Chapter Text
Michael “Robby” Robinavitch had changed.
He was quicker to anger, less inclined to listen and empathize, and most notably, had reached an epiphany. He kept this last part to himself, hoping that he could hold onto this secret power a little longer. It was his new philosophy in life.
He didn’t care.
It felt brilliant, like an antidote to his years of emotional turmoil, self-disgust, guilt, and anger towards everything and everyone. He just didn’t care! His feet felt lighter when he walked around The Pitt’s ER, practically floating down the corridors.
His shoulders were no longer burdened by the responsibilities that accompanied being the Chief Medical Physician and Head of The Emergency Department. His grandparents would be proud.
He clocked into work, did what he was paid to do, and clocked out. He attended conferences, he answered emails, he kept up with research, but he no longer felt like a raw, exposed nerve. He wouldn’t consider it joyful, this new lease on life. It was as if he was watching the world play out through a sheet of glass.
People noticed, he had no doubt they would. His new philosophy allowed him to let those concerns roll right off his back. All he had to do was work, sleep, eat, rinse and repeat. If he was lucky, Jake would answer his texts.
They were back to somewhat regular speaking terms. Robby could expect an answer from Jake once every two weeks, as if it were part of a custody agreement. Twice a month, sometimes more if the stars and planets were aligned just right, they played basketball. Those days were more healing to his mind and soul than any sort of therapy he had tried so far.
He tried not to dwell on that too much.
He tried not to dwell on much, these days.
He realized if he just kept himself in constant movement, in constant action, he could make it through anything.
While most attendings remain in a central area within their hospital department, he circled constantly, looking to jump in or offer assistance. He was never too far, he liked to assure. Pausing in patient room doorways, watching procedures from a safe distance, constantly walking through the department. His mind and body remained in constant movement.
For one of Jake’s birthdays, Robby surprised him by taking him to the Pittsburgh Zoo & Aquarium. Robby remembers watching the large sharks circling within its enclosure, never being able to pause, lest it stop breathing.
He wonders if one day he would be able to look behind him, and the tile would have indents from his pacing. He wonders if he could create his own Grand Canyon just through sheer perseverance.
That’s enough.
He moved forward on his path, working through his daily check-ins. Instead of just asking how work related issues, he had started to also ask about their personal lives. He didn’t care.
Some were more receptive than others, most confused about the sudden interest in their lives. It was a new effort he had started after he realized how much he fucked up with Fr- Dr. Langdon. He couldn’t let that happen again.
Enough.
He found Dr. McKay.
She spoke about her patients, their symptoms, walked him through her thought process. He nodded along, spoke when prompted, questioned when needed. He could play the part of a Good Attending, he figured. It was like slipping into a costume tailored to someone else’s measurements.
They had a moment to discuss her son, which he asked about, and she replied. He didn’t care.
Nodding a thank you, he moved onto his next target. He caught up to Dr. King, too much on her plate, and repeated the script for the role of Good Attending.
He had almost completed an entire loop when he saw Dr. Whitaker speaking with a patient. Good bedside manner, he noted. He was proud of him, in a way that made his chest ache. He was proud of all of the members of his staff, but he had a soft spot for Whitaker. He tried to not let it show, not play favourites, but it wasn’t easy. He would find himself just staring at him sometimes, watching him work.
Robby noticed sometimes this effect Whitaker had on patients. It was like the lighting in the room became softer, less harsh. The air was easier to breathe. If Robby looked over at him, which he did frequently, it felt like watching the sun rays breaking through clouds on a summer day. Just a gentle comforting presence.
Stop it.
Shaking his head, he decided to instead speak with someone else, anyone else.
Dr. Santos was typing at a workstation.
In a sing-song voice, he asked,
“How’s the charting today?”
“Fine.” She answered, then sighed, looked up from the screen and asked,
“Tell me again why we can’t use that AI shit Dr. Al-Hashimi brought in?” Dr. Al-Hashimi, his temporary replacement. She was an incredible team leader, adept at patient care, and fond of technology he considered the scourge of the earth.
“Builds character.” He answered simply, smiling at her obvious annoyance.
“How’s the workload?” He inquired. He leaned his head side to side, stretching his neck muscles, consciously unclenching his jaws, working on lowering his shoulders from their tense position.
“Fine. The usual, luckily there’s-”
“TRAUMA INCOMING, VEHICLE COLLISION” Blared the soundsystem.
Back to it, then.
“Which trauma room is open?” Robby shouted out, waiting for Dana’s response, “Two!” She answered back, just as quickly.
Rushing over he shouted out orders, things they would need in anticipation, possibly calling down someone to consult from surgery, and added, “Bring me, uh Dr. Whitaker and Dr. King!”
What felt like seconds later, they were working on their patient, everyone working in perfect synergy.
Barking out orders, helping with the procedures, Robby’s mind was clear and he felt incredible.
When things stabilized, he stepped back, folding his arms, allowing him to observe his staff. He watched as King and Whitaker proved why they were oftentimes his preferred picks.
When the patient was moved to their next stop, surgery, then most likely back down here to wait for a bed in the ICU, Robby said, “Good job everyone. Back to work.”
Snapping off his gloves, tossing them in the hazardous waste bin, sanitizing his hands, he glanced around the room. His eyes caught onto Whitaker, again.
His hair was looking blonder and softer lately, he noted.
Stop.
Before he could help himself, he said, “Hang back a sec, Whitaker.” He walked up to his intern, paused, looked down, and said, “You did good in there, today.” He looked around the room, always avoiding direct eye contact, when he heard,
“Thank you, sir.” Whitaker was beginning to move away, when Robby reached out to grab his shoulder, then stopped himself. He said,
“Wait, um, there was a study I keep meaning to send to you, might be of interest. Something to do with, uh,” he scrambled, trying to think of a lie,
“Intracoronary Fribrinolysis in STEMI,” he said. God, he hoped that was in fact a journal article and not just wishful thinking.
“Alright, sounds interesting. Thank you for thinking of me, I’ll come find you later, then.” Whitaker gave him a quick smile, then continued out the door, back onto the floor.
Get it together. What happened to not caring? It was going so well.