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Dana is six weeks and four days into her short-term-disability-cum-maternity-leave when Dr. Adamson calls. She almost doesn't pick up the phone.
At the first glimpse of hospital's name on the screen she screws her eyes shut and Benji, seeing her face fall, groans.
“Dana, don't. We talked about this.”
Her hand hovers over the receiver and she nods, wanting nothing more than to unplug the phone and rejoin her husband in the kitchen. But an inexplicable something makes her hair stand on end.
She has to take this call.
Benji curses softly when she grasps the phone and she mouths an apology as she lifts it to her ear.
“This had better be good,” she greets the other end.
“Dana? Hey, girl. It's Adamson.”
Her eyes narrow despite his friendly tone. Why would Adamson be calling her himself? “What's going on, Doc?” She doesn't quite manage to keep the unease from her voice.
“How are you feeling? How's the baby?”
“We're doing great, both of us. But last time I checked, I still have another week and a half of maternity leave, so I know you would not be calling to ask me to pick up a shift, Monty.”
“No, no. Of course not.” There's a pause. “It's Robinavitch.”
She feels Benji's eyes on her as her frown deepens. “What about him?”
“I should have caught it when he was half an hour late to his shift, but the kid is dead on his feet. He shouldn't have come in at all.”
Concern sends a warning pang through her stomach. She's grown very fond of their newest attending in the months since he joined them. “How bad?” Bad enough for Adamson to call her about it personally.
A vague grunt. “Looks like the flu. Temp's been fluctuating between 102 and 103. He went down after a trauma a while ago.”
She swears softly. Poor kid. “Okay, so what do you want me to do?”
“Well, normally I'd admit him, but we're packed in here like sardines and we're already short-staffed. He's not gonna get any rest, here. I'd like to send him home with fluids and meds. He's, uh—well, he's about to crawl out of his skin, here.”
Dana can imagine. The only thing worse than being stuck in the hospital is being stuck in a hospital where everyone knows you. She feels her eyebrow quirk somewhat bitterly at the memory of the revolving door of coworkers that filed through before, during, and after her daughter's birth.
“I asked if there was someone who could come pick him up, and he said he'd get a taxi. There's no way I'm packing him up and sending him off alone like this, but I've still got seven hours left of my shift.” Ah, there it is. “Listen, Dana, I hate to even ask—”
She meets Benji's eyes as she cuts the doctor off. “Give me twenty minutes, Doc. I'll drive him home, see that he gets set up and stowed away.”
Adamson blows out a breath. “Thank you, girl. I mean it.”
“I know you do. Don't sweat it, I'm on my way.”
“They're not calling you in?” Benji questions as she hangs up.
She smiles. “Nope. The new attending's been in the wars. Succumbed to the plague on shift. I'm just gonna pick him up and drive him home, see that he gets set up with everything he needs. I'll be back before you know it.” She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him and he pulls her in, hands drifting to her hips.
“He doesn't have any family in town he can call? Friends?”
She pushes away before he can convince her to stay. The idea of their fledgling doctor sitting alone on a gurney in a crowded hallway with his big stupid sad eyes on full display is not one she can live without resolving. “Adamson wouldn't have called me if he did.”
“Want me to come with?”
“No, Grace is finally down and I am not waking her up to pack her into the carseat. Besides, I'll be back in two shakes.”
Planting one final kiss on her husband's lips, she grabs her keys and her coat and steps out into the blustery October air.
Dana is barely through the door when her name is called from central. She winces. Caught.
“Dana! Hi, mama! How is baby?”
As much as she hoped to slip in and out unnoticed, Dana can't help her grin at the sight of Lena's smiling face, and she allows herself to be hugged, returning it just as enthusiastically.
“Baby's good. We're good.”
Pulling back, Lena eyes her up and down. “Are you sure you just had a baby? You look fantastic.”
Dana chuckles. “Well, thank you.”
“What are you doing here? I thought you still had a week or two off?”
Lowering her voice, Dana leans closer for dramatic effect. “I'm not here. You did not see me. I'm in to pick up our fallen soldier, and then I'm out.”
“Ah.” Lena mimes zipping her lips and nods toward the break room. “He's in there. Heard the poor kid went down pretty hard.”
Dana squeezes Lena's arm in thanks and goes in search of her ward. It's ridiculous, she realizes distantly, how she and the other nurses refer to their newbies as kids. Though he is the youngest attending, Robby can't be more than five or six years her junior, and really, he's no longer even all that new. He's been with them for nearly eight months now. But so it has always been. Poor man will be the new kid until someone newer and younger comes along.
If Dana bore any resentment toward their not-so-new doctor for pulling her away from her husband and her daughter, it dissipates the moment she opens the break room door and lays eyes on him.
Though she's pleased that Michael Robinavitch is not where she imagined him—quarantined to a gurney and shoved against some crowded wall—his appearance is hardly reassuring. The attending is slumped bonelessly on the couch, half lying over the arm of it as though he'd been sitting up and eventually just toppled over. His eyes are closed, and his pale skin glistens with perspiration under the fluorescent lights, his hair sticking to his forehead in places thanks to it. Even in sleep, his brow is knit with discomfort and his breathing is laboured.
Dana clucks her tongue at the sight of him as the door slips shut behind her. Robby doesn't so much as twitch.
There's a cooler bag on his lap, “ROBBY” written in Adamson's handwriting across a strip of tape plastered to the top, and she gently tugs it free of slack hands to glance at the contents. Meds, fluids, a collapsible IV pole, and a buttload of Pedialyte. She zips it shut again and slings it over her shoulder before kneeling at his side.
“Robby,” she calls softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. The heat of him permeates his scrubs and she winces. “Hey, hon, can you wake up for me?” Needlessly, she presses the back of her hand to his cheek, his forehead. Small wonder he passed out, the man is practically on fire. “Come on, Robby, work with me here.”
It takes some coaxing, but eventually his eyes do crack open, bleary and confused when they land on Dana.
“There he is,” she smiles. “How are you feeling?”
He blinks at her. Swallows.
“Robby? You with me, hon?”
Another blink. “Ummm...”
She can't help her chuckle. “Come on, kid. Up and at 'em. I'm takin' you home.”
Frowning, Robby sucks in a breath. “Dana?”
“That would be me. You're pretty sick, honey. I'm gonna drive you home, okay?”
Finally, he seems to come back to himself, if only marginally. He shakes his head. “I asked Dr. Adamson to call a taxi...”
She spreads her arms theatrically, keys dangling to jingle from the anchor of the fob wedged between her thumb and her palm. “Your taxi has arrived.”
Robby groans and pushes to sit up. He curses. “Dana, I'm so sorry.”
“Don't be. Come on, let's just get you taken care of, huh?”
Still, the doctor resists. “You're supposed to be at home with the baby.”
“And I will be. The sooner I get you home, the sooner I can get home myself.”
Her words work so thoroughly, she almost regrets them. Like a light switch, his demeanour shifts. His jaw clenches and his fever-sheened eyes harden with determination as he nods and shunts forward to stand.
“Whoa, whoa.” She plants a hand on his shoulder. “Easy there, cowboy. Take it slow. We don't want you fainting again.”
Robby's ears turn a startling shade of pink and Dana bites back a smile. “I didn't faint,” he grumbles.
“Sure, you didn't. Let's keep up the not fainting, huh? Baby steps.”
He meets her eyes with a glare, mouth opening, no doubt to deliver a dazzlingly original line such as I'm not a baby, but his gaze softens when he sees the twinkle in her own and realizes he's being teased. Sighing, he nods and tries again, slower this time.
Upright at last, he sways, and Dana darts under his arm, wrapping her own about his waist.
He stiffens. “I'm okay.”
“I know you are. Just give it a second, get your balance back.”
For the sake of his pride, she lets him exit the break room on his own obviously rapidly dwindling steam, letting go of him as soon as she's sure he won't take another nosedive. Still, it takes everything in her not to hover as they step back out into the packed ED.
“Dana,” Francisco calls. “Hey, baby! I thought you were still off.”
“I am. Don't look at me, don't speak to me, I am not here. I'll see you on October twenty-first, and not a moment sooner.”
“Roger that. Kiss that baby for me.”
Robby stumbles and she catches his arm. He pulls away, reaching instead to plant a hand against the wall as they inch toward the exit.
“Almost there,” she reassures, reluctantly withdrawing her hand. “You're doin' great.”
By the time they reach Dana's car in the parking garage, Robby is visibly shaking with chills or fatigue, his steps are wobbling, and his balance is shot. Apparently suitably humbled, he offers no protest when she puts her arm around him for the last few yards, nor when she rests him against the side of the car as she unlocks it.
When she opens the door, however, he balks.
“Robby?”
He looks at the ground, scrubs at his left eye with knuckled fingers. “I really can call a taxi. I should call a taxi.”
Dana's heart twists, but she just lifts her chin and opens the door wider. “Get in the car, Robinavitch.”
After a very brief standoff, he complies, clumsy and reluctant, shaking hands struggling with the seatbelt as she closes the door and darts to the driver's side.
“Okay, champ,” she starts as they peel out of the garage. “Where are we going?”
Robby lifts his head from where it's fallen to rest against the window. In stolen glances at his face between watching the road, Dana sees the way he struggles to keep his eyes open as he thinks too hard about his address. He rubs at his forehead as though the words pain him, and by the time he manages to get it out, she's beginning to have serious doubts about their current plan of action.
“Robby, do you have friends around the area?”
The response is delayed, and the confusion and wariness in his gaze is raw with illness. “Sure.”
Convincing. “Anyone to come check on you?”
He turns toward the window. “I'll be fine.”
Dana chews her lip thoughtfully for the next mile. When at last she speaks again, Robby inhales sharply as though she's woken him. “Robby...How would you feel about coming to stay with us for a day or two while you get back on your feet?”
The kid blinks at her blankly like she's just started speaking some alien tongue. He shakes his head. “What?”
“Will you come home with me and let Benji and I look after you 'til you start feeling a little better?”
He huffs, and the smile Dana catches in her periphery is really more of a grimace. “Oh,” he mumbles, ears pinking again. “Uhh, no. Dana, thank you, but I'm, uh—I'll be okay.”
“Robby, you're not in any shape to be taking care of yourself right now. If I drop you off at home and leave you to fend for yourself, I'll just be worrying about you all day. Probably won't get any sleep tonight, either. You don't want that, do you?” It's a weak argument and a manipulative tactic, but apparently he's addled enough to fall for it—which on its own is enough to alarm.
Fever-bright eyes widen—boyishly, suddenly “kid” seems very apt; he's about as far from his usual sharp and dynamic self as he could get right now—even as his brow knits in distress and confusion. His face says he suspects he's being played but can't quite figure out what to do about it. “No...”
“Good. See, you're really doing me a favor.” And won't she have a time convincing him of that? “It's settled, then.”
“What?” He shakes his head, face screwing up as though it will somehow clear his head. “Dana...”
“Listen, it's come home with me or go home yourself and know a new mother is getting even less sleep because of you.”
She keeps her eyes on the road as he watches her, no doubt glaring belligerently. Finally, he sinks back against the door, head dropping to the window. “I hate you,” he mumbles, earning a chuckle.
By the time Dana pulls into her driveway, Robby has long since been sleeping the sleep of the dead, so she takes the opportunity to go inside and aprise her husband of this new development.
“Hey,” she greets, stepping into the warmth of the kitchen as Benji pulls the lasagna they'd been assembling earlier out of the oven.
“Hey. Perfect timing. How was he?”
Dana rests her hips against the counter, crossing her arms over her belly. “He's pretty bad off, actually. Poor kid doesn't have anyone to look after him. I'm worried about him.”
Benji sets the lasagna on the stovetop and turns to face her with a concerned frown. “That bad, huh?”
She nods, letting all of her own concern bleed into her eyes as she meets his.
He kisses her forehead. “That's okay. Listen, we'll make sure he's taken care of. What does he need? I can pick up some groceries later.”
Dana allows herself to be pulled closer and smiles against his shoulder. “I'm glad you feel that way.” He squeezes her a little tighter in acknowledgment. “'Cause he's in the car.”
Benji stills.
Dana screws her eyes shut.
“In your car.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Outside.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Right now?”
She nods and pulls away. “I'm sorry, Benji, I didn't know what else to do. When you see him, you'll understand. There was no way I could send that boy home to fend for himself. He'd starve, or—or—or drown in the shower.”
He lifts unimpressed eyebrows. “Drown in the shower.”
“He could,” she says, fighting to keep a straight face as she defends her absurd statement. “If his shower doesn't drain properly.”A laugh squeezes free, and when Benji's lips twist in response, she knows she's won.
“Thanks for the heads up here, babe.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't have a chance to call you.”
He steps to the window, peering out. “Well, what, you just left him in the car?”
“He's passed out. I might need your help to get him inside.”
Benji shakes his head, dons a longsuffering smile, and claps his hands together. “Fantastic. Lead the way.”
It's even harder to wake Robby this time than it had been at PTMC. Dana is about ready to suggest they just try carrying him inside when at last her efforts yield fruit and Robby opens his eyes.
“Hey, hon,” she greets. “You're at my house, remember? This is my husband, Benji. He's gonna help us get you settled inside, okay?”
Like before, Robby just blinks at her. She gives him a moment, but his eyes flutter shut.
Dana sighs and turns helplessly back to Benji.
Her husband's face has fallen in much the same way hers must have when he catches sight of her pathetic charge, lines of concern now softening his eyes, and he leans into the car to help Robby out without being asked. “Hey there, Robby. Nice to meet you.”
The younger man's eyes open at the jostling, but he seems too far gone to process what's happening as Benji threads his arms under Robby's and lifts all six-foot-something of him out of the car like he weighs no more than a child. Dana feels her eyebrows climb appreciatively and she lets out a suggestive whistle.
Over his shoulder, Benji shoots her a look of mock indignation. “This is hardly the time, madam. Get the door, will you?”
By the time they reach the front porch steps, Robby is a bit more aware, trying to shift away from Benji to walk on his own every chance he gets, even though Dana is nearly certain he has no idea to where he's walking. When he finally manages to twist away and nearly ends up on the pavement, they halt their mission and ease him to sit on the steps to get his bearings while Benji goes back inside to set up the guest bed.
Dana kneels in front of Robby where he sits, slumped against the railing, head resting on a rung. “Hey there, Robby. How are you doing, hon?”
The eyes he casts on her utterly unguarded with the depth of his exhaustion, and it takes Dana's breath away. A tear slips free and he doesn't even seem to notice. “Dana?”
“Yeah, sweetheart.”
“I, um...” His gaze falls to the ground and he frowns. “I don't know—I don't know what's going on,” he whispers.
She whispers right back, her own throat now clogged with emotion. “You're sick, Robby. You're at my house. Benji—my husband—is getting a bed ready for you inside. We're gonna take care of you, okay? All you need to do right now is sit here and rest. Okay?”
He searches her eyes for a moment, his own so raw it's all she can do not to look away for fear she'll see something he doesn't mean to show her. Finally, he nods, letting his eyes fall shut. She's reaching out to squeeze his arm and tell him to stay awake when he looks at her again, gaze trapping her like a pin through a butterfly.
“Why are you doing this?”
She tilts her head, brows tenting sadly even as she smiles. “What do you mean?”
“You don't know anything about me. Your husband...He doesn't know me at all.”
Dana frowns. “I know everything I need to know, honey. We know you need help, and we can give it. We're doing it because we care about you.” When that doesn't seem to assure him, she rubs his shoulder. “I'm a mom, you know. What kind of mother leaves another mother's son in need when she's in a position to help?”
Robby shuts his eyes, this time deliberately. Locking her out, fighting to gain control of himself again. His chin trembles once, and Dana rubs a hand over her mouth, wishing she knew what to do for him, what put his head in such a place that he's asking questions like this. She settles for sitting beside him and putting an arm around his shivering shoulders.
After a while, “Dana.”
When she looks up, she finds his eyes still closed, though his face is more composed. She rubs her hand over his spine. “Yeah, Robby.”
“You'll be a great mom.”
The laugh that tumbles out of her is as genuine as it is surprised, and so are the tears that spring up and burn her eyes like chlorine. “Oh—” she catches his hand with her free one, giving it a squeeze of thanks and letting her head fall to his shoulder for a moment. “Heavens, I pray you're right.”
By the time Benji returns, Robby has come back to himself enough to ascend the steps into the house and then the steps to the guest room without much help—though Benji still keeps a wary hand at his back, just in case. When Robby apologizes, Benji bats it away before Dana can even open her mouth.
“You don't have anything to apologize for. We're glad to have you stay with us, Robby.”
Once their patient has been deposited in the bed, it's a quick process to get him medicated and set up an IV. Robby's out like a light before Dana even swabs his hand with the alcohol wipe and he doesn't so much as flinch when she sticks him.
When he's all tucked away—water, Pedialyte, tissues, puke bowl, and crackers all within easy reach—Dana joins her husband where he stands in the doorway, slipping under his arm and letting herself be pulled into his side.
“Poor baby,” she says softly, eyes still on her charge.
Benji looks from her face to the thirty-ish man lying in his guest bed then back again. “Motherhood has done strange things to you, my love.”
She chuckles and pulls the door shut. “Maybe it has. Thank you for being okay with this. I know I didn't give you much of a choice.”
“You didn't. But I hope you know I would have said yes if you had.”
“I wouldn't have brought him if I didn't.” Shifting gears, she elbows him. “You practically carried that man outta the car!”
He lets out a surprised laugh. “You liked that, huh.”
“That was hot.”
“I am here to serve.” He drops a kiss onto her hair. “Lasagna before Gracie wakes up?”
“Please.”