Work Text:
“New trauma incoming!”
It was mid-July, two weeks after that abysmal 4th of July shift that had everyone grasping for a resignation letter. Things had been a bit shaky since that point, though at the same time, there was an unwavering strength holding everything together, especially since the day shift switched to having two attendings on staff at all times. Dr. Al-Hashimi and Dr. Robby had their issues, yes, but they were beginning to be a great team, even if they’d never admit it.
Robby was on his way to meet the paramedics rolling in the new trauma, Santos and Whitaker right behind him, Langdon taking up the rear. In the distance, Dana shouted out their room number. “What’s happening here?” Robby asked the paramedics.
Langdon peered down at the trauma patient while adjusting a new pair of gloves on his hands. The patient was male, somewhere in his thirties, with matted hair and sunken, half-open eyes. He was barely breathing, chest not visibly rising, and a deadly wheezing noise was coming out of him. His lips were purple and his entire body hosted a slight tremor.
“Accidental drug overdose,” the paramedic said, pushing the cart along. “Benzodiazepine. Breathing has been steadily declining.”
Langdon could feel, not see, at least three pairs of eyes boring into the back of his skull. He pretended to fiddle with the IV line while they pulled into the trauma room, playing off the fact he’d flinched slightly when the paramedic spoke. Everyone had definitely seen it. Everyone would see it, from that point forward, whatever he did now.
Things got busy once they lifted the man onto the table, and tried to make a game plan of whether they should pump his stomach or intubate him. Without a single word spoken, it was clear that Robby, Santos, and Whitaker would take the lead on this one, and Langdon would fulfill more of an assisting role. Did they decide this for him out of pity? Discomfort? Embarrassment? No matter what it was, it only served to make Langdon feel like the scum of the earth, starting down at this dying patient and seeing himself staring right back up at him.
How long had he been from this? It couldn’t have been long. It was bad, by the end; looking back, Langdon swore he had to be making some of it up. The fact he had multiple storage spaces, backup dosages, hidden in his sock drawer or behind a biography on his bookshelf, felt so fake. He’d never do something like that, how could he do something like that? That’s why he’d been so defensive to Robby when the man had found the Benzos in his locker - he just couldn’t have done something so terrible, that wasn’t who he was. He used to tell himself it was an alter ego doing it, that he wasn’t actually responsible.
But that was exactly why he had to get better, why rehab was required: he needed accountability.
The first step towards that came with one of the hardest moments of his life: telling Abby. After Pittfest, that terrible, terrible day, Langdon could make one of two decisions: he could utilize his secret stashes, keep going, figure something new out. Or he could tell his wife.
It was late when he finally made it home that day, September cold creeping in. The house was dark. He closed the door was quietly as he could but could feel in his bones that she was awake, up and waiting for him.
“Honey,” her soft voice came from down the hallway. The kitchen light turned on, and Abby’s face appeared amidst the darkness, tired yet effortlessly beautiful, as she always was. Langdon wanted to take a step towards her but couldn’t. He couldn’t feel his legs.
She came towards him instead. “It’s been all over the news,” she said sadly. “The shooting. I can’t even imagine what you went through today, treating all those people.” Her voice, usually so soothing, only made Langdon’s breathing feel heavy, as if something was pushing down on him, hard, relentless. “You must be hungry. I have leftovers ready for you in the fridge, unless you just want to crash in bed.”
It would’ve been so easy. He could have just nodded and followed her into the kitchen, shared stories of the day she was okay with hearing, then asked her to share about her day, taking his mind off of it all. Then he could’ve washed up, opened his secret stash, and made a plan for tomorrow. Over and over and over again.
Robby’s face appeared in his mind at that moment, that rage, that disappointment, though the worst part was the absolute devastation creeping through his expression, as if his heart had broken apart. Langdon felt as if he’d disappointed a father. The others, too: Dana, Mel, even Santos, as he was supposed to be a leader. This fate he was creating for himself would be devastating, for his family. For everyone.
In the hallway of his home, at the edge of the darkness from the kitchen light, Langdon fell to his knees in front of his wife. Upstairs, their children were fast asleep. “Abby, I love you,” he said. “I am a drug addict, and if you don’t put me into a rehab centre within the next day, I am going to ruin our lives.”
Accountability.
——————
Due to a quick-thinking decision from Langdon, they were able to get the patient’s breathing steady again, for now. Langdon knew they were making eye contact with each other behind his back, though he didn’t know if it was because they were surprised or impressed. Either way, seeing this patient had been important for him, even if Robby was probably close to sending Langdon off somewhere else. Langdon was glad to have been here, to have been able to remind himself of the sacrifices he, and all the people around him, had made, so that he wouldn’t end up in the ER as that patient, and not even come close.
A couple hours later, Langdon was charting beside Dana. Robby was talking to Al-Hashimi nearby. “I heard you saved that OD in trauma earlier,” Dana mentioned absentmindedly.
Langdon shook his head. “No, I only really helped with one part. It was Robby, mainly. And Santos and Whitaker.” In the corner of his eye, he noticed Robby turn his head slightly towards them, listening.
“Still.” Dana, who wasn’t much of a hugger, reached out and gave Langdon’s arm a comforting squeeze. “I’m proud of you, kid. Working on that case must’ve taken a lot of guts, more than I have, myself.”
Langdon felt himself smile a bit. “Hah, no way. You’ve got the most guts out of anyone here, Dana.”
She gave his arm a pat and let go of him with a smirk. From a couple feet away, Robby made eye contact with Langdon, and gave him just the slightest head nod, something no one else would ever notice, but something real and there, bridging the gap.
Langdon nodded his head back.
Accountability. And progress.