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“We’ve got trouble incoming.”

He stops, turning to face her.  “Trauma?”

“Ha, if only.”  She shakes her head, blonde hair swinging too and fro from where it’s fallen from whatever madness she’s used to pull it back from her face today.  “There’s a pissed off Whitaker in the ambulance bay.  I think we both know where he’s headed.”

Abbot throws his head back with a genuine laugh, turning back to glance at Robby.  The daytime attending stands on the other side of the hub, reading glasses perched low on his nose as he reviews the cases still waiting for care, completely clueless as to what’s coming.  The kid was going to eat him alive.  They both thought they were slick, but Dana knew the ER like the back of her hand and Abbot knew Robby.  They had clocked their relationship, if you could call it that, weeks ago.  Though Dana had to admit, the kid made it past seven.  

Abbot shakes his head in mock sympathy.  “Well, it was nice knowing him.”  He points a finger at Dana as he speaks.   “But even if he kills him, you can take the nightshift from my dead hands before you put me in his place.”  Dana rolls her eyes before she speaks.  “Gotta wonder what it is though, kid was nearly cursing at the poor driver.”

They mosey back towards the station at a casual pace, taking in the calm before the storm that lasts until they are at the counter facing the doors, patient board at their backs.  It’s only a heartbeat, maybe two before Whitaker enters the ER.

“Michael Robinavitch!”

The Pitt grinds to a halt at the sudden outburst, employees and patients alike going wide eyed and silent as Dennis Whitaker charges towards the hub.  The double doors close at his back with a whoosh, the sound nearly deafening in the now quiet space.  The young doctor’s brows are furrowed, agitation pulling his body tense as he passes Santos and Garcia, the former stopping her brief on the patient the moment she caught sight of her roommate.

“Oh shit.”

Garcia raises a brow, watching as the curly haired intern storms past.

“ER is more entertaining than usual this morning.  You know what’s going on?”

Santos shakes her head, honestly a bit startled by the sight.  “No clue.  I didn't even know Huckleberry could get that mad with all the midwestern politeness he’s got tucked away.”

Perlah and Princess are whispering rapid fire tagalog behind the pair, heads swiveling to make eye contact with Amad.  They might have a new pool on their hands.  Santos chuckles at their commentary, even throwing in a few comments of her own into the mix.

Mel, ever the peacekeeper, tries to slow him, arm outstretched for a brief touch to his arm.  “Wait, Dennis-”  But he pays her no mind as he catches sight of their attending.  Frank is forced into a stumbling back step, colliding with Joy as she films what is looking like a hell of an interaction.

Robby, for his part, looks like he’s seen a ghost.  Dana chuckles as she leans on the counter.

“Go get ‘em kid!”

“Dana!”

Robby whips around to level the nurse with a look of betrayal before his gaze is back on the swift approach of one Dennis Whitaker.  He isnt slowing, forcing Robby to take a step back, then another until he’s stumbling into a chair with enough force that it rolls back more than a foot.  Abbot steps forward without hesitation, stopping the wheels of the chair with a foot while ignoring the protests of the other attending.  He’s essengtially cornered, the tall counter of the hub at his back while Dana and Abbot flank his sides.

He pins Dennis with a bewildered look.  “Whitaker?  What-”  He’s cut off before he can finish.  “Save it Robinavitch.”

Those blue eyes, normally ocean bright, have gone stormy, further darkening the already angry expression on the younger man’s face.  His tone is cool, all of his usual meekness absent as he levels the attending with a look.

“Michael, what did we do last weekend?” 

Robby blushes, “I hardly think that's appropriate.  I thought-

Dennis cuts him off again, throwing his hands out.

“We went shopping, didn’t we Michael?”  It may sound like a question, but Robby is sure the other man isn't actually looking for an answer.  He nods, and Dennis continues without missing a beat.  “-And do you remember what you bought?”

Robby tries to gather some composure, sitting up straighter, trying to look less like he’s cowering before a lesser ranking doctor.

“I bought, uh, some gear for the bike.  Dennis, what is this about?”

Dennis is shaking as he pulls his phone out, the only sign of a break in his composure.  A sense of dread settles hard into his stomach.  Trying to think of something, anything that would have upset Dennis this much.  

Oh no

“What’s this about Michael?”  Dennis barks out a laugh, humorless.  “This is about the picture one of the ambulance drivers just showed me!  The picture they took of you this morning, with something very important missing!”

Robby goes pale, skin ashen in an instant.  The ride in this morning, perfect weather to take the bike.  The idea taking Dennis on a ride after they got off of work.  Both helmets had been strapped to the seat behind him, out of sight and out of mind as the wind blew through his short hair.  Fuck

“Den, I can explain-.”

“I sure hope you can!”  Dennis is the picture of righteous fury, still dressed in jeans and boots from running a few early morning errands before his shift.  He’s technically late, but he had wanted to try to cool his temper before he saw Robby, though it made little difference, his ire flaring the moment he spotted the other man. “We left that shop with two helmets last weekend Michael, and yet you still couldn't be assed to wear one this morning.”

Robby gapes at him, stammering as if anything he could say would break the moment into something less tense.

Dennis pinches the bridge of his nose.  This is wildly unprofessional.  All of their efforts to keep work and life separate going up in flames thanks to Robby and his midlife crisis on wheels.

How many motorcycle traumas have we had this week?

Robby is silent, and Dennis meets his eyes, tears welling.

“We’ve had five this week and its only Thursday.”  The younger man sucks in a breath, and Robby knows that whatever comes next might just be what breaks them.  “Robby, I can't keep loving a man who doesn't want to keep living.”

The statement rings between them like a flatline, loud and devastating even as the quiet as the words were.  Dennis wishes it was as easy as medicine, that he could fix whatever was happening between them with a shot and a splint for the broken pieces.  

His face crumples in the next breath, rage leaving him and taking his composure with him.  It hits him then, how quiet things are, the scene he has caused.  He lets out a breath, sucks in another too quickly.

“Uh, sorry everyone. I-I’m sorry.”

He throws up a hand, trying to be nonchalant before he can't take it a moment longer and bolts for the lockers.  But he doesn't stop, feet carrying him past patients, past supplies, through a door until he’s in familiar stairs, legs carrying him up up up until he’s back in that abandoned ward from all those months ago.  Part of him screams for fresh air, begs him to go up to the roof, stand beneath warm sun and bright skies, but he knows that's where Robby will go first.  He had never told Robby about this place, the sad little room in an abandoned ward that Santos saved him from.