Chapter Text
It’s been too long of a day.
Whitaker is ten hours deep into a twelve hour shift. He’s behind on charting, meaning twelve hours could easily turn into thirteen if not longer. And the ten hours that have passed haven’t exactly been the easiest on him.
Hour one wasn't too bad. A little girl came in with a broken wrist after falling from the top of a bunk bed. She had cried through most of the examination but calmed down quickly after being given a lollypop by one of the nurses, and she wasn’t opposed to the idea of a cast when she learned she got to choose the color herself. No head injury, no long-term injuries.
A relatively slow start to the day, leaving one with a light hum of optimism for what’s ahead. But that’s how these kinds of days get you, isn’t it.
Hour two. A father who passed out after badly cutting his finger while making breakfast for his kids. The children were the only other people in the house at the time, they found him after approximately thirty minutes, wondering where their food was. His six year old son called the mother on dad’s phone, who then called paramedics. When mom arrived at the hospital, she quite strongly voiced her displeasure over having to leave work due to her husband ‘not being able to handle a little blood’. Dennis had to send her out of the room so he could stitch up the man’s index finger.
Hour three. An elderly man having a bad reaction to his new heart medication. His grandchildren called 911 after finding him seizing in his living room when they were dropping off groceries. After being given a round of oxazepam he got moved upstairs and put on a ventilator. The man suffered permanent brain damage due to the prolonged seizure.
Hour four. A fiftyseven year old woman with a heart attack and her sister who was worried she might have one next because she started experiencing shortness of breath and some tightness in her chest. Then, a seventeen year old girl with broken ribs and a punctured lung after being hit by a car. The driver suffered a minor head injury from hitting his steering wheel.
Hour five and six. Mel went home sick, per Dana’s orders, after throwing up in one of the restrooms. Possible food poisoning combined with pre-existing stress. When he heard, Dennis assured her he would take over her cases for the day so she could go home and get some rest. A man waiting for X-rays after a fall. A teenager with a bad reaction to a drug he got from a friend, waiting on lab results to determine further treatment. A girl with a dislocated shoulder after attempting a backhandspring.
All stuff he can handle. Although with his own cases, charting, and being occasionally called away to assist with incoming traumas, Dennis had to admit it was getting a little much.
Hour seven, eight, nine, and ten blurred together in a busy haze. Cardiac arrests, strokes, anaphylaxis, trauma’s come in one after the other and Whitaker doesn’t get a chance to sit down. It gets to the point that, when he does finally get a moment, charting feels like a reward.
Dennis checks the time and manages to find some solace in the fact that the end is in sight. He’s almost done with this patient chart, which feels like a small victory considering the work he still has to do on his other cases, but you have to find the light in the little things in life.
“Whitaker,” a voice calls from behind him. Dennis swirls around in his chair, finding Dana looking at him over the top of her glasses, holding a tablet, “need you in central nine. Mr. Weaver, thirty eight year old man experiencing withdrawal symptoms.” She hands him the man’s chart, Dennis gives it a once over.
“On it, thank you,” He smiles at Dana and starts walking towards the room. He properly reads the file in his hands on the way. History of alcoholism and drug addiction, He’s been treated here once in the past and several times at other hospitals, though his last visit seems to have been a couple years back.
When Whitaker enters the room he sees the man on the bed curled up on himself, picking at his arm. He has long, unstyled hair, and a beard growing in in patches. A nurse stands by the computer in the corner of the room, she greets Dennis with a nod as he walks in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Weaver. I’m doctor Whitaker, I’m a student-doctor. I’ll be taking care of you today,” Dennis starts.
Mr. Weaver mumbles something into his shoulder, Dennis can just about make out the word ‘doctor’. The man appears on edge, not making eye contact. Dennis takes a small step closer and tilts his head forward and to the side slightly, conscious about staying and appearing calm.
“What was that, sir?” he asks politely.
“Not a student, send me a real doctor!” The man whips his head around to look at Whitaker and then back to the corner he seemed to be fixating on before. He tense pushing gestures with his hands around his head, fingers outstretched.
Whitaker slowly nods his head, conveying that he understands. “If you prefer, we can bring in a senior resident or attending for you,” he turns to the nurse and asks, “Would you call for Dr. Robby?” the nurse nods and walks out of the room. “In the meantime, would you be okay with me taking your vitals?”
Whitaker steps forward again. He leans down a bit, searching for Mr. Weaver's eyes. He wants to check for possible pupil dilation, and maybe at the same time he’s looking to make some sort of connection. Often it helps, offering patients in distress some vulnerability, letting them know that it’s okay for them to be vulnerable, offering some understanding.
But not today. This isn’t that kind of distress, and it doesn’t help. A miscalculation.
It happens very quickly, Dennis can barely register that something’s happened at all. He hears the man yell something, but he can’t really hear what it was. He can see him start to move his arm, but he has no time to react.
Mr. Weaver stretches his arm out and swings it in Dennis’ direction. His fingernails make contact with Dennis’ face. Dennis turns to face the other way in reaction. He takes a step towards the wall in front of him, he can feel a stinging sensation start to come alive across his cheek. Then, on the other side of the room, he hears someone else yelling.
Dennis doesn’t hear the words said, which is quickly getting to become a theme, but he registers the voice as Dr. Robby, who quickly makes his way into the room and calls out for some help. Whitaker feels a hand between his shoulderblades, guiding him away from the bed. The next thing he sees is the room filling with people, crowding around Mr. Weaver who continues to yell. Robby’s hand leaves his shoulder for a moment, Dennis watches him assist a nurse with administering what he assumes to be some form of sedation.
Dennis’ own hand finds its way to his face, lightly feeling around his cheek to locate the stinging sensation he feels, flinching when he makes contact with the scratch. He pulls his hand away and looks at his fingers to check for blood but he doesn’t see anything.
“Hey, hey, don’t touch it.” Dennis looks up and sees Robby moving towards him again. The doctor gently pushes Dennis’ fingers away from the scratch with the back of his hand before taking hold of Dennis’ shoulders and thoroughly inspecting the mark himself. Whitaker leans his head slightly back to give Dr. Robby a better view of his cheekbone.
“We’ll need to clean that up,” Robby mumbles. Dennis wants to tell him he’s fine and that he should go help out with Mr. Weaver. But before he can say anything, Robby looks back at the people standing around the bed and says, “You guys’ve got it, yes?” He’s answered with nods and reassurances that it’s under control. Immediately after, Dennis is ushered out of the room by a hand on the back of his neck.
“What happened?” Dana rushes to walk with them. She looks at Whitaker through furrowed eyebrows, worried.
“Not too sure, patient lashed out, scratched up Whitaker with his fingernails. I only caught the end of it when I was heading over to help out. What’s open right now?”
“Uhmm, west thirteen’s free, I’ll bring over a disinfection kit.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Before he knows it, Whitaker is being sat down on the edge of a hospital bed. Dr. Robby stands across from him, leaning down to have another look at the scratch. His hand rests on the side of Whitaker's head while his thumb holds the bit of hair that rests on his forehead out of the way. Dennis winces at the contact, he hadn’t expected to feel any pain there. Robby looks at him apologetically
“This doesn’t look too bad, thankfully. You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Just uhm, came as a bit of a surprise, I guess.” Dennis keeps his voice steady but his breath is shakier than he’d like, which is strange, because he really does feel fine. Adrenaline, most likely. A logical explanation all things considered. Robby must notice it as well, although it might come across to him as something more worrisome, judging from the frown forming on his face.
The doctor grabs a stool from the corner of the room and rolls it to Dennis’ bedside, taking a seat so they’re face to face.
“It’s normal to be a little shaken up. Do you think you can tell me what happened there?”
“Yeah, he uhm.. Mr. Weaver, he requested another doctor. He said he didn’t want a student, so I asked the nurse to go get you,” Dennis recalls, “I thought that I could get his vitals while we waited for you, I tried to ask him if that was okay. I guess maybe I stood too close, or I shouldn’t have pushed. He started yelling and reached his arm across. He could’ve just been trying to push me away, I don’t know. He was already agitated, I should’ve kept some distance.”
“This is not your fault, Whitaker. Patient outbursts are often unpredictable.”
“Yeah, no, I know. Just feel like maybe I could’ve taken some extra measures. Or something.”
Robby frowns but doesn’t argue further.
“Alright, well, we’ll have to make an incident report. We have a protocol for that, but you don’t have to worry about that right now, for now I just want you to take a break, eat something, go home if you need to.”
“Go home? Nono, that’s not necessary, really I’m fine.”
As he says it Dana walks in holding a white plastic case. The protest Robby was composing dies in his throat as Dana takes the words from his mouth.
“Fine?” she asks, “you’re bleeding, kid.”
Robby looks from her back to Dennis, his eyebrows raised and lips pressed together in a thin line, his expression saying ‘see?’. Whitaker wants to laugh and scoff, surely this being blown out of proportion. But then, he didn’t know he was bleeding. His hand reaches for his cheek again, only this time it’s met with a tacky feeling from where the blood has started drying. The red colour reflects off his fingers as pulls his hand back.
Robby tuts when he sees him make the movement. Whitaker remembers him saying ‘don’t touch it’ and quickly whispers an apology.
Dana steps up to the bed and opens up the case. “This is from central nine?” Robby nods before Whitaker can answer. “I’m really sorry kid, I shouldn’t have sent you in there alone.”
“No no, don’t be.” Dennis shakes his head, then makes a face the action makes his ache. “You couldn’t have known,” he continues, “Besides, it wasn’t all that bad in the end.”
Robby has saturated a small piece of gauze with alcohol. He slowly raises his hand up to Dennis’ forehead.
“This will sting a little,” he warns.
Dennis grimaces when the cloth touches his skin. Robby quietly cleans the wound on Dennis’ forehead, then moves down to the scratch on his cheekbone. The focused silence in which Robby operates is making Dennis antsy.
“I could do this myself,” he starts, “You’ve probably got plenty of people waiting on you.”
Robby nearly laughs. “Not a chance, and you’re not talking me out of a break, Whitaker.”
“This is your idea of a break?”
“I’m off my feet, aren’t I? Have to take what I can get.”
Dana has an amused smile on her face, better than the worry that was there before.
“Unfortunately,” she says, “God doesn’t grant me such luxurious breaks. I have to go keep my nurses in check. You’ll take it easy, hm?” She soothes a hand over Dennis’ shoulder.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dana’s hand leaves his shoulder with a gentle pat before she turns around and heads towards the door.
“Before you go, could you check on Mr. Weaver’s status and get back to me?” Robby calls out over his shoulder. Dana looks back from the doorway.
“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll let you know,” she promises, closing the door behind her.
Dennis sits impatiently still, waiting for Robby to finish cleaning the wound. When he’s done, the doctor turns to throw away the used gauze. Dennis gets out his phone and opens the camera app. Turning his head to the side, he takes a look at the damage. It’s not too bad, but worse than he’d imagined. Two distinct red streaks stretch across his cheek, and one over his forehead.
“You need to keep it clean, it should heal pretty quick.”
Dennis would’ve made the same assessment, and would’ve known what to do without Robby telling him. “Got it,” he says anyway, “thank you.” An earnest smile lights up his face.
“For now, go take a break.”
That smile has a short lifespan.
“What? No, seriously, I’m good. I can go back out there.”
“Doctor’s orders. I don’t want to see you working for at least the next thirty minutes, Whitaker.”
“Come on, Dr. Robby. I have patients and charts to work on. I’m already going to be working overtime, I don’t need a break.”
Robby wears a stern expression as he considers it. When it stays quiet for a moment too long, Whitaker is almost sure the next twenty minutes will in fact not be spent working like he’d hoped. Might as well make this a fourteen hour shift then, considering how behind he already is.
Then, Robby straightens and crosses his arms. “Fine,” he sighs, “charting only. I’m serious, I don’t want you on your feet right now. And go eat something. I’ll make sure your patients are looked after, so don’t worry about that. I will check in with you after half an hour to see how I feel about you going back out there.”
A compromise.
Whitaker nearly sighs, he’s not a child. But he can tell Robby’s decision stands, no point in arguing. Fine.
“Fine. Okay. Thank you.”
Robby looks pleased with himself, he nods his head to the side, in the direction of the door, as if to say ‘go on then’. Whitaker wastes no time to push himself off the bed. He almost loses his balance trying to stand. Feeling the faintest bit unsteady coming down from an adrenaline peak. He can practically feel Robby change his mind about letting him get back to charting.
“I’ve got it!” Dennis yells, before Robby can say anything. He essentially runs out of the room to go find his station.
Twenty minutes. He can do that. He would’ve had to do this later anyway.
That being said, once he's started up the computer and opened up a blank file, getting started is turning out to be a bigger struggle than he'd expected it to be. His fingers float above his keyboard and Dennis knows that if he looks down he'll find them shaking. So, he keeps his eyes locked on the monitor. Unfortunately, that doesn't help him block out the feeling of his heart pounding in his chest. Adrenaline, he reminds himself.
Dennis gets nearly sixteen minutes into his 'break' before he hears another person raise their voice. Everyone seems to be yelling today.
“Jesus, Huckleberry, who clawed you up?”
Dennis looks up from his monitor to find Trinity Santos hurrying towards him.
“Are you good?” she asks, leaning over the desk to get a closer look at the marks on Dennis’ face.
“Hi. Yeah, I’m alright. There was an, uhm, incident with a patient. I’m alright.”
“Are you sure? I’ve seen you look more alright than this.”
“It’s fine, really. Robby put me in charting jail as a break, but I can go back to work in…” Whitaker squints at the time in the corner of his computer screen, “thirteen more minutes.”
Santos huffs out a laugh. “Would’ve thought he’d send you home with that gash on your face. He told me to go on break for like an hour when I misstepped on the stairs last week.”
“My haggling skills saved me,” Dennis jokes, “Also, I think you did a little more than misstep.”
Trinity tuts and rolls her eyes.
“Whatever, golden boy. At least you’re getting some work done.”
“Right.”
“...Right?”
“Well-”
“Come on, you’ve been sitting in time out for, what, like twenty minutes. What did you get done?”
Santos runs around the desk. Whitaker tries to protest but before he can say anything she’s standing at his side. She looks at the screen, then back at him.
“Dennis,” Santos snickers.
“It’s a process.”
Lighting up the monitor is a file, completely blank, save for the patient's name and today's date.
“Maybe you do need a break.”
“I don’t”
“Well, you’ve basically been having one for however long you’ve been sitting here.”
“I don’t need a break. I’m just– I haven’t slept well. Exams are coming up, I've just been busy. It's fine.”
“If you say so, Huckleberry. I’d say don’t overwork yourself but you seem to have that covered”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Trinity laughs and lightly bumps her fist into Dennis’ shoulder when he turns to focus back on his screen. Santos pushes herself off the desk. She walks back to the other side but doesn’t walk away. She waits in that spot, looking at Dennis until he notices and looks back up at her.
“You’ll tell me if you’re not okay, yeah?”
Her genuine expression takes Dennis by surprise. So much so that he almost forgets to reply.
Slowly, he says, “Yeah. Of course.”
The answer seems to satisfy Santos. She nods, smiles, and turns around to get back to work. Dennis watches her disappear into a room and is then reminded that, he too, should go back to work.
The rest of his time-out is spent more productively. He gets through two and half charts and even remembers to eat a sandwich.
He’s halfway through typing a sentence when Robby at last comes by his desk.
“Whitaker,” Robby calls out. He’s rolling down his sleeves from where they were folded above his elbows and comes to lean against Dennis’ desk. Dennis greets him with a polite smile and rolls his chair back from the keyboard to give the doctor his full attention.
“How are you feeling, kid?”
“Yeah, good. Doesn’t really hurt anymore.” He gestures to the left side of his face with his hand. “Could’ve been worse, right?”
“Mhm, I’m glad. And besides the pain, how are you holding up?”
“Good, better." Whitaker nods his head like he’s in agreement with himself. “Though, I understand why you told me to take a break, and it did help, so thank you. I’m ready to get started now,” he says with his cheeriest voice. It’s all true, the break was probably a good call, and he’s grateful that Robby was looking out for him. With that said though, he’s very happy for it to be over.
But much to his annoyance, Robby makes this complicated scrunched up expression. The space between his eyebrows creases, Dennis connects the face to someone dreading to convey some bad news. He’s got to be joking.
“Listen,” he says. Always a bad opening. “I’m very glad you’re feeling better, but I think it might be in your best interest to call it a day and go home.”
He has got to be joking.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Whitaker, what happened today was a scary thing. I know it may not feel like a big deal now, and I have no doubt that you’re feeling better and ready to go back to work, but after events like this it’s best to take it easy. Especially with what we do, we have to make sure we’re at the top of our game.”
Robby speaks calmly. His voice is even and confident, staying far away from harsh by design. Bearing striking similarities to the sort of tone he’d use with a patient. It doesn’t go down well with Dennis.
“Dr. Robby I appreciate your concern, really, but I’m telling you this isn’t necessary."
“I’m sorry, but that’s not your call to make, kid. I have to be extra careful in cases like this. We have enough people on today to cover for you. I’m not having you stay here if it’s not absolutely necesa–”
Before he can finish, his attention is grabbed away by someone, one of many people today, yelling.
“Robby!”
Robby and Whitaker simultaneously look up at the sound. Across the room they find Dana standing by the hub with a phone lodged between her ear and her shoulder, holding a pen in one hand and a notepad in the other.
Both men quickly look at each other and, wordlessly, an agreement is made to put their conversation on hold for now. Robby rushes over to the desk, Whitaker follows closely behind.
“Incoming trauma,” Dana states, “kid with a punctured lung, suspected heavy internal bleeding.”
“Right. Can you call Mohan and Santos. And tell Garcia to get down here as well.”
“Garcia and Mohan are in surgery. Santos is busy in trauma one, she’ll be at least another fifteen minutes.”
“Mckay, then. And–”
Robby sighs and drags a hand over his face before turning to Whitaker. Whitaker can see him deliberate with himself for a minute.
“Right, maybe we need the extra hands. Whitaker, are you absolutely sure you’re good to go back in?”
“Yeah. Yes, I’m sure.”
If he had to judge by the look on Robby’s face, he would think he’d said the wrong thing.
It takes a while before he finally says, “Okay, go grab a gown.”
“Got it. Thank you, Dr. Robby”
No more than five seconds later, the ambulance team bursts through the door.