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It was the last few hours of the day shift. Luckily things were winding down instead of ramping up.
Of course, it was still busy. Doctors and nurses weaved past one another as they went in between rooms, the buzz of bright fluorescent lights a constant presence.
“Patient presented with abdominal pain in the left upper quadrant of -” Santos had been speaking into the dictation device, staring dully at the computer screen, and surely enough she was interrupted.
“Trinit- Dr. Santos!” Whitaker was yelling from across the room. Santos heaved a huge sigh as she shut off the recording device and whirled around in her seat, eyebrows raised.
“What!”
Whitaker was breathless. “There’s hockey players here.”
Santos tried to control her face. “Oh, players from a heavy contact sport are in the ER? Tell me something that will actually shock me, Fuckleberry.”
She hadn’t taken Whitaker to be a huge sports guy. He had never watched games at the apartment or even remotely talked about them. Unless…
Santos' face turned serious. “Oh, no way.”
Whitaker nodded his head frantically.
Santos immediately stood up and pointed at the screen. “Dana, put me down for the room with the hockey players in it.”
Dana stared at her impassively. “Didn’t take you to be into that type of stuff.”
Santos sighed and waved her hand. “Think what you want.” She turned to Whitaker and jerked her head to the side, they both started walking towards the room.
“They’re in room four!” Dana called after them.
“So what are we looking at?” Santos asked Whitaker
“Probable fractured collarbone, definite concussion. Patient lost consciousness briefly on the ice.”
“Which one is it?” Santos asked, peering sideways at him.
Whitaker avoided her glance yet fought a smile. “Well, they have him checked in as ‘CANADA 24’, so make your guess.”
She gave a silent fist pump, which caused Whitaker to give her a look.
“What?” Santos muttered, exasperated. “I’m not celebrating that he’s injured, ok? I’m celebrating that he’s here.”
She pushed open the door to room four and they both entered.
Their eyes laid on a rather pale looking Shane Hollander.
“Good evening Mr. Hollander, my name is Dr. Santos and this is Dr. Whitaker, we’re going to be taking care of you today,”
Santos glanced at the vitals monitor.“Did they give him pain meds en route?” she asks.
A shake of a head from one of the nurses who handled the transfer of care. “Just acetaminophen. They were making sure he stayed conscious due to the concussion.”
Santos looked down at Shane. “Mr. Hollander, how are we feeling? The pain on a scale from 1-10?”
A blank stare with fluttery eyes. But the pale and sweaty skin tells Santos everything she needs to know. She turned back to Whitaker and the other doctors.
“Alright, we need to move him. Go ahead and push morphine. Try the minimum dose but if he continues to be uncomfortable we can reassess. Send him up to the x-ray and we’ll see if this is something we need to fix with resetting or surgery. May need a nerve blocker, but let’s try to avoid it.”
“You’re going to be okay, Mr. Hollander,” Whitaker reassured him.
Before they wheeled him out, Shane grabbed onto his sleeve and stared him dead in the eyes.
Santos had to hide her huge smirk at seeing how red-faced Whitaker got.
“What’s your name?” Shane was asking him.
“Oh, Denn - Dr. Whitaker, sir, uh, that’s me.”
Shane let go of his sleeve with a nod as he was wheeled away.
Whitaker stared after him. Santos nudged his shoulder. “Not used to seeing guys like that on the farm, huh?””
Whitaker nudged her shoulder back with a glare. “Shut up.”
…
…
…
The rest of the shift went without incident. That was until an irritated nurse from one of the upstairs departments came walking in. “Is there a Dr. Whitaker here?”
It was the last hour. Whitaker had been catching up on his charting. He looked up, face a bit anxious as he stood from his seat. “Yep! Um, yes, that’s me. How can I help you?”
“There’s a patient upstairs that is insisting on speaking to you. If you have time…”
Whitaker was confused. Who on earth would be wanting to speak to him? And why was the nurse taking time out of her shift to actually honor this patient’s request?
Whitaker looked over his shoulder at Robbie and Dana for help. Robbie shrugged. “Go ahead. We have it covered down here.”
Dana was amused. “Mr. Popular, huh?”
“Mr. Popular is probably in trouble,” Santos interjected, staring at her screen as she was typing.
Whitaker swallowed thickly, trying to think of who he’s seen today. He didn’t want to be part of those malpractice lawsuits, not after seeing how much it had stressed out Dr. King.
Whitaker gathered his stuff as he stood up and went up the elevator, to the room number the nurse had given him. He knocked twice on the door and swallowed thickly.
“Hello…?” He opened the door and froze.
“Doctor!” Shane Hollander said cheerfully, throwing his hands up into the air.
Whitaker stared, jaw slack for a moment, before he recovered. “Hi, hey, man. How are you feeling?” So they hadn’t just stuck to acetaminophen, then. They must’ve needed to re-set his collarbone.
He walked over, glancing at the new cast on him and his vital signs, and of course the bag of good stuff helping the pain.
“I needed to talk to you,” Shane said, very seriously.
Whitaker’s heart leapt into his throat. He hadn’t done anything wrong when processing him, right? Of course not. He shouldn’t second guess himself. He was hardly there. Santos would be the one in trouble. And yet…
He couldn’t help but imagine a lawsuit between him and the Shane Hollander, basically the NHL. That one… he doesn’t think the hospital could win.
“Okay, talk to me,” he replied, grabbing the rolling chair and sitting down, scooting over to his bedside so they could be eye level.
Shane focused on his gaze. “I need you to call my friend and tell them what room I’m in.”
Whitaker blinked. He couldn’t help but wonder why he needed to do it, but of course, he would honor the request.
“Okay…” Whitaker said as he pulled out his cell. “Can you give me their phone number?”
“Yeah, it’s 6-1-7, 2-5….” Shane said, then paused, squinted. “Wait… 7-5-2..? Or…”
Whitaker looked at Shane’s bedside, seeing his personal phone. “How about I just search for their contact, is that okay?”
Shane frowned, eyebrows furrowing as he paused, but then nodded.
“Okay….” Whitaker mumbled under his breath as he grabbed his phone. Locked. Right. Of course. “Passcode?”
He sure hoped Shane at least remembered that number.
“1208”
Whitaker punched it in without much thought and then clicked on the contacts app. He ignored any pop-ups he saw, he knew lots of people must be concerned and were reaching out.
“Okay, who do you want me to call?”
“Lily,” he replied. “She’s my friend”
“Lily… okay.” Whitaker stopped himself from raising an eyebrow, kind of curious, but of course not going to pry. He scrolled through Shane’s contacts. “H, I J… L, Lily… alright.”
Whitaker pressed the contact and held the phone up to his ear.
Riiiiing. Riiii-
It hadn’t even rung twice, and the call picked up.
“Fuck, Hollander. Are you okay?”
Whitaker couldn’t control his expression this time, his eyebrows practically shooting off of his forehead as his eyes darted to Shane. Because he recognized that voice. And knew it wasn’t a Lily.
Shane just stared back at him with a serene smile. “Did he answer?”
And “she” was he now.
Lily. Ilya. Ah.
Whitaker felt a headache coming on, he squeezed his eyes shut as he pinched his brow, answering. “Uh, is this ‘Lily’?” he asked, just to confirm.
A long pause on the phone.
“Yes, who is this?”
“This is Doctor Whitaker, uh.” He rushed to get out, to immediately and quietly assert hey, I’m under HIPPA, you’re good! “I’m with the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. I’m with a patient who asked if you could be contacted.”
“Illlyyyaaaa!” Shane said, and Whitaker knew it had definitely picked up in the background.
“Um, he was administered some pain medication so he is a bit out of it, but he is out of the woods, and he was asking if you could be informed of his room number if you were to visit.”
A grunt over the phone, Whitaker assumed that was a noise of confirmation and continued. “He’s in room 902. So, that’s on the 9th floor. And there’s an entrance, uh, for staff in the back if you’d prefer to come in that way..?”
“What did you say your name was again?” the voice over the phone asked flatly.
“Dr. Whitaker.”
“Doc-tor Whitaker,” He said slowly, like he was committing it to memory. “I will be there. 20 minutes. Stay there.” The line went dead.
Whitaker pulled the phone away from his ear and looked back at Shane, who was grinning ear from ear.
“Is he coming?”
Whitaker nodded warily. Ilya clearly hadn’t been happy.
Shane smiled happily and leaned back against the pillow. “Yessss!”
Whitaker looked down at his watch for the time. Damn. He was definitely staying over his shift now.
“I knew I had a good feeling about you,” Shane continued.
But he wasn’t going to leave either of them hanging. He couldn’t.
Whitaker looked up and smiled at him. “Yeah? I’m glad.”
“Cause you blushed at me” Shane pointed, right at his chest.
Whitaker’s smile dropped off of his face, eyes wide.
Shane laughed. “There it is again”
His face was so warm. Was it really that obvious, even to a total stranger, what he was? If Santos ever heard about this happening he would never let him live it down.
“Ilya is really nice,” Shane was still going, very matter-of-factly. Whitaker was thankful for the change of subject.
“He seems nice.” Whitaker turned back to face him, a kind expression on his face.
“I like him a lot.”
“I can see that. That’s great.”
Whitaker was trying to keep it light, not too detailed or prying. Shane obviously was high on pain meds, much more loose than the tense and precise player he had seen in interviews and games. He didn’t want to take advantage of that. Even if Shane had pretty much just pried Whitaker’s own secrets right out into the open.
“I wanted to ask him…” Shane trailed off. “No, nevermind.”
Whitaker tilted his head.
“Fine. I’ll tell you.” Shane heaved a huge sigh. Whitaker blinked twice. “I wanted to invite him to hang out, like, go on vacation with me. You think he will say yes?”
Whitaker was nodding his head before he could stop himself, giving a small laugh. He knew it. “Uh, yeah, I do.”
“I’m so mad, I was supposed to see him tonight…”
Whitaker was feeling his ears burn.
“I can’t move like this,” Shane gestured to himself. “So how am I supposed to have him –”
Whitaker stood up, glancing at his watch as he pointed at Shane. “Uh, you, stay here. I’m going to find Ily- Lil… uh, I’m going to find your friend and show him to your room, okay?”
Shane gave a loopy smile and a thumbs-up.
Whitaker exited the room quickly, then slowed down so he could quietly shut the door behind him. He walked down the hallway, pressing the elevator button, and stared ahead blankly as the doors opened and shut. When he was in the lobby, he went around to the back entrance. Someone was standing out there, hands shoved in their pockets, hoodie up, pacing.
Whitaker took a deep breath, before pushing open the door. Before he could call out though, Santos was behind him, grabbing onto his shoulders.
“Huckleberry! If you’re not in trouble, I really gotta ask you something.” she said, then lowered her voice. “Did Dr. Garcia say anything about me to you? I saw you speaking to her today, she hasn’t replied to my texts for like two days now…”
The person pacing in the hoodie had jumped and froze, looking over.
“Uh, Dr. Santos, not right now,” Whitaker gave a forced smile and glanced to the side, towards the hooded figure.
Santos frowned, registering it as simply just a hooded man in the dark alley, which, understandable.
“What the fuc-”
“You’re here for CANADA 24, right?” Whitaker called and Santos whipped her head towards Whitaker, shutting her mouth and eyes widening slightly.
The figure shoved his hands into his pockets and grunted. Yeah. Affirmation.
“You can follow me right this way,” Whitaker said, backing up and holding open the door.
The hooded figure walked over, and when the lights of the hospital hit his face, surely enough, it was Ilya Rosanov.
Santos, speechless for once, stood staring. Ilya glanced and nodded at her as he passed.
They all went up the elevator and once out into the hallway, Ilya spoke up.
“How is he?” his voice had a tiny waiver at the end, which made Whitaker soften.
“He is recovering very well. He should be able to be discharged once the pain medication wears off. They’re just wanting to keep him overnight for observation.”
They all stop in front of the room.
Ilya looks towards them both, jaw clenched. “I can go in alone, yes?”
Dr. Santos and Whitaker are immediately nodding.
Ilya nodded and then opened the door.
“Ilyyyaa!” Shane’s sing-songy voice rang out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Whitaker could see Santos open her mouth and then close it in shock, eyebrows raising.
Ilya shot them both an anxious glare before he turned back to Shane, “Shhh, sh”
The door shut behind them, and they weren’t privy to the rest of the conversation. Whitaker was relieved, honestly. He’d had enough drama for the day.
“Holy shit,” Santos whispered, staring at him wide-eyed.
“Yeah,” is all Whitaker could reply with.
They both stayed quiet as they waited, leaning against the wall. They would have to swipe their keycard to get Ilya back to the staff entrance when he wanted to leave.
Around 20 minutes passed. A nurse walked up, eying the two of them before knocking on the door, causing them both to try and stop her but failing as he opened the door.
“Mr. Hollander?” she asked, looking at his chart, then her eyebrows raised as she saw Ilya. “Uh oh, not going to snuffle him with a pillow, are we, Mr. Rosanov?”
Couldn’t be further from the truth, Whitaker thought.
“No no no, but good thinking.” Ilya responded, with a smile on his face that looked sad. “... But no, I was just leaving”
The nurse nodded at him.
Ilya walked out of the room and as he shut the door behind him, he slowly raised a hand and pointed. “If you say anything -”
Whitaker immediately raised his hands and shook his head. “We’re under HIPPA, so-”
Santos interrupted, putting an arm around Whitaker. Her face was serious. “We’re not going to say anything. At all. Alright?”
Ilya glanced between the two of them, frowning, before slowly nodding his head.
Santos then checked her watch and said, “Okay, well, we’re both off shift now, so let’s hurry this up and get you home, alright?”
Ilya swallowed, his throat bobbing before he said, “Yes. Okay.”
They all walked to the elevator. Whitaker was surprised Santos was being so calm about all of this. They stood in the elevator in silence.
Eventually, Ilya turned and said to Whitaker, “He said you blushed at him.”
Whitaker and Santos both whip their heads at the same time. Whitaker out of embarrassment and slight fear, Santos out of pure delight.
“No way,” she said, a huge grin.
Whitaker’s face was already burning, so he definitely couldn’t lie. “I, uh, no disrespect!” He couldn’t beat a 6’3 russian hockey player in a fight.
Ilya simply quirked a brow and opened his mouth, but the elevator then slowed down as they paused on the 4th floor. Everyone collectively tensed up.
And somehow, when the doors opened, in walked Dr. Garcia.
Santos sighed and shifted. It was Whitaker’s turn to grin like an idiot.
Dr. Garcia nodded her head at Whitaker and glanced over Ilya, she definitely didn’t know who he was, before her eyes landed on Santos. “Santos,” is all she said.
Santos begrudgingly looked over at her. “Dr. Garcia.”
Dr. Garcia huffed a laugh and looked to the side, before saying. “I was busy. Not a big deal, alright?”
“Mhm,” Santos said, nodding her head. “Yep. Not.”
The elevator doors slid shut and they started moving down.
“Are you getting off now?” Dr. Garcia asked.
Whitaker silently rolled his eyes and turned his head towards the wall. He didn’t want her coming over again. And frankly, Santos’ sulking over her was irritating him. He could only give her the same pep talk one hundred times.
“Yup,” Santos said, rocking back and forth on her heels, shoving her hands into her pockets.
A pause. “So I can come over at 10?”
“... If you bring ramen, sure.
Damn it, Trinity.
The elevator door opens. “Well, this is me.” Dr. Garcia stepped off, giving her a wink before the doors shut.
Santos simply tilted her head back against the elevator with a quiet bang. “Fuck.”
“You should’ve said no,” Whitaker chided and she shot him a death glare.
“Mind your own business, Fuckleberry.”
After a moment of silence, bursting laughter filled the elevator. Not from Whitaker or Santos, but from Ilya. A bright smile on his face, the first one they had seen from him all night.
Both Santos and Whitaker could only turn red in shame.
Finally, they made it to the ground floor and went back to the private exit .Whitaker tapped his card again and held open the door for Ilya.
Ilya stepped out into the night, then paused, turning back to both of them.
“Thank you. For… uh, this,” he gestured in the air. “Is nice of you.” Another pause, a small quirk of a smile. “I know you will not say anything now.”
“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed. “We won’t.”
Ilya then glanced sideways at Santos. “You. Hang in there, yes?”
Whitaker had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from laughing.
Santos forced a smile and nodded her head, clenching a fist behind her back. Oh yeah, she wanted to punch Whitaker. “I will.”
Ilya put his hood on, glanced left and right, and went off into the night.
When he was gone, Whitaker laughed.
“Shut the fuck up!” Santos said and gave his shoulder a punch, then after a long pause, said, “God. I think that made me finally want to stop seeing her.”
…
…
…
In the car, Santos drove quietly, her and Whitaker heading back home.
Whitaker was kind of falling asleep, but then sat up very straight.
“Shit. Wait, is it possible to violate HIPPA preemptively? Like, before I knew someone was going to be my patient or like guessed what information they would tell me?”
Santos frowned in confusion and then furrowed her eyebrows. “What the fuck? What is this about?”
When the biggest fanpage shipping Shane and Ilya disappeared without a word the next day, Santos decided it would be best not to question it, or else she’d have to admit she had been following said fanpage.
…
…
…
A few years later…
gay people in str8 fields 🩺🏒🔥
Ilya: bad news
Ilya: we’re on the way
Whitaker: ????
Whitaker: Are you guys okay?
Trin: ffs
Trin: this is your fault for saying we were having a sl*w day, fuckleberry
Whitaker: …
Whitaker: My bad.
Shane: It’s not for me (this time)
Trin: this time, he says
Trin: how about never? Like
Trin: try to avoid the hospital? Maybe??
Whitaker: What happened to Ilya?
Shane sent a picture.<IMG>
Trin: ew
Whitaker: We’ll see you shortly.
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