Chapter Text
There was a lull—a rare, beautiful pocket of time in which no one was actively dying, labs were being processed, meds were kicking in, and patients’ families weren’t melting down or starting fights. Robby had almost made it to the bathroom to relieve himself for the first time since the start of the shift when Santos cornered him.
“Hey, Dr. Robby! You’re coming out with us tonight, right?” she asked cheerfully.
“Not a chance.” He moved to swing open the door to the men’s room, but she stepped in front of it, blocking him. These interns were getting way too bold.
“Oh, c’mon.” Santos’ eyes swept over him appraisingly, like she was sizing up an opponent. “Everyone’s going—the nurses, the residents, Javadi, Whitaker—Mel’s got plans, but even she said she’d go next time. Don’t be the uptight boss everyone hates.”
“Thin ice, Santos…” he warned, shooting for intimidating, but missing the mark judging by the way she grinned up at him, completely unfazed.
“I’m serious! It’ll be like a team bonding thing, so you have to be there. We’re going to Tom’s right after our shift ends, and you’re coming with us.” She said it like it was a fact.
Robby sighed heavily as he pushed past Santos to take a piss, and a look of triumph flashed across her face. This new batch was going to age him; he could already tell.
And sure enough, there he was a few hours later, nursing a beer alone in his booth and watching with mild alarm as the twenty-somethings took turns buying each other shots. How had they even managed to sneak Javadi in here? The med students and interns were talking animatedly with Donnie and Mateo by the bar, and Whitaker was giggling, his cheeks already flushed pink from the alcohol.
Robby had to hand it to Santos, “everyone” turned out to be pretty much everyone from the day shift. Looking around the room, at least two-thirds of the faces he saw were ones he recognized. It was a bit surreal, like the ED had been transported directly into the dimly lit bar. The thought made Robby’s head hurt.
“Lookin’ a little tense there,” Dana remarked as she scooched into the seat across from him.
“Oh, just wondering which of these people are going back to the hospital to get their stomachs pumped tonight,” he said wryly, and Dana threw her head back in a laugh.
“You were exactly the same when you were their age, I’ll have you remember.” She sipped her cocktail with an eyebrow raised, conjuring with a single look countless chaotic memories of Jack and Robby back in the day, maybe even in this very bar at some point.
“That doesn’t actually make me feel better,” he joked. She patted his arm placatingly where it rested on the table between them.
Robby watched over Dana’s shoulder as Perlah busted a dance move that caused Mohan and McKay to burst into hysterical laughter, folding in on themselves and clutching each other for support. Maybe this was a really good idea, actually. Maybe they all needed this.
“I’m glad to see you letting your hair down,” he said with a grin, gesturing to Dana’s cocktail.
“Ha! I’d like to say I could still party with the best of them, but I think I’m takin’ it easy tonight,” she told him. “The youngsters might not feel the consequences of a couple too many tomorrow, but I sure will.” They both laughed.
At the mention of youngsters, Robby’s eyes flickered over to the bar again, where Santos and Whitaker were engaged in what looked like a spirited debate. Whitaker’s eyes were bright and focused as he argued. Robby watched the way they narrowed in confusion for a second before crinkling with laughter at something Javadi said.
When Robby dragged his gaze back towards Dana, her expression was serious.
“Been meaning to talk to you about that. What’s up with you and the kid?”
“What kid?” Robby asked, and she looked at him like he was an idiot.
“Let’s start with the one who looks like Oliver Twist and can’t keep his eyes off you.”
Robby groaned, taking a large swig of his beer. As if on cue, Whitaker glanced briefly in his direction, his blue eyes darting away the second they met Robby’s gaze.
“Hey, I don’t want to have this conversation either, believe me,” Dana said, chuckling darkly. “But I think somebody has to. The nurses were talkin’ today.”
“About what exactly?” Robby swore he could see a bit of pity in Dana’s eyes. She examined his face carefully for a moment, like he was a patient and she was trying to decide if he might get violent.
“You’ve been putting your hands on him an awful lot, Robby,” she said gently.
And… shit. Because that was a thing. A thing he was aware of but hadn’t allowed himself to examine too closely. It was like a reflex at this point, squeezing Whitaker’s arm when he made a good call, grabbing the back of his neck to keep him from running away before Robby finished talking to him, steering him around the ER by his shoulders instead of telling him where to go.
Maybe it had something to do with that first day, when Whitaker had found Robby in their makeshift morgue and known exactly what to say to get him out of his head and back on the floor. Maybe he'd imprinted on his med student like a baby duck.
He was also, admittedly, a little bit addicted to the startled deer look in Whitaker’s eyes every time he touched him.
“He lost a patient, Dana, he needed support,” Robby argued weakly.
“And the other twenty times?”
“It was not twenty times,” he scoffed, and Dana leveled him with an intense stare honed from decades of experience dealing with the unruliest patients. Robby could count the number of occasions he’d been on the receiving end of it on one hand, and he remembered them all vividly.
“It was a hell of a lot more than you were touching anybody else, I can tell you that,” she said, her tone steely. Something in Robby’s expression caused her face to soften a little as she continued. “Take it easy on him, is all I’m saying. The kid clearly has a crush on you. I’m not sure groping him in the ER is the kindest thing to do.” Surely groping was an exaggeration.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had a med student with a crush, believe it or not. I know how to handle it,” he told her, and she barked out a laugh.
“Could’ve fooled me.” Then Dana let out a heavy sigh Robby recognized as the one reserved for when she was confronted with exceptional stupidity. He’d need more than a few hands to count the number of occasions he’d been on the receiving end of that one. “Just be careful, Robby. I can tell you like him.”
Robby’s eyes darted back over to the bar. Mateo and Javadi were dancing dorkily to a pop song, and Whitaker was watching them, his expression warm and fond.
“Sure, I like him. He’s a good kid, he’s going to be a great doctor.” His throat ached a little as he swallowed down another gulp of beer.
“Uh huh. And he deserves a mentor, not a distraction.”
“I assure you, that’s exactly my intention,” Robby said firmly.
“Glad to hear it. So…” Dana’s expression lifted to something closer to amusement. “Who are you spending time with these days?” Robby leaned back against his seat with an irritated groan.
“This conversation is the most action I’m getting this weekend, Dana.”
It wasn’t a lie, unfortunately; he was in a bit of a dry spell. At exactly what point did a dry spell turn into celibacy? Dana offered him a sympathetic grimace.
“I’m sorry to hear it, you’re lookin’ a little lonely lately,” she informed him. “You ever think about getting a cat?” Robby chuckled at her in disbelief.
“Oh, wow, I am really not liking this version of you tonight.”
“You love me for my honesty,” she reminded him, smirking as she lifted her glass to her lips.
“I do love you. Drop it.” Robby fixed her with a glare and drained the rest of his beer.
After about an hour of listening to his colleagues laughing and shouting at each other over the bullshit trendy music, Robby’s head started to swim. He was getting too old for this.
He’d been wrangled into a few tipsy conversations, but for the most part, he managed to stay toward the edge of things, observing everyone’s interactions in a way he hardly ever got a chance to do in the chaos of the ER.
There were Garcia and Santos looking far too comfortable in a corner booth—and maybe Robby wasn’t the only one who needed a lecture on professional boundaries tonight. Garcia was looking at the intern with an expression Robby had only ever seen on her face directly after a successful incision. Best not to think about what that meant.
By the bar, Princess was telling Javadi and Perlah a story that was likely very unsafe for work, judging by their appalled reactions. The med student’s eyes were wide, and there was a visible blush rising on her cheeks.
And Robby knew that McKay and Mateo were close, but it was different seeing the way she hovered around him now in a motherly sort of way, pressing a glass of water into his hands and glaring at him until he drank.
A warmth was settling in Robby’s stomach. As often as he and Jack took turns literally talking each other off the ledge, he knew these people were the real reason he always returned to work the next day. He needed them. More accurately, he needed them to need him. It was a realization he’d already come to several times over the course of his career, but it always dawned on him like it was new information. Maybe finding a therapist wasn’t such a terrible idea.
He felt unexpectedly grateful to Santos for pushing him to come out tonight, as much as he was starting to long for a quiet room and a comfortable bed. Santos had a good gut. Over the past week, Robby had seen how often she seemed to sense what people needed, and not just medically. He thought about telling her that, but when he glanced back over to where she and Garcia had been talking, they were both gone. God, he hoped that wasn’t a thing. He should have been keeping a better eye on them.
After a few additional sweeps of the room, his eyes fell, as he had been fighting to prevent them from doing since Dana’s lecture, to Whitaker. The med student was sitting alone at the bar, wearing a sour expression and staring at the beer in his glass like he wasn’t really seeing it. Robby made his way over without much thought, letting himself fall into Whitaker’s gravity.
“Why the long face, kid?” he asked as he deposited himself onto the barstool next to him. Whitaker brightened immediately.
“Oh, hi, Dr. Robby! I’m so glad you came out with us tonight.” His smile was painfully sincere. Robby signaled the bartender for another beer, taking a moment to center himself.
“Just Robby when we’re off the clock,” he reminded Whitaker, not for the first time.
“Right, Robby. So, do you guys do this often? For like, birthdays and stuff?” He gestured to the general chaos around them. A clearly drunk Mohan was pulling Collins out of her chair and towing her to where a small group was dancing to a Prince song.
“No, can’t say we do,” Robby laughed. “People meet in the park for beers on occasion, but I’ve never seen this much of the ED out at once. Santos is… persuasive. Maybe too persuasive, sometimes." Whitaker nodded knowingly, swallowing a mouthful of beer. Robby tracked its movement down his esophagus.
“You’ve got no idea. Imagine living with her,” he said with a grim chuckle. “I think I’ve made more bad decisions this past week than over the rest of my life combined.”
It took a great deal of willpower for Robby to stop himself from asking exactly what kinds of bad decisions the kid was busy making. Because that was none of his business.
“Seems like her efforts paid off tonight, though,” Whitaker mused. His eyes scanned the room to study their colleagues the same way Robby had been doing all night. “Everyone looks happy.”
“And you?” Robby asked him, and Whitaker glanced back up to meet Robby’s eye.
“I’m happy I’m not scheduled to work tomorrow,” he admitted with a slightly apologetic smile. “Not that it hasn’t been rewarding!” he quickly tacked on. “It has. I feel like I’ve already learned so much. But this has been a long week.” An understatement, if Robby had ever heard one.
“Yeah, it has,” he agreed. “You should feel proud of this week, kid. All of you should.” And surely this was a time when the clap of his hand on Whitaker’s shoulder was appropriate and warranted. His fingers squeezed around the trapezius muscle, thumb rubbing a circle into the warm skin underneath Whitaker’s t-shirt in a professional gesture of mutual respect. “But you’ve got that rare blend of decisiveness, empathy, and humility that’s going to take you far, wherever you decide to specialize.”
“Really?” Whitaker was looking at him with an open expression, the need for reassurance plain on his face.
“You that starved for compliments, kid?” Robby joked.
“No, sorry!” he said hastily. Robby watched as a flush crawled its way up his neck. “Just, wow, that—that means a lot, coming from you. Thank you, Robby.”
Robby’s mouth suddenly felt dry. He took another swig of his beer and cleared his throat, pretending to watch the nurses play some kind of drinking game at a nearby table.
“So, is there a reason you’re sitting here alone instead of joining in on… whatever the hell that is?” Robby tilted his head toward the nurses just as Donnie and Mateo started jumping around, cheering loudly.
“Oh, uh… I’m kinda beat, actually. But Santos is… having a nighttime guest.” Whitaker immediately winced at his own choice of words. “So, I can’t go home for a while.” Robby frowned.
“She really kicked you out of the apartment?”
“Well, no, not exactly.” Whitaker grinned sheepishly. “Honestly, I just don’t want to be there while it’s happening. She’s got thin walls. Once was more than enough,” he said, looking like he was recalling something traumatic. Robby let out a surprised laugh.
“Understood.” His hand fell too easily back to Whitaker’s shoulder. “I’ll keep you company till it’s safe to go home, then.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that! I don’t want to keep you out too late.” Robby saw the way the kid’s startled eyes darted over to where his hand lingered on his shoulder, and he tried to ignore the zing of perverse pleasure it brought him.
“What, I’m too old to stay out past midnight?” Robby joked. He was too old. He was likely going to regret the amount of time he’d spent sitting on a barstool when he woke up the next morning. But Whitaker just smiled and shook his head, and Robby knew he wasn’t going to be able to leave the bar until he’d seen the kid home.
“So… can I ask you a personal question?” he ventured after a few seconds. Whitaker’s expression turned wary.
“Um, sure.”
“Theology to medicine. What made you shift?” Whitaker looked surprised for a moment, like he’d been expecting Robby to ask him something else.
“Oh, a lot of things, I guess. I thought I wanted to be a pastor for a while. But after a couple of semesters, I knew it wasn’t for me. Being a doctor kind of felt like the next closest thing, in a way. Saving people, healing them. And I always liked taking care of sick animals back on the farm—I was the only one of my brothers who really had the stomach for it,” he said, a bit of pride in his voice.
“I bet they miss you on the farm.”
“I know they do. I felt guilty for leaving, for a while.” Whitaker sipped on his beer, looking pensive. “Still do, occasionally.” Robby’s chest felt a little tight. He reached over to grasp the back of Whitaker’s neck, squeezing reassuringly.
“You shouldn’t. Everyone’s got to forge their own path. And for what it’s worth, I think you wound up exactly where you belong.”
“I think so too,” Whitaker said softly. His steel blue eyes were relieved and grateful… and something else Robby couldn’t put a finger on. Both men were silent for a minute as they watched the drunken antics around them.
“Did you always want to be a doctor?” Whitaker asked eventually. It was a question Robby got semi-frequently, but it still managed to catch him off guard.
“Ha! No, actually. I wanted to be an artist as a kid.” Which was a little more honesty than he usually offered people. Normally, he’d have made a joke about having popped out of the womb wearing a stethoscope, as that seemed to generate fewer follow-up questions.
“Really? What kind?” Questions like that. Robby sighed heavily.
“If I tell you, will you promise not to tell Santos?” he asked, lowering his voice as he leaned into Whitaker’s space. “I don’t need everyone making fun of me next shift.”
“Not a word, I promise,” the kid said gravely.
“I… really liked comic books, growing up. I spent a lot of time drawing superhero comics in school.” Robby watched as the curiosity on Whitaker’s face melted into open delight.
“That’s incredible. Do you still draw, ever?” Robby chuckled at his enthusiasm.
“No, not for a while. I held onto some old notebooks, though. I think it’s good to keep stuff like that, to remember what felt important when you were young.” He cringed. “And I’m aware saying that makes me sound about a million years old.”
“Wow, can I see them?” Whitaker said eagerly, and then his face flushed. “Not like—I don’t mean like, right now. I wasn’t trying to invite myself over to your place or anything,” he stammered. Robby felt a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth against his will.
“I didn’t think you were. Now I kinda do, though,” he teased, and Whitaker looked mortified.
“No, I swear! I didn’t mean that to sound like—like a line, or something. I’m such an idiot.” Robby laughed.
“You’re fine, kid. I’m just giving you a hard time.” He squeezed Whitaker’s shoulder affectionately. “Did you have anything like that growing up? Hobbies, projects?”
Whitaker thought for a moment, seeming to give the question a good deal of consideration as he stared distantly at the beer taps in front of him.
“Well, I didn’t have a whole lot of free time,” he said after a few seconds. “But I liked working with my hands. We built a new chicken coop one year, and I remember that being fun. Planning, measuring, sawing the wood.”
And wasn’t that an image. Robby knew Santos teased Whitaker about being a farm boy, but he’d only really thought about it in an abstract sort of way. Seeing him now, recalling a memory of sawdust and chicken wire, made the idea so much more tangible in Robby’s mind.
“Huckleberry, the carpenter,” he said, unable to tamp down the fondness in his voice. Whitaker groaned.
“Oh God, please don’t call me that. It’s bad enough when she does it.”
“Sorry, couldn’t resist. It suits the picture I have of you in my head right now, though,” Robby confessed. “Hammer on your belt, sawdust in your hair… chewing on a piece of straw.” He felt his smile growing wider.
“Now you’re just making fun of me,” Whitaker accused him, sounding like he was trying not to laugh. “I didn’t make fun of your obsession with Superman.”
“I was actually more of an Incredible Hulk guy.”
“You’re right, that’s way cooler.” Whitaker giggled, his eyes sparkling under the dim lights that hung over their heads. And Robby couldn’t help but let out a full-belly laugh, bracing his arm carelessly on Whitaker’s bicep and feeling the wiry muscle under his t-shirt.
He could sense the moment the atmosphere shifted. The something in Whitaker’s eyes grew more intense; he was studying Robby’s face a little too closely. Alarm bells began to ring faintly in Robby’s head.
“You know,” Whitaker said, his voice sounding deliberately casual. “Santos said Princess and Perlah have been gossiping.”
“You needed Santos to tell you that?” Robby quipped. The alarm bells were ringing much louder now.
“Gossiping about you, and how you’re always looking for excuses to touch me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I am not—”
“I told her it was because you were afraid I might freak out again,” Whitaker continued smoothly, ignoring Robby’s denial. “Like on the first day, after Mr. Milton. Thought you were trying to settle me like a spooked horse. But now I’m thinking it might be something else.”
Robby felt like he’d been doused in cold water. Nope, this was bad. He should never have come out tonight. He was going to make Santos pay for her terrible fucking influence.
“Whitaker…” he said weakly, but his brain didn’t supply any additional words.
“Now I’m thinking… maybe you just like it. Putting your hands on me.” Whitaker had the same air of calm confidence he’d been increasingly displaying in the ER as he got his bearings. In this context, it made Robby feel dizzy.
“Kid, stop.”
“But you are attracted to me, aren’t you?” And at least Dana had left Robby with some dignity earlier.
“Please don’t ask that,” he begged. “Do you have any idea how disgusting that makes me feel?”
“Why?” Whitaker had the nerve to ask.
“Why? Because I’m your attending!” Robby fought to keep his voice low. They were still in public, in a room with their (admittedly pretty drunk) coworkers. “I’m supposed to be teaching you, mentoring you, looking out for you. Does any of that ring a bell?”
“You’re doing all those things!” Whitaker argued, as if that was the fucking point. Okay, time to bring out the big guns.
“How’s your relationship with your father, Dr. Whitaker?” he asked, and the kid let out a frustrated groan.
“Shut up, that is not what this is.”
“Oh, come on.” Robby laughed humorlessly. “What other reason does someone your age have for looking at a guy like me? I’m old enough to be your dad.”
“Is that why you’re attracted to me?” Whitaker questioned him, and Robby felt his body revolt at the very idea.
“No, of course not!”
“Then who cares?” he said emphatically. “Look, I know I look…” beautiful, adorable, ethereal, “… young, but I’m a grown man, and I know what I want.” Robby groaned, scrubbing the sudden headache forming at his temples.
“I care. HR sure fucking cares. You’ll care when the temporary insanity wears off,” he insisted.
“I wouldn’t, like, tell anyone, you know,” Whitaker said, and icy shame sliced through Robby’s belly. “God, that makes it sound so much worse than it is,” the kid muttered. “I just mean I’m not one for spreading rumors.”
“It sounds bad because it is bad, kid.” Robby’s throat felt painfully tight, and his voice sounded thin. “Your career is just starting out. Let this be another lesson I get to teach you. Do not fuck your attending. They should mention that in medical school.”
“But you and Collins—”
“Don’t you dare.” Robby cut him off, the wave of anger that flooded his body surprising him in its force. Whitaker snapped his mouth shut, seeming to realize he’d gone too far. “I think it’s time to go home, Whitaker,” Robby said coldly. “Santos has got to be done having sex by now.”
“Right. Um… good night, Dr. Robby. I’m really sorry if I made things…”
“You didn’t.” Robby sighed, summoning a reassuring smile he didn’t feel. “We’re good. See you bright and early Monday, kid.” He watched as Whitaker turned and fled from the bar, abandoning his half-drunk beer.