Chapter Text
Fibromyalgia.
One word.
Fibromyalgia.
A lifetime of judgment.
Frank knows this. Deeply. Intimately. He has seen the way his colleagues treat patients that come to them with that diagnosis.
Maybe it would be different if it was not such holdall diagnosis where they throw every pain disorder they don't know what to do with.
But no. That's not how it goes.
He doesn't remember how he got back from his appointment with Hagan. How long he stayed there, curled up on Robby's couch, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. By the time Robby comes home from his shift he still hasn't moved. The older man finds him right there, not greeting him, not reacting to anything.
It is the scratch of his beard on his cheek as he kisses him hello that has Frank coming back to himself, finally greeting his partner, voice low and tired. “Hey, sorry, didn't hear you come in. How was your day?”
He can see the worry shining in Robby's eyes clear as day. But he isn't ready to talk about this yet.
Robby knows about his pain. Of course he does. As his chief attending and mentor, he has worked too closely with Frank not to catch it.
And then, there is the fact that Frank had thrown the entirety of his problems (and the kitchen sink) at him when they’d first started to consider involving themselves with one another. The spectacular failure of his and Abby's relationship, early on in his Uni days - when the woman had not been able to handle the reality of what his health problems entailed and the way she had come back into his life years afterwards, with a son he knew nothing about, only to dump that child on him because she could not handle his health problems either and had apparently decided that they had to be genetic and thus his father could deal with him - had forever scared him into making sure that anyone wanting something further than friendly acquaintance from him would get the entirety of his medical history before they ever got to meet for a drink, even less to take a step in the bedroom!
Of course, Tanner had not, in fact, inherited his father’s problems. He’d just been a sickly child. Malnourished and sickly, but Frank was trying not to dwell too much on that now that he had finally managed to course-correct that part. If the boy still has a deep-seated fear of abandonment… Well, that isn’t exactly surprising now, is it?
So yes. Robby knows.
And yet, Frank can't help the sting of fear that has buried itself deep inside him since he received his diagnosis. What will Robby say? Will his attitude towards him change? Will he now expect Frank to stop complaining and look at him with the same scorn and disdain he has seen in many of their colleagues’ eyes when faced with that kind of patient? Hell! He has been met with that scorn more than once himself throughout all his years of medical vagrancy, trying and failing to find a referent willing to listen to him.
Hagan, for all his defaults and slowness at pushing for more exams, had been the first to listen in a long time.
Robby is a tough-it out kind of guy. Frank has seen the way he looks when he judges one of their patients, or one of their own! When one of their members comes down with the flu and they're already short-staffed and Robby has to grant them sick leave even though he clearly believes they could make due. He doesn't think the attending is aware of how he presents himself sometimes, although he has tried to make him take stock of himself once or twice.
He might have an easier job of it if Abbot, of all people!, was not out there playing cowboys in the night shift, enabling all of Robby's worst views and making them all look weak with how much he can handle with a leg less than the rest of them!
God. What a mess.
Thank God Tanner is at his parents' for the night. He would hate for his kid to be there when he and Robby have their discussion.
The sofa dips with Robby’s weight when he settles down beside him, patting one of Frank’s legs so he straightens them over his thighs. He starts massaging one ankle as soon as the resident has changed position. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s going on in that ever-boiling brain of yours?”
Frank studies him. Truly, fully studies him, searching for the vaguest of inkling that Robby might take the news badly. That he will turn on him and berate him. That Frank will be judged lesser.
“Frank? You’re worrying me.”
He tries to make himself talk. To get the words out. His heart is thundering so painfully in his chest he can’t believe Robby isn’t hearing it! He feels so hot, his throat is closed! And then, he only just opens his mouth before a sob is tearing out of him! Wrenched from somewhere deep within his chest, starling him just as much as it does his lover! Robby pushes his legs sideway so he can come closer, arms already opening for a hug when
“NO!”
...
He freezes in incomprehension. So does Frank.
“Wha-Frank?” He queries, tone tentative and so, so concerned, hands still hovering somewhere above his arms and that’s when the younger man registers that he is trembling. Full on trembling. Another sound is torn away from him, half a sob and half a laugh. God! What a bloody mess! He must look hysterical! How fucking ridiculous is this? Reacting like that to a goddamn diagnosis!
“I’m sorry! I didn’t… I don’t… It’s stupid! It’s nothing! I mean, it’s not nothing, but it’s nothing that should have me reacting like that! I don't know what’s gotten into me. I’m sorry Robby, I’m a mess.” He babbles on and on and on, until his brain catches the signal his epidermis is sending.
Warmth.
That human warmth, like a searing heat in the size of palms over both arms that has him stopping abruptly to stare at two, big hands on each of his arms. He blinks, befuddled, suddenly rendered silent. His breath still catches in between exhales, ribcage rising in short, staccato lifts.
“You’re with me?” Robby. Still there. Still waiting. Oh so worried now, distressed in a way he is trying to hide so as not to frighten his partner more. Guilt slams into Frank’s belly like a suckerpunch. He nods, frantically, still evening his breathing out. “Ye-eah. Sorry.” He winces.
“Sweetheart, stop apologising. You’ve done nothing to apologise for as far as I am aware. Or are you going to tell me you broke my grandma’s clock? Because I have to confess then, I never liked the thing. And I did hope an energetic, strong, attention-troubled youngster like you might just be what did the thing in.”
Robby’s awful attempt at humor brings a snort out of him, successfully de-escalating his spiral. “I like that clock…” he admits somewhat shamefully, sniggering under his breath when his lover mutters a “Just my chance” in his beard. But he then turns serious eyes back on him, bringing a thumb to his face to caress the planes of his cheek, pining Frank under his watchful gaze. “Do you think you can tell me what’s going on now?”
Frank takes a deep breath, psyching himself up. He cannot not tell Robby. It would be unfair to him. To both of them. “It’s stupid, really. I shouldn’t be reacting like that.”
Robby on hums. “So you’ve already said. But I’d still like to hear what got you so bent out of shape. Did Hagan say something?” His voice turns sharp with the question. The attending is aware of how much his partner has had to fight to finally find someone who would hear him, has been there for some of the worst reactions Frank has been met with. Often enough that he could write a book on "Physician's worst takes” himself if he wanted to. The experience had left him with overprotective tendencies and a reflex belief that no one could take care of Frank better than himself.
“Yes. I guess you could say that.” He squeezes Robby’s hands, not wanting to be let go. “He diagnosed me. Formally, I mean. I…” he stumbles, eyes surreptitiously catching Robby’s brown, only seeing compassion in there. “With fibromyalgia.”
There! He said it!
Robby tenses in front of him, his breath catching and Frank can’t help but turtle in on himself.
The moment stretches on, long, heavy and uninterrupted. The grandmother clock, the only sound in the room.
When, at last, Robby addresses him again, his voice is full of hurt. “Frank… Were you afraid to tell me? Did… Did you think I would, what? Not understand?”
Frank winces guiltily, looking everywhere but at him. A great sigh escapes the attending, defeated but all too aware of where the resident might have come up with this specific fear.
Talk about consequences coming to bite him in the ass.
Maybe Gloria was onto something when she told him he needed to take a sensitivity training…
But for now… He gathers his lover in his arms, running his hands briskly over his to banish the tremors still running through his frame and reassure the man. “It’s okay, sweety. I believe you. Did Hagan say anything about a treatment plan?”
Slowly, Frank relaxes against him, all his tension leaving him as he is not being screamed at or disdainfully asked to stop complaining already. “Not yet. He has been hinting at wanting to put me on duloxetine or gabapentin but I am a bit worried of what it would mean for the ED. I can’t afford to have my reactivity slowed. But at the same time, I can’t really afford fibro fog either. We’re doing a trial run with OTC treatments until my next appointment. And he's been hinting at switching jogging for swimming.”
Robby can’t say he is very happy with this decision. Frank is already way too familiar with acetaminophen and NSAIDs for his taste, and these are not without their own risks for his kidneys, even if they are sold without a prescription. But he says nothing. If Frank wants to try it, who is he to deny him?
And the Chief attending part of himself - the one who has to deal with an entire ED, too many patients and way too little staff - does dread the idea of losing the man’s sharp mind to an anti-depressant. However egotistical it may sound.
So Robby says nothing. Only tightening his hold on his partner, burrowing his nose into short, black hair and kissing the back of his skull. They stay there for a long time, entwined with each other, neither one of them daring to say anything. Until that moment where Robby feels the tension and worry invade Frank’s brain once again, where everything about him becomes sharper once more as he stiffens perceptibly, drawing into himself as his defenses come slamming down.
The attending traces idle patterns on his arm in an effort to keep him calm, searching for a way to alleviate his stress, to put Frank at ease.
“What's going on in that head of yours, huh?”
“Wha- I don't…” Inhale. Exhale. A pause. Then Frank takes a decision. “I'm afraid, Robby. I don't know what that means for me. For my residency. Can I really qualify for Emergency Medicine with this?”
“Hey, hey.” Robby presses onto his arms, bringing his focus onto him. “Right now it doesn't have to mean anything. You've been working with this for years, this doesn't change shit. It's just a name on a part of your life you were already living with. And even if that changes, even if it worsens, there are ways for you to continue doing what you like.”
He shimmies a bit so he can face Frank while still holding him loosely and pushes two fingers under his chin to face his partner. So that he can believe what Robby is telling him.
“I know how much pride you take in saving lives. But I also know that you being the one to save them is not what brings you fulfillment, no matter how you make it sound. That is only a byproduct of your desire to help and learn. And I also know how much you love teaching. How accomplished you feel when you pass on your knowledge, your skills, and even searching and writing all these presentations and papers! Even when they are mine. And don't think they don’t all know! There is a distinct difference between our writings. A chasm in quality. And I might hate writing these things, I might be more than happy to pawn them off to you, but I am not a thief. Your name is on every piece you’ve worked on, right where it belongs.” He finishes with a half-smile, watching his partner go redder and redder under the compliments.
Frank squirms, embarrassment warring with pride at the attending's words. Then his shoulders drop and the corners of his mouth turn down. “I don't think I can handle the fellowship you wanted to recommend me to. I can barely cope with this year’s workload as it is.”
Oh, Robby wants to kick himself for that one! It had come out of a good intention, but he should have talked to Frank about it, should have make sure they were on the same wavelength. Instead, he stays calm, focusing on reassuring his partner.
“Listen, I am not saying this to push you into it, alright? I just want you to make your decision with a clear head. Whatever it is, I will support you. That being said, I still believe you could do it. Because you're already doing more than that. All your work here, your presentations, my presentations, papers, teaching our newbies, the ED, your courseload… this is already a lot! And the fellowship would ask a lot of you, yes. But no more than what you are already doing. Now, speaking of here and now, if it can help, I can take back what should be my own work, I-”
“NO!” the attending doesn't even have the time to finish his sentence before Frank is vehemently refusing, fire returning to his eyes, indignation written in every part of his face. “Don't you dare Michael Robinavitch ! You are not messing up my system by taking over halfway through! Don't laugh, I'm serious! I don't want to see your grabby hands anywhere near my researchs!”
A pillow comes flying a millimeter from his face and Robby shoots off the couch, shoulders shaking from trying to contain his laughter. He knew Frank would never want him anywhere near his research work. ADHD or not, the man's referencing system is leagues better than his and they both know that having Robby rummage through it would only lead to one, big mess.
He escaped to the kitchen, ready to start dinner and bring some coffee as a peace offering now that he has successfully taken Frank's mind off his diagnosis. Tonight will be a pampering night. They can tackle what this new information means for them, in more practical terms, tomorrow.
They'll make due. They'll find a way. They always do.