, that’s not an issue is it?” he’s quick to ask, and she shakes her head.
“No, no, just….Didn’t expect it,” She does the updates, and he thanks her too many times over.
She watches him walk out with Santos and smiles to herself, glad that the universe brought them together.
It just follows in the weeks upon her return that her mother-hen instincts get so perked up with him. She can’t even help herself, he sometimes seems more like a lost puppy than a student doctor. He’s a capable doctor, sure, but still, a puppy.
She notices immediately when he comes into work looking stiff and sore. He’s got Santos at his side, as they always tend to be.
“What happened to you, kid?” She says motioning to how he’s standing.
“Someone threw his back out a little lifting boxes,” Santos replies with a roll of her eyes. “I told him to wait for me, but farm boy insisted he could do it himself.”
“How was I supposed to know the box had the entirety of the library of Alexandria in it,” Whitaker retorts with a little smile, there is a fondness in their teasing, a fondness not found when they’d first started.
“I checked it out, its fine, he just needs to take it easy and remember to have pain meds at lunch,” Santos then further clarifies before Dana can even ask her to.
Whitaker manages most of the morning, but she spots him sit down in the break room just after one in the afternoon with a tight wince. She rolls her eyes, grabs some water and heads in. She takes some pain medicine from the staff medicine cabinet, correctly documenting what had been taken and when and slides them over to Whitaker.
“I assume you forgot,” Dana says and Whitaker looks at her with pain-filled eyes.
“I was trying to get them out in the bathroom, and dropped them,” he says and she laughs.
“Christ, kid,” She says.
“Can I have a look at it? Not that I don’t trust Santos, but, just for my own peace of mind before I send you back out there.” Dana asks, because she just wants to make sure he’s okay.
He takes the pain medication and the slips off the scrubs, leaving him in his undershirt.
It’s an old and worn thing, which some rough stitching at the shoulders, and a vague hole towards the waist. It’s a thin material, and Dana can list all the times she’s seen him in it since he started and since she came back. He holds the shirt up a little and points to the spot in his back which hurts.
“You’re skin and bones, kid.” She says softly, as she presses a gentle hand to the area. It feels a little inflamed, but nothing too serious. She tries to not notice the big and little scars which litter his back, all old and faded but there nonetheless.
“I know, it’s been a rough….decade? Couple of decades,” He says with a soft sigh. Dana helps him gentle pull his shirt back down, and passes back his scrubs.
“You’re barely a couple of decades old,” she retorts trying to keep her tone to the light teasing.
“There’s not a lot of money in farm work,” is all he says and meets her gaze, and she thinks about a much younger Whitaker, with his brains and desire to study medicine doing injuredly doing farm work in a place he no longer has any connection to.
Dana had wanted to come back to work more jaded and punchy because it was better for her than to get too close to things, but firmly Whitaker squeezes in past that.
She goes home at the end of the shift and find every spare unworn shirt of her husband, anything which they’d held on to for too long. She washes and drys them, and then folds them into a paper bag and leaves them in Whitaker’s locker.
She doesn’t mention doing it, but she knows he figures out it was her, because suddenly every other day he’s bringing baked good, and she spots the familiar t-shirts underneath his scrubs, and she knows she did the right thing.
—
Abbot is painfully aware that he is straying into territory that he shouldn’t, that Doctor Mohan is half his age basically, and that him moving on from his wife is disrespectful to her memory, ignoring the fact he knows she’d likely be yelling at him to do something.
But at the very least, he knows he is aware of it. His best friend seems painfully unaware of the fact he is crushing hard on the intern half his age. At the very least Abbot can say he picked someone a little older, but really he’d be splitting hairs about it.
It’s just painfully obvious to him, when he sees day shift the way in which Robby gravitates towards Whitaker, the way he will place a hand on his shoulder, the way he’ll always offer comfort. It’s so obvious to him, and seemingly no one else.
Whitaker is fine too, he has no real problems with him either as a person or a doctor. Everything he learns about him is from other people. He knows from Santos covering someone in night-shift that she and him live together. He knows the man is from Nebraska, and he knows that the shirts he’s been wearing under the scrubs absolutely used to belong to Dana’s husband. But he hadn’t yet spoken to him.
His first interaction with Whitaker is on the street team. He wasn’t too surprised when he signed up. From what he can gleam it seems exactly the sort of place that a man like him would want to be. He’s a good help too, always eager to pick up shifts, good at being calm in situations that can easily escalate.
It just doesn’t take much for Abbot to notice that he is pretty ill-equipped for the winter weather. It’s something that a Nebraska farm boy should be good at, and while the cold doesn’t always seem to affect him, it is November, late November and he doesn’t have a jacket suited to the colder temperatures.
The jacket looks old, it looks second hand. It certainly is not enough to stave off the cold of Pittsburgh when they’re out wandering the streets. But Whitaker is also a grown man, and there’s little reason to get too involved in it.
He continues to work with him a little sporadically, more so at the street team than at the Pitt. It seemed Whitaker wasn’t one for the night-shift.
He learns that he’s due to finish up in the emergency room soon and do his last placement before graduation. Surgery.
When he leaves, he continues to do shifts with the street team. They are a little more sporadic, and he has to cancel often. Neither of which is that surprising given the nature of the work of surgery.
“Santos, I can’t get involved with other departments, and surely Garcia would be the one to speak to here,” Abbot overhears Robby say, and he hears the familiar huff and mutter of him being useless from her before she stalks by him.
“Do I want to know what that was about, brother?” Abbot asks and Robby shakes his head a little.
“She’s worried about Whitaker, he’s on the surgical rotation, though not with Garcia, on some other ward and Santos thinks the team are pushing too much work on to Whitaker, because he’ll always say yes,” Robby says with a sigh.
Abbot considers it, he had noted that Whitaker was more tired when with the street team, that he had seemed more out of it than usual.
“I can’t really do anything, even if I’d really love to,” Robby says.
Abbot lets himself decide that he’ll speak to Whitaker at the next street team shift. It thankfully happens before the week ends, and he can see why Santos would be so concerned. The man is exhausted, he’d slowly been filling out and all that progress had been undone.
It wasn’t too late, he had a shift in an hour or so, and had just wanted to fill the time beforehand with this. He spends all too much time watching Whitaker, watching the clear exhaustion in his bones, the way he is actively holding himself to push all that away.
Abbot is therefore watching when Whitaker goes down hard, his foot slips on an uneven and wet surface, and he just goes down. Abbot isn’t quick enough to stop him from hitting the ground, and Whitaker goes still for a moment lying on the ground.
Abbot is the first to reach him, and gently applies pressure to his sternum which brings Whitaker back. There’s a cut on his forehead, and a bleary look in his eyes, but despite the exhaustion his gaze is clear and focused.
“I’m gonna take you back to the Pitt kid, just to check that cut and get you dried up,” Abbot says and Whitaker shakes his head.
“I just need to go back home and sleep,” he says and Abbot shakes his head firmly.
“Come on,” He gets up and helps get Whitaker up, but Whitaker isn’t heavy, and he’s able to guide him back to the hospital with no issue.
The lights are bright and glaring but the night charge nurse guides them to an empty area. He deposits Whitaker on the bed and tells the nurse to call Robby.
Whitaker on the bed just seems exhausted. He sheds the jacket and just lays back on the bed, an arm covering his eyes. The clothes he’s wearing are mixed, some scrubs, a t-shirt Abbot knows to be Dana’s husband’s. His hands are visibly cold, and he’s still shaking a little, but one look at the jacket and Abbot knows it wouldn’t provide any protection from the elements.
“Don’t fall asleep Whitaker,” he tells him as he sits down on a stool next to him.
“Sit up, let me do the checks,”
Very slowly Whitaker sits up and looks at Abbot tiredly.
“I just need some sleep,” Whitaker says, but Abbot sets about doing the tests anyway.
As it turns out, even without a CT it’s pretty clear Whitaker doesn’t have a concussion, just a little cut on his head. But his blood sugar is low.
“When was the last time you slept or ate?” Abbot asks pushing a little away from him. Letting his gaze once again search Whitaker over.
“I was on last night, was supposed to go home this…yesterday…I dunno what day it is but, the R4 needed to redo his charts, and asked me to do them, while he napped since he was on call. It just took a while,” Whitaker says.
“Even as a med student, it’s not your job to do his charts,” Abbot reminds him gently.
“I know, but he asked, and I can’t afford to fail…so, it’s just easier to do it,” Whitaker replies quietly.
“And food?” Abbot presses.
“Lunchtime…during my shift,” Whitaker says, and it takes Abbot a full moment to realise just how long its been.
“Jesus Christ kid, you gotta eat more than once every 30 some hours,” Abbot says, he moves quickly, as quickly as he can, grabbing a nurse who manages to snag him a chocolate bar which he returns to Whitaker.
“I know, and I would’ve if I’d been able to go home, but I didn’t, and I just don’t have the spare cash to buy lunch,” Whitaker says, and he meets Abbot’s eye as he takes a bite of the chocolate bar.
Abbot knew that students didn’t get paid, and he thought it a little insane that they didn’t, he’d only gotten by because of the military and that wasn’t a viable option for most. Shouldn’t have to be either.
Most of the other interns they come across have some degree of support system which makes it easier to not get paid, but there were always some, who couldn’t.
He also couldn’t imagine it was easier to ask people for money for lunch. He could get the way in which pride would get in the way.
“You need to eat kid, you really can’t afford not to,” Abbot says, cringing a little at his words.
“I really can’t afford to eat, most days,” Whitaker says softly.
“But it’s okay, once this placement is over, I’ll be able to graduate, and then I’ll get a pay cheque, and then it’ll get easier,”
Abbot meets Whitaker’s gaze and sighs softly. He knows there is no winning this. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet and pulls out fifty dollars.
“Just take it, don’t ask questions, don’t say no, just take it, use it to buy some extra food, some lunch, just use it to take care of yourself. You’re going to be a great doctor, this will just help keep you going,” Abbot presses the money into Whitaker’s hand who seems to want to argue back.
He’s unable to because the curtain opens and a dishevelled Robby appears. He’s also bleary-eyed and half dressed.
“What happened?” he asks, his eyes never leaving Whitaker.
“Brother, he’s okay, cut is superficial, he just needs food and rest,” Abbot says, as he slowly gets up. He can see the way Robby wants to touch Whitaker, the way his hands almost reach for him.
“I’m going to leave you to it, this was completely off the books, no chart, just take him home,” Abbot says, and he presses a hand to Robby’s back, gives the kid one last look and leaves them to it. He ignores the way they walk out together or the text of thanks from Robby after.
When Dana comes in to take over from the night charge nurse he avoids her and her gaze, he dodges Santos as she walks in, unwilling to really think about all the people in Whitaker’s life. Instead, he goes out, and tiredly finds a good winter jacket for Whitaker and leaves it in the man’s locker a few days later.
He makes sure to slip another fifty dollars into the pocket of it. He feels gratified when he spots the kid wearing it next time they’re out on the street team, gratified that the kid looks better. He tries his best to not fixate on him, on how he’s doing, on if he appears more or less tired.
Abbot decidedly tells no one and doesn’t spend enough time to be around him to let him thank him, but he’s very grateful when Robby tells him one morning in late January that he’ll be joining them as an R1 in the summer.
–
Going on Sabbatical was the smart idea. He knew he needed it, and it just made sense for him to do. It just left him feeling so conflicted about certain things.
It also doesn’t help that the last shift before he leaves is a shit show. Not the worst shift by any means but definitely a close second. It builds slowly, the loss of Louie hits like a tonne of bricks, and then they lose the ability to use the computers and everything has to go old school.
And then there’s that the last two cases, a mother and son, a son so injured and a mother have a psychotic break. There’s a desperation to help both even though the needs are so different, and that nothing about this family will ever be the same again.
He loses track of Whitaker, who had been so shaken throughout the day that Robby could almost feel his own meltdown coming. He looks for him as everyone is wrapping this up to go home, he doesn't find him on the roof, or in any dangerous place, but in the hospital chapel, or prayer room. A room which had once just been the chapel and was built like a chapel but was now a more multi-faith space.
He’s sitting in one of the pews staring forward at a picture on the wall. His eyes are red rimmed. But at the very least he’s not looking too bad. He’s looking still a little shy of perfectly healthy, but his hair is thicker, no longer skin and bones and his clothes all seem much more together.
He's beautiful, though Robby knows he shouldn't really think that about someone he is the boss of, but he just does. It doesn't matter either that he definitely get the impression how he feels about the man is felt back.
He does seem exhausted, but Robby knows they all are. After that shift he’d be more surprised if he wasn’t.
“Mind if I join you?” Robby asks and Whitaker startles before he nods and lets himself sit down beside him.
“Didn’t figure you were religious any more,” Robby says, because from all the conversations he has had with Whitaker, the man had been religious and knew religion but wasn’t practising.
“I’m not, but this place is familiar,” Whitaker says softly.
“That mother and son will be okay, they’ll get monitoring and hopefully meds will help her. Protective services will help, family therapy,” Robby assures and Whitaker gives a little tight smile.
“Good, I’m glad,” Whitaker says nodding before giving a little laugh and then sighing so heavily. It leaves Robby confused.
“It’s really dumb that I find this place or churches comforting. I shouldn’t. But I just do,” He says.
“You studied Theology, were raised presumably in a religious household, it’s not too surprising,” Robby says.
“I studied Theology because it was the only way I was getting out of that house," Whitaker starts, he lets out a few breaths, building to something. Something he wanted to say.
"My mother, she’s like that woman…., she has never been formally diagnosed with anything, but it was pretty obvious even before I started med school. She’d have mood swings, mania, and depression. My mother fixated on religion in her mania, she fixated on me, thought I was the devil a lot. She’d punish me accordingly,” Whitaker speaks slowly, he looks at Robby every so often but his gaze doesn’t linger on him.
Robby feels his heart tighten at the words, knowing for what he was saying and all he was implying alongside it.
“Her depressive episodes were just as bad, and unsurprisingly my father didn’t have a lot of patience for it. Laziness is frowned upon. He’d drag her out of bed, would lose his mind with her. He wasn’t a kind man either, harsh and strong-minded. Had my brothers and I working the farm every minute we weren’t at school. He’d drink what little money we had away, and I was so bad at doing things right and on time,” Whitaker continues.
Robby can’t help but sigh softly. Thinking of all the ways in which Whitaker had experienced pain. That his upbringing had despite everything made him kind and empathetic.
“It’s certainly funny looking back, when my mother would lock me in a closet for two days, for my father to drag me out screaming about undone work, for him to give me food and tell me what would happen if my chores weren't done,” He laughs humourless.
“Whita–,” Robby starts and Whitaker shakes his head.
“I know it’s not okay, it wasn’t okay. There’s a reason I don’t live there any more, a reason why I left by any means necessary, but that it would’ve just been managed, she could’ve sought help and never has,” Whitaker says. He reaches for his phone, clicks a few things and then passes it to Robby.
He can tell what this is, a text chain from Whitaker’s mother, he has said nothing, but it is message after message of scripture, of the devil, of how he’ll go to hell.
“You should block her number,” Robby says and Whitaker laughs and nods.
“I really should, but I can’t. She’s my mother,” He says softly.
“She hurts you,” Robby says and Whitaker looks away and stares blankly at the front of the room.
“It hurts less, now. I have a home with Santos, a proper bed, a roof over my head with no strings, no screaming, no fear. I have friends, warmth and food, people who help me feel better. I have clothes. I have a life, a career, a path, there's a guy I like,” He says.
“Just that boy, you know, his mother is trying, and it hurts that my mother never did.” he finishes with a sigh.
“You deserved better than that.” Robby sits back and pulls off his green jumper, the one he’d worn coming in. He pulls it off and hands it to Whitaker.
“For when the nights get cold before I get back,” He says, and then he reaches forward and takes Whitaker’s phone and blocks his mother’s number in a few clicks and then adds his own phone number.
“I’m going to be away, sure, and I might not always be able to answer quickly, but if you need an ear, I’m here,” he says as he hands the phone back.
"I can't take your jumper," Whitaker says weakly.
"You're not, you're borrowing it, and when I get back, we can see about you returning it."
-
Robby leaves and Whitaker stays in the chapel for a little longer before heading home. He can't get over how nice the jumper is, how soft it is, how it smells of him. He doesn't want to take it off, and so he doesn't.
He does ignore Santos' pointed stare at it, and at him wearing it. Instead he just focuses on dinner and food, and making them something. He feels in the pocket and pulls out a note. He unfolds it and smiles.
'Do you want to go on a date with me' with two check boxes saying yes and yes. Dennis blushes furiously, but marks yes for both takes a picture and sends it to Robby's number.
Robby sends back a date, time and a location, in just over three months.
'it's a date' is how Whitaker responds.