Chapter Text
It was a real learning curve when Dennis began working in the ER of PTMC.
Or as it was affectionately dubbed, ‘the Pitt’.
In the span of his first 15 hours he felt like he was dropped onto his head, thrown into the most unimaginable of scenarios.
Even moreso, he could never have predicted the friendship he had found with Santos.
Concealed beneath her dry wit and sarcastic quips. There turned out to be a bleeding heart as she helped him out with his houseless situation.
He had learnt early on that the ER was unpredictable.
There were only a few things one could predict while working in the Pitt.
The coffee would be stale.
The elderly would roll in at 8 am just after the nursing home bed checks.
Another thing you could always count on was that it was highly unlikely you’d ever leave work on time.
Without something getting in the way. Whether it be charting, or an incoming trauma.
You’d be lucky to leave by at least 8 pm. Often staying longer than that at times.
Despite the unpredictability of the work. Of the endless running around. Of the constant noise around you.
There were times where it would pay off.
And one of those times, at least, in Dennis’ opinion would be when you walked in.
Always once a week, on a Thursday at 7 pm.
As the day shifters began to tie up loose ends for the day, the night shifters would come in to take reigns for the evening.
You never failed to pop into the Pitt like clock work.
A gentle smile stretched across your lips, and within your grasp you’d always have boxes filled with freshly made treats. Both sweet and savoury.
A habit you had done for many months.
Since even before Dennis had started work here.
At least that was what he had learnt through Trinity who had learnt it through Princess.
He didn’t know much more than the fact that you liked to drop treats for them to enjoy, as a way to say thanks.
It’s just a small gesture, you would say with a shrug if ever someone said it wasn’t necessary.
He’d notice how Abbot would ruffle your hair. A grin plastered across both your faces.
How you and Abbot would gang up on Robby with dry wit. As he’d only roll his eyes at both your words.
The way Dana’s smile brightened as you walked through.
Sharing high fives and fist bumps with some of the nurses. Whose eyes sparkled at the sight of the treats you had brought.
It was often he would find people trailing in and out of the break room to grab a small bite, as you would lay the food out for them to enjoy.
Sharing a passing conversation with those that walked through.
You always seemed to remember what was going on with everyone. No matter how small of a detail you would recall the names of their kids and partners, even the names of their cats, dogs and whatever else in between.
It also didn’t escape his notice how you seemed relatively unbothered by the chaos that surrounded you.
If ever a trauma patient wheeled through as you entered, you wouldn’t even flinch at the sight. Used to the flowing movements of the ER, used to the confronting sights you’d bear witness to.
A sweetness to your smile that felt displaced amidst the Pitt, where stories of sadness often unfolded.
Then all too soon he would see you would wish them all the best. Packing up last week's tupperware that you had left behind.
You never lingered for longer than required.
That was another thing he noted.
While you’d stay to chat and indulge them all a little.
You were never there for longer than 20 minutes.
Always with the same explanation, I was on my way to a meeting.
What meeting Dennis didn’t know.
In fact it seemed no one knew. Or at least, no one was willing to share if they knew. Just that the PTMC was on the way there.
A weekly habit you never broke.
And each time you passed through the doors entering the Pitt, each time Dennis would build up the courage to talk to you.
To say more than just a hello or a polite thank you.
The 20 minutes would be up.
You would be gone.
Leaving them to their work, just like every other night.
And Dennis would be left kicking himself for letting the chance to talk to you slip through his grasp once more.
To say he was getting frustrated at his own inability to connect with you, would be an understatement.
To the point where nearing the end of his shift on Thursdays, feelings of nervousness and distress would fester in the pit of his stomach.
Oftentimes leading to him stumbling over his words as he tried to speak to you, only to be cut off by someone else pulling your attention away from him.
Groaning in defeat. Hitting his head against a wall each and every time you slipped away.
Only for another week to pass by.
It didn’t take long for Trinity to piece two and two together.
Lips curling into a cheshire grin as she watched Dennis become flustered by your presence. How he would become sort of dazed as his eyes trailed your movements.
“What has him so distracted?” Perlah had subtly nodded her head towards Dennis, speaking to Trinity in Tagalog.
Trinity grins, before commenting with a teasing lilt, “Huckleberry has a crush”
Princess folds her arms over her chest, peering over to the boy in question, “On who?”
“Who else but the treat fairy,” Trinity responds.
Princess and Perlah nod in understanding. Eyes peering over as they watch Dennis stand just a few feet from you, as you laugh and talk with Shen and Ellis. Insisting that the snickerdoodle cookies you had brought would work perfectly with Shen’s iced drink.
It was painfully obvious to them now that he had a love lorn look in his eyes.
How he had finally made his way beside you to talk to you, only to mutter out a meek hello. You tilted your head towards him, that bright smile upon your lips.
Unaware of his floundering, or the panicked state you had brought upon him.
“Um– the cookies taste great”
“Thanks, it was a new recipe I was trying out.” You nodded appreciatively, “I was worried I might’ve cooked a few of them for a bit longer than I wanted.”
“I’m sure if they were burnt they’d still taste good,” He had offered as a compliment.
Biting your lip to stifle the laugh from escaping you, as you furrowed your brows at his words.
“You always cook – bake really well,” huffing slightly he tries again, “I mean uh – The treats you bring in always taste great”
“Thanks Whitaker, it’s nice to know my baking has a fan,” Eyes glancing down at your watch, a faint buzz ringing out from it. Your eyes widen just slightly, before glancing back up at him.
“I’m sorry but I have to go now, have a good night,” You state, before waving goodbye to the others, grabbing your bag full of last week's tupperware.
Passing by Jack who pats your back as you leave. Mumbled words leaving his lips that no one else seems to catch word of, heard by your ears only as you flash him a smile.
All Dennis manages to catch is your reply, “Of course”
And once more you leave in the night.
The tightness in Dennis’ chest alleviates just slightly, only to be replaced by a heaviness. As a sigh escapes him. Shoulder’s dropping.
What an idiot….All you could say was that her cookies would taste good even if they were burnt….such an idiot.
A hand landing on his shoulder breaks him from his thoughts.
“C’mon Huckleberry, we’ve got hand offs to go through, and a patient in South 21 to check on,” Santos says, before teasingly remarking, “You can mourn your dignity later.”
A frown settles on his face at her words.
“What’s this about Whitaker’s dignity?” Javadi joins in with a raised brow.
Cookie in hand, the very cookie you had just dropped off. Taking a bite, “Mhm, oh my god. I don’t know how she does it but each time these snacks taste better and better”
Whitaker’s gaze practically burns a hole into the cookie itself, before starting to stalk away. “I’m going to check on South 21,” he calls back, escaping the conversation.
Javadi turns to Santos for an explanation. “It seems that Huckleberry might be pining on a certain someone”
It takes Javadi only a moment as her eyes widen in realisation, “No” Eyes flicking down to the cookie in her hand.
“Whitaker likes –?” her words trail off as she gestures to the cookie.
Santos hums in acknowledgement with a little shrug.
McKay walks up behind them as she clears her throat, arms crossed over, head tilted as she observes them.
“Is there a reason you two aren’t handing off your patients?” she asks gently.
As Javadi blurts out, “Whitaker has a crush on Y/N”
Unsurprised, McKay nods her head, “I thought he was a little funny around her. Though I still think this conversation could wait. Remember, tread lightly around things that don’t really concern you.”
“I think the love life of my roommate concerns me plenty,” Santos clicks her tongue.
McKay only shrugs in response with a small smile on her face.
She knew it would only be a matter of time before Ahmad would catch wind of this. How it would snowball into a full blown betting pool.
With you and Dennis caught in the middle of it.
And the only means of learning more about the development between you both, would be to wait until next Thursday when you would inevitably walk through those doors once more.
Just like clock work.
One of the few certainties of the ER.
…
You don’t really remember for certain why you kept coming to the ER.
Perhaps simply out of habit.
Theorising that you had possibly enjoyed being close to the action. Similar to a life you once led. Even if it was just to witness it on the outer edges.
This little tradition of passing by the ER on the way to a meeting a few blocks down.
One that had instigated shortly after you had come into the ER, assisting a friend during a medical crisis.
You were in the midst of a meeting, a support group. Nothing very formal. Just relaxed. In a room that felt like instant coffee, where the carpet was worn. The pattern woven into it long faded.
A circle of chairs, a small wooden table tucked to the side, where a kettle was placed alongside cups and an assortment of tea bags and jars of instant coffee. Clean cups at the ready and a jar full of spoons, all slightly mismatched, as though replaced one by one if ever any broke.
The room was a comfort.
Each week, it would be filled with familiar faces and a few new ones, some that would slowly feel more open each time they joined and others simply passing through.
Everyone in that room had a story to tell. Had scars that never fully healed. Had something stitched within them that they could never quite let go of.
Physical or mental restraints that made them feel stuck.
In a way no one could ever quite understand.
Only among the people in this room could they comprehend just what the silence meant, just as much as the words that spilled from their mouths.
You hosted and attended this meeting every week. On a Thursday night. It was one of the many sessions you helped to organise.
But this one felt dearer to you. It was one you had pushed and started all on your own.
A safe space you had cultivated after many weeks putting in the effort.
It had paid off, as you were surrounded now by likeminded people. Of all ages and experiences, and yet in this room you were all equals. All on a level field as you shared the thoughts and feelings that weighed you down.
It was during one of these meetings many months ago, where one of the attendees, a regular, Henry had suffered from chest pains.
He was an elderly man, a smile always on his face, rosy cheeks always with an open heart as he listened to new comers. Someone that if you passed by on the street you would have no idea of the nightmares that plagued him.
You supposed there was a truth to the words, the brightest smiles hide the deepest pains.
Henry was a prime example of that phrase.
You remembered how his hand had clutched his chest, breathing shifting to something shorter, sharper. Gasping.
Noticing it immediately as another attendee’s voice stopped short at the sight.
Standing as you moved before him. A sheen of sweat glistening across his skin, complexion turning ashen.
“Henry?”
Eyes narrowing in on him, crouching before him. Noticing how his eyes flickered, unfocused. Remaining calm, as a firmer tone laced your voice, “Hey, talk to me. Tell me what’s happening?”
Croaking out, voice strained as he mutters, “Chest.” Letting out a groan in pain, “Tight”
Moving quickly, with a practiced movement your fingers grasp his wrist, mentally clocking in on the irregularity, pulse rapidly beating. You call behind you, “Marie call 911”
The woman in question nods her head, phone in hand as she dials emergency services. Your attention never wavers from Henry.
“Stay with us Henry, you’re ok. You’re not alone,” You reassure him.
Moving slightly, Just shifting him with the help of another, loosening the collar of his shirt. You murmur to the person beside you, just out of earshot from Henry, “Tell Marie that I think it’s a possible heart attack”
Speaking a little louder as you look back at Henry, eyes connecting with his, trying to keep his attention, “Ok Henry, I just need you to take some deep breaths in with me, in through the nose – and out through the mouth, good”
Fucking hell. I knew I should’ve stocked the place with a med kit. The one time I’m underprepared….
Your mind flashes with a memory.
Of chaos around you, forced to drown out the noise and focus only on the people before you, injured and crying out for help. For relief.
And you were the one to deliver it to them.
You felt so helpless right now.
No equipment on hand.
Not even a defibrillator if things went south.
All you could do was keep track of his vitals as best as you could, hand wrapped around his wrist tracking his pulse to note any changes.
Doing your best to steady him.
And soon.
Thankfully soon.
The paramedics arrive on scene. You report to them all that you could. Tone clipped and to the point.
Shifting into old habits. That died hard.
“Male, mid-sixties. Sudden onset chest pain, tightness, diaphoresis. Pulse rapid and irregular. Onset approximately –” you’re eyes flick to your watch, before glancing back to the paramed, “-5 minutes ago”
They shared a look between them, one raised a brow, whilst working quickly movements laced with a controlled urgency as they looked after Henry.
Attaching leads, administering oxygen working to prep him for transport.
“Medical background?” one had asked you.
Offering a curt nod, observing their work, you answer, “Former army medic”
That was all they needed to know.
You fall into step beside Henry as he’s wheeled out. His hand grips yours tightly.
Words stuck in his throat, searching, scraping his mind to tell you what he wanted to say.
Only for you to shake your head.
“You’re going to be ok, Henry.”
It was very easy to feel a sense of duty towards the people you saw each and every week. After having heard their stories to the point that you could recite them with ease. You felt connected with them.
Just like now.
As the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance their eyes flicked over to you, “You coming?”
Henry’s state weakening ever so slightly. You feel compelled to join him.
Sending a look behind you at the crowd of your other attendees standing, watching Henry be loaded into the ambulance.
Marie simply says, “Go with him, we’re fine here.”
“Thank you,” you replied.
Nodding, as you haul yourself into the back.
“I’m right here for you. Gotta pull through, yeah. Donna’s counting on you,” You encourage him, as his wife’s name slips from your mouth.
You didn’t leave his side. Once.
Not even as they pushed him into the ER, as the paramedics voiced Henry’s condition.
“And you are…his daughter? A relative?” One of the doctors had asked with a tinge of confusion, lacing his voice as he looked at you. Noting his name on his badge. Dr John Shen.
“Neither, just a friend,” you answered. They nod at your response, as his eyes look back at the man you called a friend.
“Henry, we’re going to take good care of you,” Shen looks back over to you, “Is there any family you can contact, to let them know–”
“Yeah, no. Of course. I’ll just be here over here,” Your pace slowed to a stop as you watched them take care of him.
Phone in hand as you scrolled through your contacts, searching for Donna’s number. Calling her and informing her of where you were, of what was happening. That you were there for both of them.
Turning to look over your shoulder as you ask the red headed nurse at the desk, “Which hospital are we at?”
With a soft smile, and kind eyes, she responds, “Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre, PTMC”
“Thanks,” you nodded before relaying the information to Donna.
Turning slightly at the sound of your name, you blink in surprise.
“Y/N?”
Recognition crossing your features at the sight of the familiar man. Jack Abbot.
His brows furrow at the sight of you. “Everything ok?”
“Yeah, just had an attendee, Henry, suffer from chest pains in the midst of a group meeting,” you explained, allowing yourself to face him fully.
Your paths had crossed a few times. Passing through similar circles, as you oversaw a few different support groups. Crossing paths with Jack was inevitable.
Bonding over your overlapping experiences. Having both undergone similar haunts that neither of you could shake. Swapping stories and sharing a drink every now and again.
The need to share your story, to alleviate the pressure of its hold upon you.
The need to connect.
It was why you now worked to do your best supporting those who had undergone similar fates. Similar tragedies now settled within them.
It wasn’t always sad.
The topics weren't always heavy.
Most times these chances to connect gave you all a moment to relive the brighter times. To relive the camaraderie that was no longer present in your everyday lives.
And Jack was someone you considered a friend. Founded from these support networks.
You knew he was a doctor. You just didn’t realise he worked here.
“So this is where you work?” you commented, before adding “Can’t shake being an adrenaline junkie, huh?”
He huffs out a small chuckle, “Don’t know what you mean. There is no place calmer than here”
“See that right there, now I know you’ve lost your mind,” you joke.
“If I ever had it to begin with”
You roll your eyes at him.
He then probes a little further, “You don’t happen to have any of those chocolate chip cookies on you?” Shrugging when you shoot him an exasperated glance, “I only ask, cause I missed out a few weeks ago”
Sighing, with an amused smile on your face, “I tell you what, as soon as Henry pulls through, I’ll come back with a tray of fresh cookies for you and your coworkers”
“I work the night shift, starting at 7, so you know where to find me,” he replies with a grin, before walking away being signalled into a trauma bay.
And so with that little promise.
You had come back the very next evening. 7 on the dot, with a box full of cookies.
Extending your thanks to the very nurses and doctors that took care of your friend when he needed it most.
Overwhelmed by them all extending their own praises and thanks for your kindness.
You knew how hard they worked. How tirelessly they pushed on.
How easy it was to forget to eat.
So you had decided from that night on that each Thursday night, you’d pop by to drop off something for them to eat.
Rotating the snacks, from sweet cookies and cakes, to savoury pastries and little bites. It was something you chose to do, the movements of baking and cooking methodical and precise.
Allowing a calm to wash over you as you did so.
The same precision required that you once used amidst a battlefield.
Now used instead to bake goods. To heal others in a different way. To soothe their souls with delicious baked goods.
There was always something to satisfy everyone.
And you looked forward to it, each week.
You were baking and cooking snacks as it was, so it didn’t hurt to make a few more.
It also didn’t hurt that new faces had begun to pop up in the ER. A few weeks after your little ritual had started.
One in particular had caught your eye.
Ever so briefly, catching a glimpse of a cute sheepish man, eyes slanted, bags beneath them and yet filled with care. Choppy hair cut with just the faintest curl at the ends.
He was cute.
Handsome even.
Even if he was a little awkward.
You might not want to admit it aloud…
But he was another reason you kept coming through those doors.
If only just to share a few words with him every now and again, before your duty called, making your feet carry you out of the ER.
Even though something in you wanted you to stay behind.
A little ache inside longing to just speak to him if only for just a few minutes more.