Chapter Text
“Is Dr. Robby okay?”
The ED had finally returned to regular levels of chaos. ‘Course they were still analog, and they were still takin’ double the load, and the waitin’ room was still overheatin’, but all in all, things had definitely calmed down. No more water-slide victims on route, and most of the younger folk seemed to finally be gettin’ the hang of this paperwork shit. Dana could finally breathe.
‘Course it didn’t take long for someone to pull her from her flow state—though, it was pretty damn hard to be annoyed when it was Dr. Whitaker.
He stared at her with those puppy-dog-eyes. The kid leant against the nurses station and kept his voice real low—not low enough that the nurses could sniff out that somethin’ juicy was bein’ discussed, but he wasn’t exactly advertisin’ himself, either.
Peerin’ from behind her glasses, Dana looked back at the file in her hand, driftin’ closer as if he were askin’ her about a patient. She arched her brows, pushin’ her glasses lower on her nose.
“‘Course he is,” she replied. Dana studied the paperwork and tried to make sense of the illegible handwriting. Doctors. And here she thought she’d gotten good at deciphering their scribbles.
“Are you, uh,” Whitaker shifted his weight, flickering his eyes around the room as if he were expectin’ Robby to peek his head around a corner and fire him. “Sure? About… him being, uh, okay?”
Dana made a final flick with her pencil before handing off the paper, orderin’ one of the volunteers to put it in with the others, and reachin’ for another thing to busy herself with.
“He’s just tired,” She answered. She read, checked, and handed that file off, too. Back to Whitaker: Dana flashed a smile and mirrored him, leanin’ with her hands clasped. “He’s off in a few hours, can you blame him for checkin’ out a bit early? This trip’s been a long time comin’.”
Dana thought about pushin’ off and leavin’ well enough alone. But there was somethin’ about Whitaker that gave her pause. So she lingered. His face was set, the bags under his eyes lookin’ a lot deeper than they had that morning. His mouth was tight. There was more on his mind.
Her lazy smile fell away, and she felt her eyebrows press together.
“What’s up, kid?” Dana asked, gaze drifting beyond his shoulder. Perlah and Princess stood by the wall, engrossed in their murmurings. She could make out the hum of Tagalog beneath the ED’s chatter, which meant something juicy was being spilled. Dana just hoped they were too engrossed in today’s gossip to listen to her and Whitaker. Then again, they were damn good at multi-tasking.
She pulled her glasses off and gave them a polish on her sleeve, lettin’ Whitaker find his words in his own time. Yeah, the ED was busy, and yeah, she had shit to do, and yeah, Whitaker always had a wet-sad-dog way about him, but something was off today. She felt it in the air. Something bitter was lingerin’ beneath the nose-crinkling stench of sanitization.
‘Is Robby Okay’ was not a sentence Dana was stranger to. ’Course it wasn’t daily someone begged the question, but it happened enough to make Dana have a sorta six-sense about it. Most of the time—especially these past few weeks—she’d been able to give the same answer, always with absolute certainty: Yeah. He’s just tired. His trip’s soon. Been a long time coming. He deserves it. Yadda-yadda-yadda, then back to work.
But like Perlah and Princess, she was damn good at listenin’. All nurses were—it came with the job. And today? Perched behind her impenetrable wall of paperwork and files? Sweaty nurses and whiteboards? She’d seen and heard an awful lot. And if Dana was one damn thing, it was a good reader of emotion. Every time Abbot went up to that roof, she’d know whether to let Robby find him on his own, or if Abbot needed company sooner rather than later. And each time a doctor stepped out of a quiet, lifeless room, she knew whether or not to tell them to get some air.
Today? Gee, well, she couldn’t exactly tell Robby to leave a day early, much as she thought she should. Man’d been at the end of his rope a week ago.
So all this system shut off, Al-Hashimi, Langdon stuff really couldn’t have come at a worse time. She’d been watchin’ his slow boil all day. What was that expression? About the frog in the pot that didn’t realize it was getting cooked till it was too late?
This was kinda like that.
“Did you know he’s leaving today?” Whitaker admitted, like it was some big, secret scandal. Dana felt herself smile when he leaned in, comically conspiratorial.
“Don’t tell me you’re just hearing about the sabbatical now.” She couldn’t help but laugh, head droopin’. Thank fuck: here she’d thought it was goin’ to be something actually worryin’. “Jeez, kid, he’s had this planned for—“
“No,” Whitaker insisted, a crease formin’ between his brows. The kid’d been like a… like a sick baby bird for his first few months here. But confidence and surety had been making rare appearances these past weeks. So in a rare display of confidence, he maintained eye contact. “I mean, he’s leaving today. According to his friend, uh,” And just like that, as if he remembered who and where he was, his confidence whittled away, and Whitaker’s gaze dropped. “Duke. We were in the—I was doing a check up for a, uh—with Robby, and—“ Dana cracked a smile. Before she could chime in with a quip of encouragement, though, Whitaker got a hold of himself. “Duke said he was leaving tonight. And riding through the night instead of getting sleep, or—or—“ Whitaker shifted his weight. “And I told Dr. Robby it was a bad idea, and he just… smiled?”
Dana tapped her glasses against her palm. The ED’s noise—chatter and machines and groans of pain—faded away as she thought, mouth pursed tight.
“He’s goin’ straight after his shift?” She clarified. It was her turn to frown, and Dana barely stopped herself from leaning in, too. Then Perlah and Princess’d really have a field day.
“That was my impression?”
“Robby?” She folded her glasses and slipped them onto the collar of her scrubs, unable to help the frown that continued to grow. She covered it with an incredulous smile—tried to keep their convo nice and light. “What, does he have a death wish or something?” Whitaker shrugged. Dana was going to keep pressin’, but she saw something else on his face. His mouth parted just a bit before he recoiled back into himself, eyes dropping to the floor. “Hey, kid. There more?”
So much for keepin’ it light.
Whitaker ran his tongue over his teeth and broke, voice fast and low as he dragged his eyes to hers. “We were talking in the break room, earlier, and—and he asked if I could house sit for him. And I said yes, and then he said that—“ Pause. Frown. “That if he doesn’t come back, I’ll get a… a ‘swinging bachelor pad.’” The words were stiff and awkward comin’ out of Whitaker.
Dana’s first thought was that that was just one of Robby’s damn stupid jokes. But she couldn’t ignore the way her six-sense went off. She pulled in a breath and shook her head—no point in makin’ the kid worry.
“Well, you know Dr. Robby. It was probably just a bad joke. ‘Side’s, he’s no idiot. He’ll prolly take one step toward his beloved motorcycle before realizin’ how bad he needs sleep. But I’ll make sure to check in on him before he heads out, how’s that sound?” That seemed to mollify Whitaker. Dana picked up a nearby paper and frowned. Great. Yet another sheet sent without a sticker. She backed up, flashin’ him a final, short smile. “Thanks for tellin’ me, Doctor. Chin up. Shift’s almost over.”
With that, Dana turned, and Whitaker’s puppy-dog face faded into the chaotic, gruesome renaissance painting that was their beloved Pitt. First thing she saw when she turned was Monica Peters, givin’ her a look. Dana just passed the paper to one of the volunteers.
“These need stickers, remember? Patient stickers. Find whoever handed this in and get them to fix it.”
The volunteer nodded and ran off. Dana watched her go and let herself breath, absently pullin’ her glasses off her neckline and turning them over in her hands. Over and over and over. Ignorin’ gut instinct’ was provin’ plenty hard. Whitaker’s words hung heavier than the smell of medical-grade sanitization, replayin’ in her head like a catchy tune she wanted desperately to forget.
Her gaze got soft as she leant against the nurses station, feelin’ her frown deepen.
‘Course Whitaker wouldn’t lie about a thing like this. Now, Robby wasn’t stranger to doin’ stupid and dangerous things, but something about this left a bad taste in her mouth. If he hadn’t been actin’ fuckin’ off all day, she might not have given it a second thought.
But that shitshow with Samira? Man was havin’ an off day, that much was for sure.
But would Robby actually drive a whole night through, ‘specially after a shift like today?
That comment about the house—that had to be a joke. She could imagine Robby sayin’ it, thinkin’ it was so damn funny. She swallowed. Must be a joke, right? Robby’d been in low places—all healthcare workers had—but he’d never actually…
“You look like you’re gonna be sick.”
Dana rolled her eyes and turned to Monica, who regarded her from a swivel chair. Monica then lifted her pack of cigarettes and gave them a little shake.
Dana smiled and looked away. “Don’t tempt me. I’m tryna quit, remember?”
Monica set them down. “Everyone’s tryna quit. They’re here if you need them.”
Dana chuckled, but it didn’t last long. Robby rounded the corner behind Monica, rubbing sanitizer into his hands and taking a long look over his kingdom.
It ain’t every day a resident came to their charge nurse askin’ about one of the attendings, that’s for fuckin’ sure.
Dana crossed her arms, approaching when she realized Robby was on his way over. Like Whitaker, he leaned against one of the desks, hands clasped in front of himself. His eyes were locked on one of the patient rooms behind Dana.
“McKay’s with the cancer mom,” he said. Dana felt a familiar tightness creep over her, and she swallowed.
“Yeah. Sad.” Her eyes flickered back to Robby. “At least she’s with family. That’s gotta count for something.”
Robby made a face—not quite a smile, but not exactly a frown, either.
“Well.” He pushed away from the station, hands resting on either side of the stethoscope slung over his shoulders. “We need the rooms.” Regarded the whiteboard, wrinkles deepening as he thought. “We can move…”
Dana tuned him out—it was her turn to lean against one of the desks. Their doctors were smart. They could figure out room arrangements without the attending giving his two cents.
“How you doing?” She interrupted. Robby didn’t so much as look at her. He just pulled in a breath and gave his head a half-shake, hands still clasped tightly on his stethoscope.
“Two more hours.” He exhaled, long and slow, managing another not-quite-smile. “Then it’s just me and the open road.”
Dana kept starin’. “You leavin’ first thing tomorrow?”
For the first time, Robby met her eyes. And he really did smile this time. It didn’t unravel the knot in her gut. If anythin’, it only made it tighter.
“Whitaker pop by?” He smiled, deepenin’ his crows-feet.
So the kid wasn’t bein’ hyperbolic, or exaggerative, or any other fancy word. Robby really was gonna do somethin’ stupid. Dana couldn’t help the incredulous chuckle that rattled her chest.
“You know, in terms of stupid ideas, pullin’ an all nighter on a motorcycle after a twelve-hour-shift has gotta be up there.”
Robby returned to the whiteboard, starting to back away. He lifted his hands off the stethoscope and clasped them together, managin’ another smile that oozed anythin’ but joy. “Good call with Monica. There might be a way through this shitshow afterall.”
Before Dana could reply, he’d been swallowed by the ED’s cacophony—but not before stopping to collect some more hand-sanatizer.
She exhaled, straightening up. Dr. Robby: king of avoiding shit.
Dana didn’t have time to sit and stare and worry, though. This was an ER, and she had a job to be damn good at. So Dana pushed away from the edge of the desk and took hand of more files—not before somethin’ caught her eye.
Dr. Whitaker lingered on the other side of the ER, pausin’ as a pair of nurses wheeled a bed past him. His downturned eyes met hers, an unspoken question on his lips.
She flashed him a tired smile. They were all tired. ‘Specially Robby. But he was no idiot. He’d see sense. He always did, if the fact that he and Abbot always came down from that roof meant a thing.
Dana shook herself off and got back to work. If that damn knot in her gut didn’t leave by the end of shift, then she’d just have to drown it later tonight, with a beer and some fuckin’ sleep.
///
“Car collision!” Dana called, pressing the red phone to her chest. She rattled off the details: Two cars, four passengers. One dead on scene, three on route with sirens. One critical. The crush happened nearby—ambulances minutes away.
Frank Langdon didn’t wait before jumping into the action, along with half the room. Luckily, the trauma rooms were clear, and a few more patient rooms just opened up. If they were lucky, this would be the last ‘big deal’ before shift ended.
Hopefully, they’d even beat the firework rush.
Frank shrugged off thoughts of Mel and her sister and overtime, and hastily snapped on a pair of blue gloves, following Dr. Al-Hashimi and Santos to the ambulance bay. He pulled in a long, slow breath, knowing it might be one of the last few he got down before the adrenaline kicked in.
Some first day back, huh?
Frank found his eyes focusing on the ground as he jogged, watching the heels of doctors ahead. Santos would probably give him a dirty look if she realized he was following her.
Frank replayed words he’d heard many times during the past ten months: All you can do is apologize. The rest is out of your hands.
Didn’t quite make himself feel totally better, but it took some of the nervous edge off. He’d apologized to people who deserved apologies. And now he was ready to work.
He shook himself off and pulled his eyes off the floor, and none too quickly. He skidded to a stop, nearly ramming into the incoming gurney. Robby was already at it’s head, alongside Santos and a nurse whose name Frank didn’t know. He still wasn’t totally used to just how much had changed. Everything seemed unnervingly identical, until a pack of new, unknown faces walked by.
Dr. Al-Hashimi and another small group progressed into the ambulance bay, awaiting the next arrival, as Frank fell in step with the first gurney. He came opposite of Santos, taking in the information Robby was relaying.
Passenger in the backseat. Whiplash, probable head trauma. Wearing a seatbelt, a few small abrasions from glass, responding well. The only blood came from a small trickle beside the young man’s left ear. Robby fell quiet—it was only when Frank looked up did he realize Robby had left the gurney entirely, and was returning to the ambulance bay.
Frank swallowed and returned to the patient.
“I’m Dr. Langdon. You’re at the Pittsburg Trauma Medical Centre. Are you in any pain?” Frank asked. Not breaking their eye-contact, the man gave his head a small shake and winced.
“I have a headache, but I’m fine, really. EMS said it was a miracle, considering.” He flashed a smile, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to sit up. Frank guided him back down with a hand to his chest. Best not risk anything. Why wasn’t he in a neck brace yet? “But is—is Sam okay?”
Speak of the devil. As if on cue, the doors to the ambulance bay erupted. In came the driver—Sam, probably—and Frank saw more blood than man. Most of the guy’s clothes were drenched in blood. Perlah and yet another new nurse were in the process of cutting his clothes, and Frank couldn’t help but wince as they pulled off his shirt. Large, angry shards of glass were lodged into his chest and stomach. Some were small, but others…
Frank didn’t wait before abandoning the dazed passenger with Santos and Whitaker, who’d joined them amidst the chaos. Langdon found an open spot, wrapped his hands round the side, and helped push.
Across from him, Robby stood with his hands clasped around an angry wound on the driver’s thigh, blood spouting from between his gloved fingers.
Robby’s voice cut through the chaos. “Langdon, take care of the passenger.”
“He’s not critical,” Frank shot back. They neared the trauma room. “Just a little scratched up. Whitaker can—“
Robby gave his head a shake, not looking up. “Don’t talk back to me, Langdon.” Louder: “He’s in hemorrhagic shock, we needed to stop this bleeding yesterday. Where’s—“
Frank swallowed, clinging to Robby’s every word. The adrenaline had definitely set in, making everything loud and sharp. He didn’t know why, but he found his attention falling on Al-Hashimi, who stood opposite him. She met his eyes, too, before they both looked back at Robby.
Frank waited till Robby was finished rattling off drugs for the nurses to get before saying, “I can be more help if—“
“I said no, Dr. Langdon!” snapped Robby. He looked over his shoulder, at Dana, who was watching from beside the red phone. Frank’s eyes ran down Robby’s arms, to where his hands pressed into the man’s leg wound. Blood just kept coming. “Where’s our third?”
Dana shrugged and raised her voice. “EMS said there were three on route, I’ll let you know when…” She faded as they pushed into the trauma room, doors swinging shut. Chatter and noise disappeared. All was covered in a blanket of silence, only interrupted by brisk, focused commands.
“Let’s get Dr. Garcia down here,” Al-Hashimi said to nobody in particular. One of the nurses decided that was their job and hurried to the phone, jabbing the buttons and leaving bloody fingerprints. Frank lingered beside the gurney, watching darkness continue to ooze from between Robby’s fingers.
Pressure wasn’t stopping this thing.
Frank pulled in a breath. “We should—“
Robby’s eyes lifted from the fountain, briefly catching Frank’s. “What are you still doing here?”
Frank tried not to shrink under the influx of eyes on him. He opened his mouth to reply, but Dr. Al-Hashimi beat him to it.
“Dr. Langdon will be more helpful here, Dr. Robby,” She clipped.
“We need to pack it,” Robby pushed on, voice cutting over hers. Then, bitter and low, he added, “If you can’t follow orders, Dr. Langdon, then you can get out of my ER.”
Al-Hashimi hardened. “And I’m saying that he should—“
A noise at the door. Dana, leaning in. Heads turned in tandem. Langdon looked over a second later, letting his shoulders droop.
“Third ambulance has arrived. She’s responsive, no outward tr—“
“Langdon. Go,” Robby ordered, looking at the pulse monitor. Tachycardia. Severe hypotension by now. This guy needed blood. They were going to have to— “Give her some bandaids, kiss her boo-boos, and don’t be the reason we can’t fucking save him!”
Even though the room was alive and machines dinged and whirred and—and Langdon could swear there was a break in the chaos. He hated the feeling of people staring. Yet that’s all today had been—people looking and whispering, even if they’d never admit it.
He stepped away from the gurney, allowing someone else—one of the new students—to take his place. Once again, he found himself briefly meeting Al-Hashimi’s eyes. She gave him a look—something apologetic, maybe—before returning to the patient, spitting out information on vitals and… and other important things that blurred into each other.
The adrenaline was easy to push through when you had a goal, when you had something to focus on. But the minute it got ahead of you? The minute you stopped and let yourself feel it?
Frank took another step back.
Dr. Robby didn’t so much as pass him a glance. After another moment of staring, Frank pushed out of the trauma room, from one chaos into another. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back, his hair to his forehead. And he’d barely lifted a finger. He turned back to the trauma room. Bodies moved. Looked like they were preparing to shock—Sam had must have gone into V-fib. His gaze fell. Blood stained the floor. Frank trailed it from the trauma room, all the way back to the ambulance bay. A nurse was trying to clean it, but was having trouble with the foot traffic. Frank looked at his hands—no sterile blue shown through the blood. Funny, because he couldn’t remember pressing his hands over a wound like Robby had. Maybe he had, and didn’t remember it. Or maybe there had just been that much blood.
Pulling them off, he ignored the feeling of eyes, watching. Even if, whenever he looked up, nobody was actually looking, he could still feel them. He still knew they were. If not looking, then whispering. He dropped his blood-stained gloves into the trash and reminded himself that all he could do was apologize. It was out of his hands if people chose to accept it or not, or how they decided to see him. All he was in control of was himself.
Still. He couldn’t deny it hurt.
He slipped on a fresh pair of gloves over and joined Jessie by the incoming gurney, steering it toward one of the open patient rooms.
“I’m Dr. Langdon. Don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” He smiled at the young woman, who blinked rapidly at the ceiling, tears in her eyes. “Can you tell me your name, miss…?”
Somewhere behind him, a pulse went flat.
///
Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi closed her eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. Their driver—Samuel Black, according to the bloody license Princess had pulled from his tattered pocket—had gone flat three times: they’d been able to bring him back the first two. But the shards had gone deeper than they’d thought. Some had even entered his blood stream, clogging too many places all at once. All the glass, partnered with the blood loss, the blunt trauma, and the pre-existing congenital heart issue, meant that the third time his pulse went dead… they tried, they really did, but his heart just… gave up.
She pulled herself straight and shuddered in a breath. He was young. Maybe eighteen? Couldn’t be more than twenty—same as his friends, who sat a few rooms over. Probably texting. Or telling jokes, trying to ward off their anxieties. Smiling with desperate, unspoken hope that… Well, that Samuel Black would pop into their rooms, grinning and flopping onto the foot of their bed and…
No use thinking about things that would never happen.
They were having a moment of silence, as directed by Robby. Dr. Garcia had escaped before she could be forced into it. That was a reason Baran never did go into surgery—it was just so cold, so clinical. It removed humanity from medicine: people became specimens to dissect.
Baran took the opportunity to stare at Robby, who was looking at the body. Blood pooled around Mr. Black’s thigh, forming small puddles on the floor. Crumpled, blood-stained dressings… needle packets, little jars of medicine they’d used up.
Baran tuned it all out and organized just what she was going to say to Robby. To begin, she found it very hard to believe he was always this unempathetic and unprofessional. She wanted to like him. In many ways she did. But ignoring logic in favour of, what, a grudge? Langdon was a senior resident. Sending a senior resident to evaluate a concussion, while another patient was bleeding out a door down? She didn’t know Dr. Langdon well, but she could tell he was competent. More than competent.
And all that, barely an hour after laughing in the face of another resident who was experiencing a personal crisis?
There were professional ways of telling an employee to go home if their head wasn’t in the game. That, she had no problem with. But what Dr. Robby had done was downright cruel—not to mention the fact it had been in front of numerous colleagues. And then their conversation afterward? The complete denial of responsibility? The avoidance?
Baran looked out the glass doors. The ED was a hubbub of life. Not for the first time, the idea of speaking to Dana crossed her mind. She wasn’t blind to the reactions of others. If they shrugged off Dr. Robby’s behaviour, she’d’ve just assumed they all had a strange sort of rapport she was intruding upon. Or that, perhaps, there was an unhealthy work environment here that had flown under HR’s radar. Baran would certainly judge, but she would resign to change things once he left with a clear conscience.
But something was going on which Baran clearly did not understand.
She did not see anger or annoyance or resignation in the faces of others when Dr. Robby said and did the things he did. She saw surprise, confusion, and even concern.
Five more seconds passed before Robby broke the silence and thanked the room. Everything groaned back to life. Nurses slowly began tidying, but Robby beelined for the doors. Baran followed without a word, stepping into the ED after him.
Collecting herself, she called: “Dr. R—“
Only, Dr. Langdon intercepted him before he could so much as turn to her. Robby inhaled sharply and diverted course to a container of hand-santizier. He discarded his gloves and began slathering his hands in the stuff, eyes on the floor as Langdon spoke.
“Both passengers are fine. One is awaiting some brain scans, another needed stitches for a gash on his forehead, but they’re fine. Did the driver—“
“Couldn’t restart his heart,” Robby replied curtly, focused on his hands. Baran drifted to the nurses station. Though she observed from afar, she was ready to jump in should she have to. She really didn’t want to have to. Then Robby’s voice took on an edge, and she felt herself teeter. “I’m still in charge of this ED for the next…” he checked his watch, “Ninety minutes. So till the clock strikes seven, when I tell you to do something, you do it.”
“Look, Robby, I already—“
Robby laughed sullenly, shaking his head with a grim look, still directed at the floor. “Oh, no, no. We are not doing this again.”
Dr. Robby tried to step past, but Langdon blocked his path. He came in hot, only to catch himself and lower his voice—not before flickering his eyes around the room. So did Baran. Nobody was looking.
“Please, listen. I know I broke your trust, but—“
“Get out of my way, Langdon. We’re not having this conversation again.” Robby sounded unusually harsh, for the man she’d been introduced to that morning. Baran shifted—Dana approached, eyes locked on the interaction between Robby and Langdon, too.
“What’s goin’ on?” Dana asked, settling beside her.
Baran stared forward, nervously drumming her fingers on the table.
“Dr. Robby isn’t usually like this, is he?” She asked, even though she knew the answer. Baran hazard a glance at Dana. Her face was set like stone, eyes narrowed in on Langdon and Robby.
“No.”
“Is he…” Baran fought to find the right words, only to settle on one which mostly captured her meaning. “…okay?”
This time, Dana chuckled, though there was no humor in it. It only made Baran more uneasy. “You’re not the first person to ask that.”
Oh, good. So she wasn’t going crazy.
She tuned back into Langdon’s voice, sensing she wasn’t going to get more out of Dana. Not yet, at least.
“…got help. Okay? It’s okay if you want to hate me for the rest of my life, but this is my job. Let’s just… be professional about this. Please.”
“Let’s be professional?” Robby laughed again, and Baran felt that familiar, nervous pang tug at her chest. She should step in and stop this before it boiled over. If Dr. Robby could berate a subordinate for having a panic attack, then surely he’d understand if Baran gave her equal a small reminder about keeping personal issues separate from the workplace.
“Let’s be professional? I wasn’t supposed to see you again. Understand? I wasn’t supposed to see you again. So I’m being perfectly professional, considering the fact that you are here. In this ER!” Robby was getting louder, loud enough that Baran noticed a few head turns. He spat out the words, each accented by an incredulous shake of his head. She swallowed, hesitating. Of course, if she intervened, that really would give people something to gawk at. “That’s filled with—with unstable residents, who let personal issues fuck with work! And shitty, new-age AI programs that make more problems than they solve! And with unstable doctors I can’t even trust not to—!"
Baran winced and pushed away from the nurses station.
///
Dana watched the scene with a deep frown. Wasn’t every day the attending blew up on a subordinate. ‘Specially not in the middle of the ER, loudly. And yet there they were. Dana had to admit, Al-Hashimi, she was good. Smart, too, ‘cause she didn’t just stand around and let this shit spiral. Nah, the doc briskly stepped between Robby and Langdon with a curt, strained smile.
“Dr. Robby. Dr. Langdon.” Dr. Al-Hashimi looked between them. “Anything I can help with?”
Silence. Robby pulled in a breath, hiking his shoulders.
“Langdon was just asking for an update on our car driver,” he said, all in one breath. He finished scrubbing his hands and gripped either side of his stethoscope again, shoulders droopin’. Exhale. “I was just letting him know that Mr. Black did not make it.”
Dr. Al-Hashimi nodded, like a parent dealin’ with a coupl’a fuedin’ kids. Twas the life of a healthcare worker: doctors could be surprisingly immature. Then again, most adults were surprisingly immature. Dana cast a steely look ‘round. She caught sight of a couple nurses who, once they saw her, scurried off like scared mice. Damn doctors with their damn gossip.
Al-Hashimi continued. “Well, then, maybe we should…” her voice got real low, overwhelmed by the rest of the ER. Dana strained to hear. Yeah, yeah, it was hypocritical. But, unlike the other nurses, she wasn’t lookin’ for gossip. She reckoned the next bit was somethin’ like: “Find somewhere private. I’d like to talk to you.” Etcetera, etcetera. Dana couldn’t stop the grim smile that broke. Wrong move, doc. That was just handin’ the guy somethin’ to avoid.
A voice to Dana’s left pulled her, just for a moment, away from the unhappy trio.
“Now you really look like you could use a cig,” said Monica. Dana shook her head.
“This ain’t gonna end well,” She replied absently, hands once again finding her glasses. Turnin’ them over. “Guess it’s better this way, though. That everyone’s shit spirals all at once, rather than this ED bein’ a perpetual...” Eugh, she was tryin’ not to be too negative. Don’t say shitshow. Don’t say shitshow. “…mess.”
Monica’s laugh was gruff and wheezy. It was the sorta laugh that told ya that a person had lived a long, eventful life. “Inspiring.”
Langdon said somethin’ Dana couldn’t begin to make out. Then Al-Hashimi again. Robby just stood there, listenin’. He wasn’t payin’ attention, though—Dana could tell by the way he stared off, deep in thought.
Dana said a quiet prayer that the show was over.
She pulled in a breath, straightened up, and turned. Back to work. There were still people to save, not to mention bloodstains to mop up. Literally. There was still half a trail into the trauma room. Slipping her glasses back on her collar, she tried for a real smile.
“Lucky for us, I’m not usually the one givin’ the pep talks ‘round here.” Dana looked out over the ER. Little lost Emma Nolan was nowhere to be seen—probably got cajoled into doin’ one of the senior nurses’ dirtier work. Ought to change that. Lucky for her, Olive was on her way by. Dana gave her a nod. “Hey, you seen that new grad nurse? Little thing, sorta like a baby lamb?” That got a smile outta Monica. “Emma Nolan? It’s finally quiet, and I think it’s about time she met our baby Jane—“
“For God’s sake, this is an ER, not a—a sharing circle!”
Guess she spoke too soon. Dana turned sharply, pressing a hand to her glasses so they wouldn’t fly off her collar. As always when there was somethin’ loud, heads turned. Dana saw some lose interest when they realized a patient wasn’t dyin’, but others stared, takin’ in the drama.
So much for keepin’ personal shit personal.
“Dr. Robby.” Al-Hashimi looked frazzled. “I didn’t—“
Robby laughed the way he always did when he was pissed, smilin’ like the situation was funny, even when it wasn’t. Shit.
Monica scoffed. “You said somethin’ about a sabbatical, right?”
Al-Hashimi, at least, seemed conscious about not makin’ a scene. Hushed and rapid, she did her best to calm down both parties. Or, rather, one party: Langdon was just standing, arms crossed, lookin’ anywhere but Robby and Al-Hashimi. Poor guy. Some first day. If Dana thought she needed a beer, he’d need a dozen.
Al-Hashimi continued, pressing her hands together, voice lowering. “I wasn’t implying—”
“Jee-sus! I’m not saying you were implying anything, either.” Robby didn’t catch the hint about the whole volume-thing. He was always miraculously lackin’ in self-awareness. “I am just saying that this is an ER. We are doctors, we have jobs to do, we can’t—“ He let out another strained laugh, eyes risin’ to the ceiling. “You can run this place however you want once I’m gone, you can drive it into the ground, but not till I’m gone. We’re doctors, we save people, we don’t run around and—and indulge personal goddamn drama.”
Al-Hashimi cast a look around the room, suckin’ in a breath. Dana wished she could’a said nobody had noticed the exchange, but she’d be lyin’. Even if few advertised their eavesdroppin’, the drop in chatter was a damn giveaway. Al-Hashimi continued. “All I asked was to speak with you in private, which hardly warrants—“
“And I said no.” He cut her off with another tight smile, starting to back away. “Wait two more hours, and for better or for worse, this place is all yours. Fill it with your AI, and your streamlining bullcrap, and give patients iPads so they can ask ChatGPT to diagnose their headaches! Whatever saves us time, right? Time to have breakdowns in front of patients and…” his eyes flickered to Langdon and for a short, horrifyin’ second, Dana thought he was going to say something he really couldn’t come back from.
But thank God, Robby had a bit of sense, and shut up before anything more could spill out.
Dr. Al was expressionless, but Dana could see something in the woman’s eyes. There was offence, sure. Annoyance. But concern, too. It was a mix Dana knew all too well.
Dana stepped from the nurses station, tracin’ the edge of her desk with her hand. The other gripped her glasses tightly. Once again, she looked around. Whitaker was nearby, beside Santos. No Mohan—Thank God, poor girl didn’t need this on her shoulders, too—Javadi, or McKay. Perlah and Princess had returned to their spot in the corner—she didn’t have to look to know they were watchin’. People still bustled too and fro, but somehow, a convenient emptiness had formed around Robby, Al-Hashimi, and Langdon. And also, conveniently for onlookers like Perlah and Princess, the ED’s chatter was unusually quiet now.
Al-Hashimi lifted her chin, doin’ a remarkable job at keepin’ professional. Better than Dana would’a done.
“Doctor, I think you should get some air.”
More dismissive, sardonic chuckling. “I will get three months of air, what I need right now is for you to let me do my job. As much as I love our talks, I do have patients waiting.“
Langdon finally piped up, arms still crossed. His voice was oozin’ in self-conscious-ness, eyes flickerin’ to the floor before settlin’ on Robby again. “Dr. Al-Hashimi is right, maybe—“
“If you two want to talk about your feelings instead of tending to patients,” Robby got loud again. “Be my guest, but I’drather—“
Al-Hashimi stepped toward him, only for Robby to continue to back away, hands still tight around his stethoscope.
“Dr. Robinavitch,” she said, “I think you’ve made your point. But I’d like you to know that this is highly unprofessional, and, frankly,” her voice fell to a hush which Dana had to strain to hear. “I am very disappointed in the way you have been treating your doctors.”
“Oh?” Robby scoffed, yet another unhappy smile pullin’ out his wrinkles. He kept backing away, offering a final partin’ shot before dissapearin’ to hide under the guise of ‘tendin’ to patients.’ “Well, good thing it’s my last day. You know, maybe you should take it up with Gloria! Bet she’ll be real happy to hear how high an opinion—“
Dana gasped as his head hit the ground with a crack.
Shit.
There was a smear where he’d slipped on the unmopped trail of blood leading into the trauma room. Thank fuckin’ God, though, ‘cause he’d sat up immediatly, swearin’ and pressin’ a hand to the back of his head.
Just about half the ED winced—some moved to help, only to stop themselves when they saw Dana and Al-Hashimi move. That’s what happened when a doctor got hurt in the ER. Nobody was sure whether or not it was their place to help. Dana didn’t hesitate. Neither did Al-Hashimi. Now, the place really was quiet. A moment passed as Dana crouched beside him. The presence of chatter, like a held breath, softly exhaled over the ER.
Whatever the hell they’d been arguein’ about seemed awfully unimportant.
“Hey, Robby, slow down,” Dana chided, pressin’ a hand on his shoulder when he tried to stand. He was pale, dazed… Dana hoped the hit had sounded and looked worse than it really was. “You hit your head.”
Robby groped the back of his head and winced, but at least he stayed down. When his hand came back, it shone. Dana felt her throat get tight. There wasn’t a lot of blood—just barely enough to cover two of his fingertips—but blood was blood.
Dana looked up and searched the room for someone with a mop. “For God’s sake, someone clean this shit up! It’s a goddamn biohazard!” Lookin’ back at the blood on Robby’s fingers, she hissed in a breath. “Might need stitches.”
Robby tried to get up again, only for Dana to apply more pressure to his shoulder. He gave her a look.
“I’m fine,” he said. Dana scoffed. Didn’t sound fine. Most people didn’t, after fallin’ backward and slammin’ their head against a hard floor.
“No way, Tom Cruise. Workplace injury’s a workplace injury. Even if you were fine, we’d still have to go through the whole rigmaroll.” Dana looked up again, searchin’ and findin’… Whitaker just about looked petrafied. She didn’t let herself so much as smile, even though it was an expression for the ages. Dana summoned him closer with a nod. “Kid, get over here.”
Robby groaned, shruggin’ her off. “Dana, for God’s sake, I’m fine.”
“Lucky for you,” she frowned, meetin’ Al-Hashimi’s eyes, who crouched on his other side. “I don’t believe you.” Whitaker came to a stop just beside them, eyebrows pressed together. She gestured at Robby with another nod. “You know the protocol for workplace head injuries?”
Whitaker opened his mouth. Closed it. Shrugged. “I think?”
Dana’s hand returned to Robby’s shoulder. “We’ll get you one of the rooms in the back, nice and quiet. We’ll check for head trauma, and—“
“I know the procedure,” he bit back, tryin’—and failin’—to brush her off again. She gave him a very patronizin’ pat.
“Good.” To Al-Hashimi: “Give me a hand?” To Whitaker: “Grab a wheelchair.”
Robby laughed, strained and hoarse. Wasn’t so aggressive now, huh? “I don’t need a—“
“Fine!” Dana recoiled, holdin’ up her hands like an officer had told her to ‘freeze.’ Al-Hashimi, hesitantly, did the same. “By all means. Go ahead, big boy.”
It took unnecessary effort but Robby did, in fact, make it to his feet without help. He wobbled a bit—definatley got a concussion—but kept steady. Dana took the opportunity to turn. Most doctors had the brains to get the fuck back to work and avoid Dana’s wrath. Her eyes settled on Perlah and Princess—they still stared from their wall spot, mouths rapidly at work. She gave them a frown and a tight, disapproving head-shake. They scurried off. Beside each other. Still exchanging rapid Tagalog. So, not much of a win for discretion and privacy.
Back to Robby, who was pawing at the back of his head again, face contorted. Dana sighed, gesturin’ vaguely deeper into the ER. Whitaker stood on the other side of Robby, one of his hands suspended behind his boss. Just in case.
Dana gave Robby a look. “Wanna walk? Or do you wanna stop bein’ an idiot and sit in the wheelchair?”
’Course, Robby didn’t grace her with an answer. He just walked away. At least he was still pissy. She’d be more concerned if, suddenly, he’d been sunshine and rainbows. Then, she really would have insisted he use wheelchair. Whitaker lingered for a second, lost eyes meetin’ Dana’s. For a sec, she considered tellin’ him to call down Dr. Jefferson. Dana thought better of it. Didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
“I’ll be with you in a sec,” she said to Whitaker, noddin’ back at Robby, who was makin’ surprisingly good time. “Go, make sure he doesn’t hit his head on anythin’ else.”
Whitaker nodded and, like the scared little puppy-dog he was, pattered after Robby. Dana watched them go, listenin’ as sound finally returned to the ED in full. Chatter, chaos. Good old chaos! She breathed it all in, unable to stop the thinly-veiled stench of blood from filling her mouth.
Dr. Al came up beside her, eyes staying on Robby and Whitaker. She exhaled, head shakin’.
“That escalated."
Dana half-shrugged. “That’s Robby. If it makes you feel better, he really isn’t usually so… prickly.” Dana felt herself frown. Her fingers itched—this nicotine gum was shit. She balled her hands into fists and crossed her arms. “I’ll talk to him. Make sure it’s nothing…” Pause. “I’ll make sure it’s nothing.”
Dr. Al was quiet, but Dana could tell that there was somethin’ more she wanted to say. So she lingered.
Breathed.
Finally, Al-Hashimi asked, “Are you worried?”
Dana couldn’t help the unhappy smile that seeped over her face.
“Are you kiddin’?” Her smile faltered, and she started after Whitaker. “I’m always worried.”
God, she could use a smoke.