Chapter Text
Robby couldn't wait for his shift to end. He was tired, his feet hurt, and even the smallest things were starting to get on his nerves. The white lights, the constant murmur, the distinctive smell of the emergency room.
Although, come to think of it, he wasn’t really going to do much when he got home—just eat some reheated food, fall asleep on the couch, then get up to lie in his bed and stare at the ceiling until it was time to head off to his next shift. The same old routine. A routine that made him feel more and more miserable and lonely.
But he still had to get out of here to do that, and he still had five hours left on his shift, so he had to be patient.
“Hey, Robby,” Dana called out to him from the nurses’ station. He was just coming out of a trauma case.
He walked over to the nurse. “Yes?” he replied, looking tired.
“A trauma patient is coming in in 5 minutes—a 23-year-old man who was attacked,” she said in a professional yet gentle voice.
“Attacked? By who?” Robby asked.
“A group of men.” She leaned closer to the doctor and, in a lower voice, added, “It appears to have been a hate crime,” she said with a concerned look.
“All right, we’ll stabilize him and let you know when we can take his statement,” Robby replied. He was already beginning to wonder what kind of injuries the young man might have.
The nurse looked at him for a moment. “Are you okay?” Dana asked sympathetically.
“Yeah, yeah, just really tired,” he replied, brushing it off. He just had to hang in there for a few more hours; he wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it.
“Okay, just call out if you need anything,” Dana said, sounding unconvinced.
Robby was already walking away from the nurses’ station, so he simply gave her a thumbs-up.
He walked around for a moment to see if anyone needed help and to see who was available to assist him with the trauma patient on the way. He spotted Whitaker in Room 14, so he decided to check on him.
The young man had done a good job on his return as an R1. He was no longer the nervous MS4; no, now he was much more confident and attentive. He no longer seemed to need Robby’s guiding hand, which had once led him everywhere. Now Whitaker was the one teaching, the one guiding; he was doing a good job with the medical students. Not only had he improved the way he treated patients and interacted with his coworkers, but he had also changed as a person.
Robby hadn’t failed to notice his physical change—his toned arms, the light tan on his skin in contrast to the ghostly pallor of before. And his hair, now styled in a mullet, as he’d heard Javadi say.
He looked much healthier, much stronger.
Robby spent more time than he’d care to admit admiring the golden curls at the nape of Whitaker’s neck, wishing he could run his fingers through them. Wondering just how far the boy’s tan extended beneath his uniform. Wondering if he’d ever be able to find out.
Maybe he should leave all that for later.
He opened the doors to Room 14, and Whitaker seemed to be giving instructions to his patient, with a kind, warm demeanor that only he knew how to convey.
He immediately turned to look at Robby, waiting for him to speak.
“Dr. Whitaker,” he called out, and the young man approached. “Are you free?” he asked as he leaned against the doorframe.
“Sure, why?” Whitaker replied, patiently waiting for instructions.
“There’s a trauma patient on the way—come join us,” Robby said, nodding in that direction.
“Of course,” he said, turning back to his patient. “A nurse will come to give you the final instructions. I wish you luck, Mr. Smith.” With a nod, he said goodbye to the patient. He looked at Robby and walked out beside him into the hallway.
Robby also nodded to bid the patient farewell, but before he could close the door and follow Whitaker, the man on the stretcher spoke up.
“Oh, excuse me, doctor, I think this belongs to Dr. Whitaker…” he said, pointing to a small notebook at the foot of the stretcher.
With a slight chuckle, Robby walked over to pick it up. Maybe he should remind Whitaker not to be so absent-minded—especially about leaving personal items on patients’ stretchers. He thanked the man and finally left the room, heading toward the ambulance bay entrance, since the trauma patient should be arriving any minute.
He was going to tell Whitaker about his notebook, but the paramedics came in right away. He simply put it away; he’d tell him later.
“James Holland, 23 years old, stabbed in the abdomen with a knife; suspected open fracture of the left ulna and radius. Blood pressure 90/60, heart rate 120.”
The paramedic recited this as they wheeled the patient into Trauma 1.
“Okay, on my count: one, two, three,” Robby counted as he transferred the man to the stretcher.
“James, I’m Dr. Whitaker. Can you hear us?” Whitaker asked, checking his pupils as well. The team had already begun cutting away his clothing.
“Yes… It hurts so much,” James replied haltingly.
“Can you take a breath for me?” Whitaker checked his lungs with the stethoscope. “Symmetrical vesicular breath sounds,” he said, glancing quickly at Robby.
That was a good sign—the knife hadn’t pierced his lungs. But he was still bleeding. “James, this is Dr. Robby. You’re losing blood, but we’re going to fix this.” He looked at one of the nurses. “Give him an O-negative.” That would stabilize his vital signs.
Meanwhile, Whitaker was running the ultrasound transducer over James’s abdomen, revealing a black spot on the screen. “Positive FAST—there’s free fluid in Morrison’s space,” he said, stepping away from the stretcher.
“Blood pressure rose to 110/70,” a nurse exclaimed.
“All right, let’s put a plaster splint on that arm and take him up for a CT scan,” Robby ordered.
“Where… where are we going?” the boy asked, looking frightened and gasping for breath from the pain of his injury.
“They’ll need an image of your abdomen and your arm in surgery,” Robby explained in a calm voice. “You’ll be fine,” he assured him.
“Can… can you call my boyfriend? He doesn’t know I’m here…” the boy said urgently. He looked scared.
“Of course, I’ll take care of it, boss,” one of the nurses replied cheerfully as they left the room and headed for the elevator. Robby simply nodded in thanks.
Only he and Whitaker remained in the trauma room, taking off their gloves.
Robby looked at the boy for a moment. “Good job, Whitaker.” He had to say it—he’d handled the case skillfully and quickly.
The boy turned quickly, staring at him. There was a hint of surprise in his expression.
“Thanks,” he replied with unusual shyness. Robby could see the small, satisfied smile he was trying to hide.
The man was about to say something else when he was called away to handle another trauma case. God, he couldn't wait for this shitty shift to end.
He was already feeling exhausted, so he headed to the break room to pour himself some of the awful coffee that was always there. He turned on the coffee maker and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. He sighed as he looked up at the ceiling, closing his eyes as he told himself that this would all be over soon.
Just then, a notification from his phone buzzed from the pocket of his sweatshirt. It was probably nothing important, but he took his phone out of his pocket anyway, causing something else to fall out.
Whitaker’s little notebook. He’d forgotten he’d put it there.
He bent down to pick it up, groaning at the strain on his poor knees.
The notebook had fallen open, so Robby could see what was written inside. And don’t get him wrong—he would never invade Whitaker’s privacy, or at least, he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t seen his name written in the notebook.
He moved the notebook a little farther away to read it better.
“Why is Robby looking at me like that?????”
"This man is going to kill me”
That was the first thing he saw, written in Whitaker’s messy handwriting. He reread it.
What the fuck?
And he read it again.
Again, what the fuck? What did that mean?
Did Whitaker mind that he was looking at him? But then, how was he looking at him that made the boy think he was going to kill him? He was terribly confused.
He noticed there were more scribbled pages, so, since he’s definitely not an honest man, he kept reading.
Some were notes about symptoms or things to keep in mind regarding patients, which made sense, but once again, he found his name in the little notebook.
“God, Robby looks so hot with his glasses on.”
“I’m such a fucking weirdo.”
“Focus, focus.” The last one was underlined and circled.
That made him blush. Me, looking hot in my old-man glasses? he thought. He hated the feeling in his stomach that came from being flattered by Whitaker, even if the boy wasn’t there to tell him so directly. Which definitely would have been three times worse.
So did Robby wearing glasses distract Whitaker? Interesting.
He kept reading. His coffee was already hot and waiting for him in the coffee maker, but he didn’t care. He flipped through more pages and found something else.
“Who is she?” It was crossed out.
“Robby looks happy.” That was crossed out too.
“It’s not my problem.”
“I’m so stupid.”
“She?” he thought. If he remembered correctly, Noelle had been hanging out at The Pitt more often over the last few days. They’d chatted a bit, but nothing more than that. He and Noelle had never really been together—they’d just hooked up a couple of times, a stupid attempt by Robby to get the boy out of his head. He realized it wasn’t right and decided to walk away on good terms. She’d been nice about it.
Could it be that Whitaker was talking about her? He really didn’t know. Didn’t Whitaker like him talking to her? He didn’t know that either.
He looked at a couple more pages, but they were just more reminders that he needed to focus and stop staring like “a weirdo.”
He held the notebook in his hands, trying to process what he’d just read.
Whitaker thought he was… attractive. Robby thought the same thing about him, to say the least.
But then what the fuck was he supposed to do now? Be a responsible doctor and tell him those notes were terribly inappropriate, or confess what he really thought of him? Although, in the first place, Robby wasn’t even supposed to be snooping through his notebook without asking. All he had to do was give it back to Whitaker and be done with it. But now he knew that Whitaker most likely had feelings for him, too.
He wasn’t sure what to do; he wasn’t sure what was the right thing to do.
He told himself he wouldn’t give the notebook back to Whitaker just yet; he wanted to see if he could find out more about what the other man thought of him.
Robby ran a hand over his face. He hadn’t even realized how red he was; his face was burning.
He thought for a few more minutes before someone suddenly opened the door to the break room. Out of reflex, he quickly stuffed the notebook into his pocket, as if he were a teenager hiding drugs.
“Hey, Robby…” Dana exclaimed, a little confused by the man’s sudden movement. She leaned against the doorframe. “Santos was looking for you to discuss a case… Is everything okay?” she asked, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah! Yeah,” he said, perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm. He didn’t know why he’d gotten so nervous. “Everything’s fine. I’ll be right there,” he added, trying to sound relaxed. He hoped with all his might that Dana wouldn’t notice his blush, but she was very observant.
“Are you sure? You don’t look fine, at all,” Dana asked.
“I’m fine. Uh, where did you say Santos was?” he replied, as he quickly refilled his coffee thermos and got ready to leave the room.
“South 16,” Dana said. You could tell from her voice that she didn’t believe a word he was saying.
“I’m on my way,” Robby said, already heading out of the room, without turning back to look at Dana. He already knew what expression she had put on.
He breathed a sigh of relief once he was far enough away from the woman. He was certain she would question him further later on, and Robby hoped he could successfully avoid her.
He walked toward South 16, hoping the blush on his face had already faded. As he passed by the nurses’ station, he caught sight of the cause of his entire internal crisis. There was Whitaker, looking embarrassed as he spoke with Santos, who seemed to be teasing him.
He was completely oblivious to everything. He didn’t know that Robby knew.
Amid Santos’s laughter, the girl locked eyes with Robby, so she decided to leave a dejected Whitaker behind and approach the doctor.
“Dr. Robby! I’ve been looking for you.” She could still hear the amusement in her voice.
“Yeah… Dana told me that,” he replied. They started walking toward South 16.
He tried to avoid asking, but the question slipped out before she could stop it.
“Um, what’s up with Whitaker?” he said, trying to make the question sound casual.
Santos looked at him for a second. She and Dana were alike in that they were both very observant.
“Nothing, he just lost his notebook and has no clue where it is,” she said with a chuckle. “Our Huckleberry’s been really distracted lately,” she added.
“Is he still helping out at the farm?” Robby asked. It probably sounded pretty nosy. Although this time he held back a little more, because he still had the words “Is he still seeing that woman?” on the tip of his tongue instead.
It wasn't that he didn't like Amy—or rather, Mrs. Miller—or maybe he did; Robby wanted to believe he wasn't so childish to hate her or anything like that. But deep down, he knew it was simply jealousy mixed with concern.
His professional medical side told him that Whitaker shouldn’t be pushing himself too hard, especially since the young man was already working with the street team to help the homeless, on top of shifts that sometimes lasted more than 12 hours, during which he gave it his all. Of course, that was what his rational side said; he was concerned about Whitaker professionally.
On the other hand, his selfish, sentimental side told him that he actually wanted the boy for himself. And that, deep down, he wasn’t happy that Whitaker was playing house with a widow and her baby. But he would never say that out loud.
He refocused on his conversation with Santos, who seemed to be sizing him up again.
“No… actually, ever since you talked to him about boundaries, he’s hardly seen Amy at all,” Santos explained. “I don’t think he’s been to the farm in a little over two months,” she added, casting an expectant glance at Robby—as if waiting for a reaction from the man.
Robby tried to keep a calm, carefree expression. He didn’t want to smile knowingly at that moment.
“That sounds good,” he replied, looking straight ahead. They had already arrived at Sur 16. “Present the case, Dr. Santos,” he said, resuming his professional demeanor.
The hours passed. Robby had already handled three more trauma cases, during which he’d avoided looking directly at Whitaker.
He really didn’t mean to do it on purpose, but the moment he looked at the boy, he remembered his notes about how good-looking he wrote Robby was, and he’d blush instantly. He could even say he’d been acting awkward around Whitaker, as if he could no longer think straight. Every time the boy approached him to ask for help with a case, or to seek his approval, Robby stuttered slightly and was sometimes distracted by the boy’s proximity, instead of really focusing on what he was saying.
He had to stop; he wasn’t fifteen years old anymore to be acting like this.
He was talking calmly with Mel—nothing in particular—but her presence gave him a little more peace of mind. Robby really liked her. He had a special fondness for her.
Just then, Dana approached them.
Robby had also been avoiding her, especially that look of hers that made him feel as if she could see right through him. She had probably noticed Robby’s strange behavior, too.
“Hey, Robby,” she said to get his attention. He decided to approach her as well, putting off his conversation with Mel for later. “The patient from the alleged hate crime, James, is waiting for you in South 15.”
“I didn’t think they’d send him here,” he said, confused.
“Yeah, well, there aren’t any beds upstairs, so they sent him back here,” Dana replied regretfully. Robby wasn’t going to bring up the bed issue again; he’d already argued enough with the hospital administrators about it.
“As if we have beds to spare here…” he muttered irritably. He sighed in resignation. “Fine… I’ll go there,” he finally said. He knew it wasn’t the patient’s fault.
He had already started walking toward James’s room when Dana, behind him, spoke again.
“I sent Whitaker over, too,” the nurse exclaimed. Robby could sense there was an ulterior motive behind it. He didn’t respond; he simply continued on his way.
He arrived at South 15 and knocked gently on the door before entering. He opened the door and greeted the patient; immediately, he saw Whitaker sitting next to the stretcher.
“Hello, James. I’m Dr. Robby. I treated you alongside Dr. Whitaker a few hours ago,” he said as he sat down on the other side of the stretcher.
“Yeah… I remember,” the patient replied. He looked tired; he must have had a very difficult day.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Whitaker asked gently.
“At the cafeteria… he was really worried, so I wanted him to take his mind off things for a bit,” he explained.
“Okay… Do you think… you could tell us what happened before you were admitted?” Robby asked, trying to make his voice sound reassuring to the boy.
James was silent for a moment, then looked at Whitaker. Whitaker nodded at him, as if to say everything was fine. Robby was amazed by Whitaker’s ability to get patients to talk—how he inspired such trust in them.
“I was in my college park… I wasn’t even doing anything,” James began. “I was just sitting there when a blow to the head knocked me to the ground. I wanted to see who it was, but… more blows followed,” he sighed with difficulty. It was clear he was on the verge of tears. Reliving that moment must have been very painful. “It was a group, at least five men… and they were yelling and laughing at me. I’m pretty sure they already knew me.” The first tears rolled down his cheeks. Whitaker looked at him with concern. “And they kept saying… that I should be more of a man, that I was effeminate, that my boyfriend and I were disgusting, that I was…” He couldn’t go on. He just sobbed.
Robby’s blood boiled. A boy so young shouldn’t have to go through this—neither he or anyone else, really.
Robby couldn’t understand homophobic people, especially when people his own age thought that way. He’d never had a problem with sexual diversity, although growing up under his grandmother’s wing, she had, of course, tried to impose her prejudices on him. But later, when he started college, he was able to explore and have new experiences, discovering his bisexuality along the way.
Those were very different times from now, but he was able to find a safe and trusting place; there was never a moment when he felt his sexuality was negatively affecting his life. Although now that he was older, he had stopped dating men, unlike in his youth.
That was before he met Whitaker, who reawakened that long-neglected side of Robby.
And if he was right—and Whitaker was also attracted to him—then he probably understood how James felt. Especially since he knew the boy came from a christian family. It must have been hard to grow up in such a closed-minded environment.
He still remembers that Whitaker studied theology; maybe someday he’d discover the reason behind that decision.
Back with James, Robby could sense Whitaker’s desire to reach out to the boy, to offer a comforting hand, but he seemed unsure. Instead, he spoke.
“I can’t imagine how painful that must have been… and I’m grateful that you had the courage to talk about it, because what you went through isn’t fair or normal,” Whitaker said, looking at James with compassion. “And… you know, I…” He exchanged glances with Robby. The man returned his gaze intently, waiting for him to continue.
“I… went through some tough times because of… intolerant people,” James mustered the courage to look at Whitaker as he listened. “My family is… difficult; they often tried to change who I am because of their own prejudices. They called me all sorts of names, they even told me that my very existence was a sin” he continued, as if recalling those times. He took a deep breath.
“But eventually I realized that the only opinion that should matter to me is that of the people who care about me, who loves me and respect me.” He turned to look at Robby. They both shared a small smile.
“So don’t let this affect your life or your relationship—all you’re doing is living, and the people who don’t agree with that, and who commit such acts… must face the consequences,” Whitaker concluded. James was no longer sobbing; it seemed the boy’s words had calmed him down.
“So… when you’re ready, James,” Robby began, and the patient looked at him. “You need to report this, an officer will come to take your statement.” He could see that the boy looked more worried now. “It doesn’t have to be right now, but… I recommend that you do it.” This time he looked at Whitaker for a moment before adding:
“If we don’t stand up for ourselves, no one else will. There are laws that protect us… You’ll be fine,” he assured him, trying to reassure him at ease. He hoped both boys got the message—why he’d said “us.”
He could see surprise flash across James’s face, and Whitaker seemed to be deep in thought; Robby wondered what was going through his mind.
“Okay, I… I think I’ll give my statement later,” James murmured. Robby knew it wasn’t the quickest or easiest process, but justice had to be served. “Um… Thank you very much, both of you,” the boy smiled, looking at both doctors, then lowering his head and adding:
“You two make a cute couple,” he said kindly.
The blush Robby had been struggling to hide spread across his face. He looked up at James and then at Whitaker, his mouth slightly agape. And Whitaker didn’t look any better than Robby—his ears were a deep pink, as were his neck and cheeks. He seemed too embarrassed to keep his eyes on Robby. He looked away immediately. Cute, he thought.
After such an emotional conversation, that had caught Robby completely off guard. He’d been hoping to chat with Whitaker for a bit, but now he wasn’t so sure—he was too embarrassed.
Robby was about to correct James when the door opened.
“I’m back, honey… Oh, hi,” said the man as he walked into the room. Robby could bet he was James’s boyfriend.
“This is my boyfriend, Owen,” James said with a smile.
Robby seized the moment to make a quick exit.
“Hi, Owen,” he greeted him quickly. “Well—uh, good luck, James. They’ll let you know as soon as they can send you upstairs, uh… feel free to ask for anything you need,” he explained hurriedly, though he tried to keep a professional tone.
“Sure, again, thank you very much, Dr. Robby,” James replied. “And thank you very much, Dr. Whitaker,” he said, looking at the doctor, who had already stood up from his seat.
“No problem. Excuse me…” And Whitaker quickly left. Robby also said goodbye and finally stepped out of the room.