Chapter Text
“Ma, seriously– I’m fine,” A young, maybe eighteen or nineteen year-old-boy with a blonde mullet was dragged into the Emergency Department of Pittsburgh.
“Baby, Dennis, no you ain’t. Sunshine done bit your fingers off clean.” An older lady, maybe in her fifties, chided, wearing a sundress next to her clearly rebellious son that wore a band shirt over dirtied with mud jeans.
Led through Chairs, Dennis–supposedly–was holding his hand to his chest covered by a bandage, wrapped up tight and with blood leaking through. Various people were talking over each other in the waiting room, some fanning each other for a good reason. Temperatures had just hit over 90 degrees in the heart of Pittsburgh, and with those temperatures came various heatstroke people from the looks of it. Dennis managed to take a few glances before being pulled by his dominant hand–the uninjured one–to the front desk.
Dennis wasn’t exactly paying attention but the way that the front desk person reacted and called for a “Dr. Robby”–which was probably not protocol–it was obvious something was serious.
“A doctor will be with you soon, you may take a seat.” The front desk receptionist was proved wrong as the waiting room doors opened and a tall man that was definitely way older than Dennis beckoned the two to come in.
Okay, yeah, definitely way too old as the sundress-wearing woman yet again dragged Dennis towards who he assumed was the doctor– maybe doctor Robby? The doors shut behind them as the doctor led them to the main area. He spoke as he walked with the lady and Dennis.
“I apologize for the not-exactly-standard admitting, but we are in a situation. I am Doctor Robinavitch but you may call me Doctor Robby, most patients do, and– Dana! Any rooms open?” Dennis was right. Dr. Robby subconsciously put a hand on the smaller man's shoulder and the woman looked offended. “Obvious case of teeth vs. hand.”
Dana–a nurse from the looks of it–glanced up and nodded, jerking her head to the side. “North 12. Cleaned and ready. Should I get Langdon?”
Almost immediately Dr. Robby shook his head. “No. Send, uh… Javadi and Mohan.”
The nurse nodded and again Dennis was led to some part of the emergency department. He saw all the computer error screens and his boots clacked against the tiled floor following Dr. Robby.
“Oh, I remember this… wonderful non-technical! Before all the phones and computers and technology! Ain’t you an example of that?” Mrs. Whitaker–assumed by Dr. Robby–cooed lightly in Dennis’ utter embarrassment.
North 12 smelled like disinfectant and other medical stuff, and for the most part he didn’t mind the smell. As Dr. Robby put some sanitizer on his hands and gloved up, Dennis took a seat on the bed-gurney thing and Mrs. Whitaker took a seat on a normal chair, hands folded in her lap. She was more interested in the surroundings especially as Dr. Robby did the usual… routine stuff for a patient. Two more doctors came in–Dr. Javadi and Dr. Mohan–though the latter did not look amused. More annoyed at Dr. Robby, and empathetic towards Dennis. He averted his gaze awkwardly.
“Robby, are you kidding me?” Dr. Mohan’s voice was stern as she crossed her arms.
“Guilty. Both traumas are taken– Abbot’s in for his shift change anyway.” Dr. Robby raised his arms in surrender.
Dr. Javadi from the looks of it kept out of the argument.
“Did you at least write it down?” Dr. Mohan continued.
“Dana did. She’s the reason I’m not out on an open stretch’a road right now too.” Dr. Robby turned to face Dennis finally.
“You work on a farm?” The abrupt change of conversation caused Dr. Mohan to scoff and put on gloves anyway.
Dennis opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Mrs. Whitaker cut in for her poor son. “Yes, he does. Used ta work on one ‘til his Daddy yelled at ‘em ‘nd he ran off!”
His face reddened slightly. “I– I still do.”
Beside the bed, Dr. Mohan sat down on one of those rolly chairs with Javadi next to her. A clipboard was in the lavender-jacket wearing girl and a pen, too.
“Mohan, you two know the drill.” Dr. Robby affirmed before moving to stand beside Dennis opposite of the two other.
Dennis–for the most part–absentmindedly answered the questions but every single time he got somewhat flustered whenever Dr. Robby spoke to him. Mrs. Whitaker answered some too about the farm whilst the cleaning of the wound happened. It was… deep. The cow–Sunshine–had managed to bite off Dennis’ pinky and the upper half of his index finger. A pretty clean bite but still it had to be cleaned. More than likely, there would need to be surgery to suture up the bites according to Dr. Robby. Aftercare would be normal and the only type of aftercare Dennis could think of was the kind Dr. Robby gave–
–he is twenty. And Dr. Robby is at least 48.
Most of those thoughts had blurred together with the day he was kept in the hospital for supervision after the surgery that he… mostly forgot about, but thankfully everything came clearer around the day two mark due to a complication. And now Dennis was stuck in the hospital room with an as-hot man typing stuff into the console. The technology had come back on the day of July 6th which was a hopeful surprise for Dr. Robby and the other doctors. Mrs. Whitaker had gone home after bringing Dennis a change of clothes, being some black and white flannel pants and a loose white shirt clearly from the farm.
Dr. Robby had given Dennis an extra coat because he knew how cold it could get at night. Dr. Shen was walking proof of that via always having some sort of hoodie or undershirt on under his scrubs.
“Whitaker Farms– nice name.” The man–a doctor–had spoken.
Dennis perked up at the name– Whitaker Farms. The doctor continued. “Your family work there?”
“Uh, y– yeah. They, um… founded it. Back in the 70s.” He muttered sheepishly.
“Hmm,” The doctor hummed, logging out of the console and taking a seat on the rolly seat, “Robby didn’t introduce me ‘m assumin’. Dr. Abbot.”
Dennis nodded, realizing that he probably should return the favour. “Dennis. Dennis Whitaker– that was on my file, right?”
Dr. Abbot shook his head. He didn’t seem to mind it, though– in his too-many-years of treating patients, Dennis was just another one of them that didn’t go by their birth assigned name.
“Trust me, Dennis, stayin’ here ain’t as bad. You said Whitaker Farms was founded in th’ 1970s?” A thankful conversation shift. At the farmboys nod, Dr. Abbot lightly smirked. “Used t’go there before I was deployed.”
“Always had th’best apples. Apples, corn, oranges, y’name it. Milk there too was hella good. Fresh, even processed without all that additions th’store usually got. Robby used t’threaten t’throw me into th’pens with the cows ‘nd horses. Scared th’Hell outta me. I still got a fear of horses.”
Dennis looked surprised. Here he was, staying overnight at the ED, having a night shift doctor talk to him about his past. Wasn’t that a pull? He decided to ask something that had been on his mind for a while now, though he wasn’t able to get the question in. It was a slow shift.
“How, uh… how did you get into medicine…?” A slight silence followed after that question and he feared he shouldn’t’ve asked that. “...sorry.”
Dr. Abbot shook his head twice, “Don’t be, kid.” He supposes he can give a brief story. This kid was raised on a farm– clearly with an interest for medicine, “I was… drafted, ‘nd durin’ it I had an accident.”
Dennis tilted his head, and Dr. Abbot just slightly continued. “After that, got me out, I went inta medicine. Thinkin’ bout the doctor career?”
The boy nodded. “Y’got that vibe.”
And became slightly flustered at the comment.
Dennis briefly looked away.
“My Dad didn’t want me going into medicine… said my place was on the farm.” He admitted though.
Of course. Dr. Abbot patted Dennis’ shoulder. “Don’t listen t’em. Get int’med school if y’want.”
Outside a different doctor knocked on the door and gestured for Dr. Abbot. He gave a departing smile before standing up, briefly wincing, though making it out the door. The curtains were closed for privacy. Night shift was always easier to handle, as there was just bi-hourly checks to make sure he hadn’t gone septic. Which, according to one of the other doctors–Dr. Shen?–was a high possibility with how vulnerable the surgery made Dennis’ hand. He settled into the bed quietly, hand subconsciously reaching up to where the cold necklace met warm skin and held it from above his shirt. Sleep didn’t come easy with the light beeping but at least the lights were out.
Dennis was finally discharged come July 10th, under Robby’s supervision. Antibiotics, a number to call if there was any pain out of the normal, a physical therapy clinic if needed, among other things were given to Mrs. Whitaker while they were close to leaving.
“Thanks, uh… Doctor Robby.” Dennis muttered as his aunt-mother gushed.
“Dr. Robby you are absolutely the best. If ya’d like to visit me and ma son then you just call me right up and I can set up anything. A little talk, a hangout, a date…?”
“Ma.” His face was definitely turning red.
“I’ll think about it, Mrs. Whitaker. Probably not a date.” Dr. Robby had a hint of amusement in his voice, arms crossed and glasses hooked on his scrub shirt collar.
The moment Dennis had enough courage to look at Dr. Robby they locked eyes and the younger had to immediately look away. He would not acknowledge the fact that he definitely found the older attending hot. Like, really hot. Mrs. Whitaker continued to talk about the possibility of her setting up a date between Dr. Robby and Dennis. It went on for another minute before Mrs. Whitaker finally excused herself for talking way too much and as they began to depart, Dr. Robby held out two of his hands for some sort of double fist bump.
“Don’t need to.” He affirmed.
Dennis stared with a bit of surprise in his eyes before he returned the gesture, their knuckles lightly colliding as he muttered a quick goodbye upon realizing his mother left without him.
As the two finally left out of earshot, Dana had been lurking around and watched the interaction.
She definitely knew even as Dr. Robby went to tend to a different patient.
Dana basically knew… well, everything that happened in The Pitt. Even an attending having a really unethical crush.