A blog of special interests

“The CT results are back for your patient in South 5.” She said, handing over some papers.

“Thanks, I’ll take a look.” He nodded briefly, turning around as his eyes fluttered shut and his head snapped towards the ground. “TszCH! H’eTSHuh!”

Robby, who happened to be walking in for his shift, jumped out of the way with arms in the air.

“Whoa, say it, don't spray it brother!”

For someone who spent 90% of their waking hours running an emergency department, Jack could sometimes be a little lackluster when it came to covering.

The younger man straightened out, clearing his throat and sniffling against his wrist. “Sorry, caught me off guard.”

“No worries,” Robby chuckled, looking his partner up and down, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Jack said - at the same time Lena said, “headache.”

Jack shot her an unamused look and turned back to Robby, who was looking at him expectantly with a raised eyebrow.

He sighed, “I think I’m coming down with something but it’s nothing, really.”

“Probably one of the bugs going around the ED.” Robby frowned.

“Probably. It’s my day off today, so I’ll just rest up and be good by tomorrow night’s shift.”

Robby hummed, taking in Jack’s appearance more fully. “Okay well, let’s run through the handoff and then you can go home.”

“In that case, I believe this belongs to you now.” Jack forced a smile and handed Robby the CT results he was holding on to.

The two men did a quick round through the ED as Jack gave Robby the run down on the current patients and various things to keep an eye on as attending physician.

Not fifteen minutes later, Robby was back at the nurses station where Dana was starting her takeover as well.

Jack appeared shortly after with his backpack slung over one shoulder, coughing against the back of his wrist. It was that stupid tickle he couldn’t seem to shake.

Now that he was off duty, he could really take stock of how much worse he felt compared to the beginning of the shift.

“Hasta Lavista, suckers. I’m going home.” He mustered as much humor as he could on his way out.

Robby walked closer, putting a gentle hand on the small of Jack’s back, being careful about PDA. He leaned in, lowering his voice.

“Hey, get some rest, hmm? If you need anything, call me.”

Jack nodded in defeated silence, and Robby turned back to what he was working on.

“He looks like Hell.” Dana muttered, looking up from her clipboard.

Robby sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “He’s… not feeling well.”

“Poor guy. I keep telling him you two work too hard.”

“Put a reminder for the night shift not to call him in for anything later, will you? He needs his rest.”

“You got it, Cap.”

***

Thanks to living close to the hospital, Jack was able to be home, showered, and in boxers and a black tee by 8am. His prosthetic was propped against the wall, and he’d switched to his forearm crutches.

The warm spray of the shower definitely eased some of the tension he was carrying in his joints. He sat on his shower chair for a little longer than usual, letting his body relax and hoping the steam would magically get rid of the congestion that he could feel settling.

Once he felt he had washed all of the ED germs off of himself, he shut the blinds in his bedroom and drew the blackout curtains. Second only to Robby, those blackout curtains were probably the love of his life as a night shift attending.

He had crawled into bed, and pretty soon after his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.

***

Friday - 4pm

When he woke up again, it was almost 4pm. He’d slept a full 8 hours - far more than he normally would - and yet, he still felt absolutely exhausted.

The first thing he noted was how gross his head felt. He was completely stuffed up now, but his nose must’ve been running in his sleep. As it turns out, not grabbing a second or even third pillow was a fatal error. His nostrils were certainly paying the price, remnants of dried mucus around the edges and his throat scraped raw.

He sat up slowly and blinked past the fogginess in his head to grab his crutches, the initial reason for waking up demanding his attention: his bladder.

Jack made his way to the bathroom and relieved himself. As he finished washing his hands, he took in his appearance in the mirror.

“Ugh, fuck…”

His skin tone had gotten at least 2 shades paler and he could practically feel the weight of the eye bags that had materialized in his sleep.

Whatever thoughts he was having about vanity and appearance in that moment were immediately brushed aside by the tickle flaring in his sinuses as he buried his nose into his left shoulder.

“ii’TSCHk! Eh’tSHh!” His breath hitched again, but the third sneeze evaded him.

This was horrendous. He’d seen and dealt with so many extreme illnesses and injuries in his line of work that he forgot how painstakingly awful the common cold could be.

He ripped off a few squares of toilet paper and blew his nose, coughing at the tail end.

‘Fucking fantastic,’ he thought to himself as he walked to his kitchen, ‘first day off in two weeks and I’m fucking sick.’

He filled a glass with water and set it aside, opening the cupboard where he kept his medications. He shook 2 Tylenol out of the bottle and swallowed them, wincing past the sore throat.

He was on his way back towards the bedroom when he stopped dead in his tracks. He pulled the collar of his shirt up over his face with a sense of urgency.

“Ek’TSSH! T’sSCH! … H’itCHiew!”

He sniffled wetly, making a face at the damp spot that was left on his shirt. Shoving the box of tissues from the table under his arm, he coughed his way back to the bedroom.

Jack eventually flicked on the police radio that lived on the opposite nightstand and turned the volume down. He just needed some kind of white noise to take his mind off of how disgusting he felt.

Being more mindful this time, he also made sure to grab an extra pillow out of the closet. He propped himself up as he got back into bed, wiping at his nose with another tissue.

Blinking turned into small periods of resting his eyes, and before he knew it he was asleep again.

***

Friday - 7pm

“…eed backup on scene. Multiple victims needing rescue and assistance.”

Jack jerked awake, coughing against his wrist. Who was talking???

“Two suspects from the stolen vehicle on their way to the hospital in police custody…”

Oh yeah, his police radio was still on. He must’ve fallen asleep.

“Multi-vehicle accident caused by the stolen car, including a public bus and three civilian vehicles. Extracting victims now. Two DOA, everyone else being sent to the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.”

“Shit.” Jack hissed, rubbing a hand over his face. He picked his cell up off the nightstand and checked for missed calls from the hospital.

Any kind of mass-casualty event like this is an all hands on deck situation, and yet there were no missed calls or messages from any of the crew at The Pitt.

Swinging his leg to the side of the bed, he started prepping to attach his prosthetic. He’ll just throw on a clean pair of scrubs and he could be there in twenty minutes to help.

All hands on deck, that included him.

**

In the ED, things were definitely ramping up. Day shift had been getting ready to finish their last minute charting or clock out and go home when the call had come in about the MVC and having all casualties from said accident diverted to the PTMC.

“Alright everybody, change in plans.” Robby commanded the room. “Day shift, you are now assessing and assisting. We have multiple incoming traumas and need to make sure we are treating the most time sensitive and serious injuries first.

Night shift, you’re on triage. This will be led by Dr.Shen and Dr.Elliot. Dr.Crus and I will be going around and helping where we’re needed. If you aren’t sure about something, ask a resident. Again, this is an all hands on deck situation, understood?”

There was a hushed roar of “yes” and “yes, Cap” before everyone split up as ambos started arriving with victims.

***

Friday - 8pm

When Jack arrives, it’s sensory overload. Everything is loud and bright, and his nose is incredibly sensitive from this stupid cold.

He’s back in a clean set of black scrubs, white undershirt barely peeking out from the neckline. His backpack is slung over his left shoulder, hand gripping the strap. His right arm, however, is preoccupied.

As he walks up to the hub, he has to stop, ducking into his elbow.

“N’xxt! H’xxTCH!”

Lena and Dana look up almost simultaneously, sensing his presence before anything.

“Absolutely not.” Dana scolded. “Abbot - go home.”

“Come on, Dana…”

“Don’t ’Dana’ me. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you see patients like that.”

Jack looked to Lena for help, but she shrugged in agreement with Dana.

“I’m already here.” He sniffled, gesturing to the chaos, “and you could clearly use the help.”

She looked around and huffed a sigh, “Fine. But you wear a mask at all times, and if Robby catches you, I had nothing to do with it.”

“Deal.” He gave a half smile, pulling a mask from the box she was holding out and looping it around his ears. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

**

After masking up, putting his backpack away, and washing his hands, Jack made his way out to the extremely busy ED floor. He wasted no time jumping into action.

“How can I help?”

“Oh! Dr.Abbot, can you assist with this?”

Mel was struggling to calm down a young girl in her early 20’s. The girl was screaming in a clear state of shock.

“My arm is numb! Why is my arm numb?? Oh my god am I paralyzed?!”

“Passenger of one of the vehicles,” Mel explained, “took an air bag right to the face and presenting with… Dr.Abbot?”

Jack was listening, but his eyes were half lidded as he stared off in the distance.

“H’xxTCh! H’XT!”

His head bobbed slightly as he stifled behind the mask.

“Uh, Bless you.” She paused awkwardly, unsure if she should continue.

“Eh’TSCH! Sorry, continue.”

The last sneeze was more productive than expected and left his nose dripping uncomfortably behind the cover of his mask.

He instinctively moved his hand up to wipe his nose, but stopped himself remembering both the mask and the scrubs preventing it.

“She presented with head trauma from the air bag. One small laceration to the forehead. And now numbness in the left arm.” Mel continued on.

A tear rolled down the patient’s face past her C Collar.

“Hey, we’re gonna get you taken care of, okay?” Jack reassured the patient, maintaining eye contact.

He clicked on his pen flashlight and looked in her eyes, flicking the light back and forth a few times.

“We’re gonna order you an MRI to check for any spinal injury. That’ll tell us if it’s whiplash or something more serious, but you’re in good hands with Dr.King.”

“Thank you.”

Now it was Mel’s turn to give her a reassuring smile.

Jack nodded politely, “Good work, Dr.King. Excuse me.”

He sighed as he turned around, walking with purpose toward the bathroom. Picking an empty stall, he locked the door and removed the mask, grimacing at the mess.

He trashed it and grabbed a handful of toilet paper, blowing his nose a few times. When he emerged from the stall to wash his hands, he started to question the decision to come in. Helping people was in his DNA, but he’d only been here half an hour and could tell this was going to be a rough couple of hours.

“Hey Dana?”

She locked eyes with him and went into mama bear mode. “I told you - mask at all times!”

“I know.” He coughed into his elbow, “Had to trash it because it was…dirty. Can I snag a few more?”

She handed the half empty box over. “Take them all. I’ll get more from storage.”

***

Friday - 9pm

It was a little after 9pm when Santos approached Robby, who was finishing with a trauma patient being sent up to CT.

“Hey Robby, have you seen Dr.Abbot?”

“Jack?” The attending blinked in confusion a few times, unsure why he was answering this question. “Jack is sick, he’s at home?”

Trinity made a judgmental expression before she could stop herself.

“Unless I hallucinated him, he was just assisting with this patient. I need an attending to sign off on the results.”

“Let me see that.” Robby snatched the file and did, in fact, see Jack’s name on the orders.

He stormed over to the nurses station, chuckling in frustrated disbelief and shaking his head.

“What the hell did I tell you guys?! One simple fucking request.”

All the nurses looked up, Dana stepping forward, “I know you’re not taking up that attitude with us, Robinavitch. What are you yelling for?”

“Which one of you called in Abbot after I explicitly made a note not to bother him? All of a sudden, none of you can read?”

“Hey hey hey! Knock it off, Robby. They didn’t call me, I came in myself.” Jack came rushing over when he heard the commotion, practically throwing himself in front of Dana and the nurses.

“Why the fuck did you come in? You should be resting!”

“Because I heard about the mass casualty event on the radio and knew it would be all hands on deck.”

He tried to hold his ground, locking eyes with his partner as long as he could before the tickle in his nose made itself known again.

Jack twisted to the side, burying his head in the crook of his elbow again. “N’xxt! X’TCH! … h’xtCH!”

“Bless you.” Robby frowned. Jack knew he didn’t like it when he held them in like that. “Do you have a fever?”

“N’do.” The younger man grabbed a couple of tissues off the desk and blew his nose.

“Are you sure?” Robby reached the back of his hand toward Jack’s forehead.

Jack pulled back, dodging the temp check. “It’s a cold, Michael.”

“Yeah,” Robby grumbled, “Sounds like a pretty bad one.”

***

Friday - 11:30pm

It’s a few more hours before the ED starts slowing to the typical amount of busy. The MVC victims are all taken care of or awaiting test results.

The med students from Day Shift have all slowly gone home, leaving only Robby to tie up some loose ends.

Robby is calmer now, but can see Jack is really struggling. He’s leaning against the nurses station, resting his head in pillowed arms. Every so often a cough wracks his body and Dana rubs his back.

She’s got her things and plans on heading out as soon as they do. Robby walks over, finally tapping out. He gives Dana an apologetic smile for the outburst earlier and mouths ‘thank you’ to her for looking after Jack. She nods at him in quiet acknowledgement and heads to her car.

“Hey you,” Robby leaned down to try and meet Jack’s eyes. “What do you say we get the hell out of here? I’ll give you a ride home.”

Jack looks up, his nose red and raw, “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

***

Jack piled into the passenger seat of Robby’s car, his backpack in the footwell. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes for a moment.

Robby got in the driver's seat and closed the door, pausing as he buckled his seatbelt to look at Jack.

“How are you feeling?”

Jack just shook his head no, eyes still closed. Not good, then.

“Achey?”

This time, Jack nodded before his brow furrowed. He pitched forward with little to no warning into a closed fist.

“Ng’tCH! H’xTCH!! Sorry…”

The apology was breathy and helpless, making the older man frown.

He reached over and put a hand on the nape of Jack’s neck, instinctually rubbing gently with his thumb.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Jack. But I don’t want you to stifle them anymore, it’s not good for you.”

“Sorry. Still on ED autopilot I guess.”

He rifled around in the glove compartment for some napkins to blow his nose while Robby started the car and backed out of the PTMC parking lot.

It wasn’t a long drive to Jack’s place by any means, but it was long enough to give Robby some time to fill the silence.

“Hey, I’m sorry I made a scene earlier about one of the nurses calling you in...”

“You keeping tabs on me now, Robinavitch?” He could hardly muster a smile, but the tone was joking.

“Not tabs.” Robby insisted, “I was just worried about you. Wanted to make sure you got some rest.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s not your call, babe.” Jack softened, “However. I think you happened to be correct this time, though. I feel like shit.”

“I’m sorry.” Robby glanced over, “We’re almost at your place.”

“It’s after midnight. Do you want to just stay the night?”

They periodically switched off whose place they stayed at depending on the circumstances. Robby knew he had his own drawer at Jack’s. But he also knew he had to be up again in roughly 5 or 6 hours and didn’t want to wake his partner up or make him feel obligated to play host when he was sick.

Robby sighed, rubbing the back of his own neck in contemplation.

“I’ve gotta be up again in a few hours. I’ll probably go back to mine for a nap and a shower. But I’ll come by tomorrow after my shift? See how you’re doing.”

The younger man nodded in understanding as they pulled up to his driveway.

“Thanks for driving me.” His words were already rounded from congestion again.

“Any time.” Robby gave a sympathetic smile and kissed the top of his head before letting him get out of the car. “Get some rest. Remember to hydrate!”

Jack gave a weak thumbs up in response. Once his back was to the car, he winced as he walked up to the house. Just bringing his key to the door was taking a toll on him. Everything hurt and he was fucking exhausted.

After the door was unlocked, he turned and gave another sad wave toward Robby, who was waiting in the driveway until he made it safely inside.

There was an ache deep behind his eyes now, and he felt like he weighed a ton. The bedroom was the first priority. He grabbed a clean t-shirt and groaned, sitting on the edge of his bed.

He stripped off the scrub shirt and tossed it to the side, putting on the fresh tee in its place. He groaned in pain as the fabric touched his sensitive skin. Everything felt prickly and sharp. Even his hair hurt.

Taking care of his prosthetic was next. He carefully removed it after taking off his scrub bottoms and shoes. He put on some clean socks and pajama pants and all but collapsed into bed.

It wasn’t ten minutes before he was dead asleep, the fever already starting to run its course.

***

Saturday - 12pm

Jack woke up wishing he hadn't. A part of him had forgotten that this much of his body could hurt at once - skin, head, throat, muscles, face. To top it all off? He was fucking freezing.

He knew he had a fever because once chills set in for him, it was usually game over in terms of hoping he could beat it.

Desperate for a change of scene, he slowly and painfully got out of bed. He grabbed one of the grey hoodies from the closet, quickly putting it on, even though it still hurt against his skin.

He brushed his teeth and used the bathroom before using his crutches to head to the couch, grabbing a blanket off his bed on the way.

Jack used the throw pillows to prop himself slightly against the armrest of his living room couch, jacket zipped up to his neck and blanket over his lower body.

“Eh’TCHuh! TschIEW!”

He scrubbed at his nose with a sleeved hand. Sneezing definitely hurt more today than it did yesterday. Really, everything hurt more than it did yesterday.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Taking it out, it had one missed call and several missed texts from Robby. Jack knew he should call him back, but also doesn’t want to worry him with 7 hours left in his shift.

**

Robby is between patients at the hub staring at the wall of blue message bubbles on his phone.

12:21 am

Home safe! Get some rest. x

6:43 am

Morning handsome. I hope you’re feeling better. I’ll try and get out as soon as shift ends today.

9:38am

How are you doing?

11:45am

Outgoing call to Jack

12:09pm

You still sleeping? Text me when you wake up. I love you!

“What are you looking at over here?” Dana teased as she walked over with a fresh chart.

“I haven’t heard from Jack today. Just worried about him.”

Dana softened. “I’m sure he’s okay. Probably catching up on his sleep debt.”

Her words were reassuring, but seeing as Jack usually didn’t sleep more than 4-5 hours at a time, this was extremely unusual.

As he was contemplating, his phone lit up with a goofy picture of Jack, vibrating with an incoming call.

“Speak of the devil. What did I tell you?” Dana nudged him playfully.

The attending clicked the green icon and held the phone to his ear, lowering his voice slightly.

“Hey baby, how are you f-”

“ii’TSCH! At’CHuh! ..hhh… hih… H’ATSHiew!!”

Robby pulled the device away from his ear, exchanging a concerned look with Dana, who heard the outburst through the phone.

“Bless you! Times three.”

“Thag’ks snff! Ugh I can’t stop.”

The older man could just barely make out the undeniable squelching sound of Jack rubbing his nose aggressively on the other side of the line.

“Not feeling better then, I take it?”

“Sig’dificantly worse, actually. Everything hurts. M’fucking freezing.”

Dana matched Robby’s frown without looking up from the paper she was writing on. She was pretending not to overhear the entire conversation, but in her defense, the volume on Robby’s phone was so loud, she couldn’t miss it.

“Sorry baby, I’ll be there in a few hours. Do you need anything?”

A short coughing fit tore through Jack, sounding deeper and wetter than Robby would have liked. Even Dana looked up from the paperwork to wince.

A pained, “no” was all that came out after the fit had died down.

“Try to get some more rest. I’ll be there soon to take care of you. I love you!”

Dana heard Jack’s muffled “love you too” and waited for the End Call tone before she scolded Robby.

“You are not making that man wait another seven hours in that condition. Get your things. I’ll call Shen. Go take care of Abbot.”

“I…” Robby looked at his charts, shrugging with uncertainty.

Dana snatched them from him and looked them over.

“Langdon! You got time to pick up two more?”

He looked at Mel, who was working with him, and back to Dana, “Yeah, sure. We’ll take them.”

“Would you look at that?” She turned back to the attending. “They’re capable people. Shen is on call today and we have enough backup to call if I need it. Go.”

“Okay.” Robby sighed, already heading to get his things “Thank you!”

“You got it, Cap. Give Abbot my best.”

***

Saturday - 1:30pm

It’s a little over an hour later when Robby gets to Jack’s place. He’d stopped at the store on the way over for a few supplies.

Backpack over his shoulder and grocery bags in hand, he unlocked the front door, making use of his spare key. He toed his shoes off at the door, and headed towards the kitchen.

“Jack?”

He called out softly in case his partner was sleeping - a theory quickly put to rest by the coughing that erupted from the couch.

Jack props himself up on one elbow, patting his chest. He looks awful - nose red, hair disheveled, and the unmistakable flush of fever dusted across his cheeks.

“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be at work.” He rasps.

“Dana sent me to check on our favorite patient.” The older man chuckled as he placed the grocery bags on the kitchen island and washes his hands.

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “She worries too much.”

Robby takes in the state of his partner and the living room, “I’d say the concern is justified. Is your thermometer still in the bathroom cabinet?”

Jack nodded, leaning back against the armrest of his sofa. He still has his hoodie on and a blanket draped over his legs.

With little notice, he clamped his elbow over his nose, bobbing up and down on the pillows. “M’ptch! Eh’TSSH! Hih!…. Hi’TSCH!!”

“Bless you! You sound like shit.”

Robby returned to the couch, thermometer in hand. His own jacket sleeves are rolled to his elbows, and his stethoscope is around his neck.

“Open.” He prompted Jack by holding the device to his mouth and pressing the ON button.

Jack obliged, taking the thermometer in his right hand. He turned away from Robby to sneeze two more times in rapid succession before placing it under his tongue.

“Jesus, Jack.”

Robby perched on the edge of the couch, running a hand through his partner’s grey curls. They’re damp with sweat at the roots, and the heat coming off of him was evident.

“Have you been like this all day?”

Jack nodded, sniffling thickly.

With one organic motion, he went from stroking Jack’s hair to resting the back of his hand on his forehead. The thermometer beeped and Robby slipped it out to look at the reading. Fever glazed eyes look at him expectantly.

Robby shook his head disapprovingly, turning the screen around, “102. No wonder you feel so bad.”

He set the thermometer on the coffee table and motioned for Jack to sit up. Robby’s fingertips gently trace Jack’s jawline, noting that his glands were a bit swollen. He then moved his thumbs inwards, softly pressing on Jack’s cheeks.

“Ow!” Jack pulled back reflexively.

Robby tutted in disapproval, “Well, I’m officially diagnosing you with a sinus infection.”

“I could’ve told you that before you started pressing on m’by face.” Jack grumbled, “I’m a doctor too, you know?”

Robby sighed, “I told you not to stifle so much. It traps the bacteria.”

“Noted.” Jack rolled his eyes before starting that god awful coughing again.

“That doesn’t sound good, Jack.”

“It doesn’t feel good, Michael.”

“Smart ass.” Now it was Robby’s turn to roll his eyes. “Lean forward. Let me listen.”

Jack turned himself so he was at a slight angle facing away from Robby and leaned forward. The older man removed his stethoscope and put the ear pieces in, placing the chest piece on Jack’s back.

“Deep breaths.” He instructed, as if Jack wasn’t familiar with this inside and out.

They repeated this a few times, Robby moving it around Jack’s back and chest to get the full picture. Robby could hear some slight wheezing and crackling. Not good, but not nearly bad enough to trigger his PTSD around respiratory illnesses.

“Two for two - sounds like bronchitis, but I want to keep an eye on it so it doesn’t get any worse.”

“Lucky me.” Jack’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back on the couch again, arms crossed. “What’s in the bags?”

Robby looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen, remembering his shopping.

“Oh, I got some ingredients to make you some soup later. I also got some nighttime cold medicine to help you sleep.”

The younger man couldn’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness. If he got too stuffed up or chesty, it made it super hard for him to sleep - and evidently, Robby knew that.

“Thank you,” he quickly uncrossed his arms, ducking into tented hands, “eh’TSHH! Hih! ii’KSHTT! Ugh, sorry I’b so gross right n’dow.”

He grabbed a handful of tissues and blew his nose, though it didn’t do much to relieve the overall congestion.

“You know I’ve seen worse.” Robby started unloading the groceries, “I got you something I think you’ll like.”

“Is it a swift and merciful death?” Jack quipped.

“No, it’s a humidifier. Should help to clear you up.”

“Sounds promising.”

After putting the soup ingredients away, Robby set up the humidifier with some distilled water that he also picked up. He placed it on the coffee table by the couch and turned it on.

“Lean over this, I’ll get you a towel.”

Jack sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and hovering over the mist. When Robby came back, he had a towel in hand that he draped over Jack’s head.

“Breathe that in for a while, I’m gonna make a phone call.”

“Okay.” Jack coughed, holding the towel tented over him.

Robby stepped into the other room and placed a call to Dana, who he has on speed dial. She picked up on the second ring.

“Robby, how’s the patient?”

“Double whammy - chest and sinus infection.”

“Poor guy, I bet he’s miserable.”

Robby sighed, “Yeah, he’s pretty uncomfortable. I’m actually calling to say he’s going to be out for the next week.”

“I should hope so.”

“I’m also gonna need the next 2-3 days off. I wanna make sure he gets past the worst of it before going back to work.”

He can practically hear Dana grinning on the other end of the line.

“Good on you, Robinavitch. We got ya covered.”

The tension left his shoulders as he sighed with relief that things would be okay while they were both out; something that’s almost never happened.

“Thank you.”

A large 'AEee-SSSSHhhu' bursts from Dennis catching him and his boyfriends by surprise. There's a few moments of silence between everyone, now fully awake and all exchanging shocked glances at each other before Dennis sputters out

'OH MY GOSH! I'm so sorry that was so disgusting of me. Let me get you a new shirt' he says frantically while trying to wipe away the leftover spray with his own shirt sleeve; halfway out of Robby's lap while the two older men break out into a roar of laughter. This monster of a sneeze was common for Robby on a good day and Jack on a bad one but was a far departure from Dennis' kitten like sneezes that seem to all struggle to come out at once.

'You're spending too much time with Robby' Jack cackles out.

'No no no, honey you're fine. Are you feeling alright? That was a big one for you, bless you' Robby murmurs while grabbing both of Dennis' hands in one of his, the other brushing the sleep damp bangs off of Dennis's forehead, piquing the attention of Jack who is wiping tears from his eyes.

Both attendings take a closer look at Dennis now as pieces start to fall into place. The bright eyes and slight gravel to his voice presumably from sleep, a blush high on his cheeks that could be from embarrassment. The warmth that radiates from his forehead was what one would expect from a day spent in the sun, not one spent inside with the AC battling the Pittsburgh summers (a luxury Jack never overlooks because he 'works too hard to be uncomfortable in his own house').

Now with Jack standing over his boyfriends he presses a kiss to Dennis' cheek, definitely NOT also checking for a temperature, before using his crutches to move down the hallway to the bathroom closet murmuring something that sounds like 'gonna go grab the Tylenol'

The combination of the warmth from the fever that he kept telling himself was a fluke, the embarrassment of causing such a scene, and now the attention of both of his boyfriends becomes too much and causes Dennis to give into Robby's firm grasp, tucking his head into the crook of Robby's neck.

'Didn't want to ruin our day off' he muffles into Robby and is met with a soft tsk.

The average city block in the US ranges from 250 to 1250 feet, usually falling on the shorter end of the spectrum. Grid-based city blocks are typically around 330 feet– not too long, not too short. A perfect Goldilocks of a block, if you think about it. 

Pittsburgh blocks, on the other hand, are whatever the fuck they want to be. Dennis had done a fair amount of research about Pittsburgh when he first moved to the city. He needed to know the public transit systems, the walking time from shelter to ED, the easiest routes, and safest areas for squatting. So, naturally, he’d learned about the lack of a standard grid system. He vaguely recounts a report about the abnormally challenging, hilly topography of the city– too many inclines, rivers, and unnatural terrains for there to be much organization in the street’s layouts. It’s called a colliding grid, he thinks, or something along those lines. 

To the ongoing list, he adds:

8. Colliding grid blocks 

Because of course the two blocks between the bus stop and the ED have to be the longest blocks imaginable, much closer to the 1250 feet range than the blessedly short 250. The slight uphill gradient doesn’t help, nor does the uneven sidewalk with more cracks and bumps than flat surface. 

Equally as unhelpful is his nose's inability to stop running. He has to stop every twenty or so paces to wipe at the appendage, refusing to blow it and forgo his last functioning tissue unless it proves to be absolutely necessary. 

Sneaker-clad feet drag against the pavement, their ache increasing with every break he has to take. Dennis has grown rather fond of his shoes, even with Trinity’s teasing that he shares the same style as her deceased grandmother. ‘They support my arches’ had been Dennis’s defense in buying them, stylish or not (definitely not). Afterall, he’s on his feet all day at work, he might as well make an effort to accommodate his body. 

Despite these efforts to make his body more comfortable, he can feel it staging a full fledged protest to being upright. Every time his foot meets the ground, the force of the concrete reverberates up through his leg, pinching at every joint it meets. Then, his legs propel him forwards with a stilt-like, uncoordinated gate, only for his other foot to hit the ground. And so on and so forth. 

Upon making it to the ED, Dennis plants himself on a bench just outside the ambulance bay. He knows he should buck up and go inside. People have it worse off than he does; he’s not bleeding, not broken, not needing medical attention. He’s just… cursed. 

The bench’s metal feels cool against his skin and he presses both of his palms to it, ignoring whatever germs are clinging to its surface. A brief reprieve from the heat works its way from his hands up his forearms, leaving a spattering of goosebumps that disappear after a few seconds. He shivers, and they reappear, intermixing with the light freckles speckled over his upper arms. For a second, he stills, and then another shiver sparks through his spine, his body caught in a dance between hot and cold. 

Dennis internally groans, wishing he’d thought to put a long sleeve beneath his scrub top as his overstimulated system settles on another shiver and a sudden chill. He knows he needs to stop sulking outside, to pull himself together and clock in, but the idea of spending all day on his feet is enough to keep him seated. Just one more minute, he reasons. What’s the harm in taking one more minute for himself? 

A distant ringing of sirens echoes through Dennis’s mind as it draws nearer– is the ringing from the sirens? The sound isn’t quite right, not the typical chorus of ambulance blaring, but something louder, harsher. It ricochets from one ear to the other before bouncing back, working its way through Dennis’s brain in piercing jolts. 

“Whitaker?” 

Dennis’s eyes open, adjusting to the sight of a man standing in front of him. He hadn’t realized his eyes had closed; they must have slipped shut of their own volition. After a painfully slow second, Dennis recognizes the figure that addressed him, mentally scolding himself for not having done so sooner. 

“Dr. Abbot– whadt are you doing here?” 

“Massive MVC. Six incoming patients with severe injury, countless others still on scene.” Jack answers, recounting the medical details that had slipped from Dennis’s mind. “All hands on deck.”

Right. There was a reason for Dennis having dragged himself out of bed and to the ED. Work. He’s working. And yet his mind lingers for a second too long on the number six, the mention dredging up thoughts about the man from the bus and his evident curse.

Jack’s eyes flick over Dennis’s form, scanning him head to toe. The older man’s lips curve into a slight frown as he catalogues the obvious signs of illness afflicting the other doctor; Dennis remains oblivious to the expression. He’s too busy willing himself to stand, silently egging on his legs to do the things they’re supposed to do– such as taking more than one step without stumbling and functioning non-mechanically. 

    9. Legs

When Dennis finally does stand, he chances a quick glance at Jack– the timid, hesitant kind of glance that he reserves for the twice-his-age-attendings that he finds particularly attractive– and, to his surprise, is met with Jack’s unfaltering gaze. An embarrassed flush blooms over Dennis’s cheeks, mixing with the previous fever pink tint and making him look even more overheated than he previously had. 

“So… shall we?” He gestures towards the ambulance bay doors, silently cursing himself for saying ‘shall we’ to his attending; he hasn’t even entered the ED yet and he’s already proven himself socially incompetent. 

“We shall.” Jack juts his chin towards the doors, a small movement, but one that Dennis reads clearly enough as a prompt for him to enter first. 

The chaos of the ED hits Dennis all at once, sending a surge of adrenaline through his body the second he steps inside. As always, there’s a chorus of medical equipment beeping, blaring, and ringing, but that’s just the undercurrent to the swell of shouting. Everyone is working over one another, weaving around gurneys with clusters of doctors and nurses working to the MVC patients– at least, those who have already arrived. 

Across the room, Dennis catches a glimpse of Trinity performing CPR on a seemingly unresponsive patient, but he doesn’t have the time to give her a second thought. Jack’s hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing firm before he disappears into the mess of medical professionals. 

Dennis joins the frey too, his body’s autopilot winning over his brain’s fever muddled antics. He jumps onto a case with McKay– a 25 year old male, responsive at the scene, car shrapnel penetrating the chest, broken ribs from the crash’s impact, lung sliding on the left. The patient crashes twenty minutes into treatment; Dennis reclaims his title as the ED’s resident LUCAS machine. 

Robby swoops into the patients room just as they get the patient back, his pulse thready but present. “Who’s this?” He asks, already slipping a pair of gloves over his hands as he approaches the patient’s bedside. His eyes flick from the patient’s vitals, over their chest and abdomen, to McKay, and then to Dennis. It’s only when his gaze reaches the younger doctor that he falters– not from the protruding foreign body in the patient’s chest, nor the blood soaked sheets, but rather the sight of Whitaker sweat soaked and swaying beside the patient’s bed. 

“Marcus Haynes. 25,” McKay rattles off the patient’s known demographics before diving into his physical traumas, symptoms, and treatment. Robby’s hands work their way over the patient’s torso, carrying out an exam as if by instinct as he listens. 

“Good. Page surgery again.” Robby peels off his gloves with a snap. “Tell them it’s urgent. This patient can’t afford to wait for their hour-long stroll down the stairwell.”

The sharp sound of the gloves breaks through Dennis’s reverie. He had been standing idly by, barely cognizant of McKay’s words in the wake of exerting himself to perform CPR. Beads of sweat slip down the center of his back, pooling above the waistband of his scrub pants and slowly seeping into the fabric. Sweat collects on his face too, threatening to form full drops and roll over his flushed cheeks; he swipes absentmindedly at his forehead before they can reach that point. 

“Whitaker. You alright?” 

Dennis looks towards Robby, nodding belatedly. “Yeah.” Another nod. “Yes, I’m good.” 

The attending pauses, eyebrows raised as he watches Dennis wipe his forehead again. “Alright. You’re with me then. Another rig is four minutes out.”

Dennis nods once more, trying to ignore the evergrowing sinking sensation in his stomach. Whatever spurt of adrenaline had carried him through the first patient has left him high and dry– or, rather, feverish and sweat soaked. He follows Robby towards the ambulance bay, weaving through the crowd with much less coordination than necessary. He bumps into at least three people on the way, nearly trips over his own feet, and lets his hip collide with a passing gurney. If he was in a contest for socially and professionally inadequate doctors, he’d win by a long shot, he’s sure of it. 

By some miracle, he manages to make it to the ambulance bay without completely humiliating himself. He didn’t faceplant in front of the nurses station, at the very least. Plus, the air is cooler outside, fresher, less suffocatingly sterile. As the automatic doors slip shut behind him and Robby, they leave a pleasant quietness in their wake. Sure, the sounds of ambulance sirens are ebbing closer with every passing second, bringing with them the promise of more chaos, but at least there’s a pleasant breeze, right?

“So, called in on your day off, huh?” Robby’s tone is conversational, but his eyes narrow as they take in Dennis’s appearance. 

“Yeah, I guess so– er, well, I know so. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, obviously.” 

     10. Making conversation with my boss while feverish cursed

Robby’s eyes soften slightly, a fondness easing his evident concern; he’s always enjoyed how easily Dennis blushes. 

“Hopefully you’re not here for too long. Except I can’t make any promises, these–”

“kzXCHh!” 

The sneeze takes the two doctors equally by surprise– Robby at having been interrupted and Dennis at having absolutely no warning for the expulsion. He raises a hand to his face, catching the second, “isXSch’ew!” against his wrist. 

“shifts tend to––,” Robby resumes, continuing his sentence in the brief gap before another “h’txCh–itSch!” double gets muffled by Dennis’s sleeve. 

“–drag on much longer when our systems get bogged down,” this time, Robby pauses his speech rather than being interrupted, allowing just enough time for Dennis to hitch twice and sneeze another fittish triple, “hih’hhH–ksxch’sch’tzch!”

“But for all we know,” Robby stretches his arms above his head, though his eyes remain trained on Dennis, “we might both make it home in time for dinner.”

Dennis buries his nose in his elbow, once again wishing he’d worn an undershirt beneath his scrubs as he feels a bead of moisture press to his skin. He waits, the tickle dancing just beyond his reach, enough to make his breath hitch and eyes water, but not enough to heighten the sensation into anything more than irritation. 

Dennis teeters on the edge, remaining tucked in the same position as he waits. He can feel Robby’s gaze on him and it makes his cheeks flush a darker shade of pink. 

Finally, his breath snags in something more than just a breathless gasp, spurring a light cough and then a half-stifled, “h’gtch!” He hadn’t intended on stifling, but the sneeze gets caught behind the wall of congestion solidifying in his nose. The following sneeze makes more of an effort to escape, but it still gets stuck behind his teeth, failing into a breathy, soft end: “ig’ksst!”  

Unsatisfied with the unexpelled half-sneezes, he shakes his head lightly– a bad idea in retrospect, it does nothing more than make him dizzy. Then, his head bobs forwards with a final vocal, “ik’tSSHh-ue!” that leaves the crook of his elbow dusted with a light spray. 

Dennis gives an involuntary sniffle afterwards, the pent up congestion now threatening to run over his lip like some post-fit humiliation ritual. 

    11. Sneezing in front of my boss

“You done?” Robby’s voice falls somewhere between amused, endeared, and concerned– not upset though, miraculously. Dennis nods and emerges from his elbow, remembering the crumpled excuse of a tissue he has shoved in his pocket from this morning and fumbling to retrieve it. “Bless you.”

     12. Being blessed by my boss

“Thangk you.”

The tissue does a poor job at cleaning him up. Already crumpled from inhabiting his pocket, its structural integrity isn’t nearly as strong as he needs it to be. He resorts to half sniffling, half wiping his nose with his body turned away from Robby as the sirens draw nearer. 

Robby watches, mentally toeing between the ideas of pointing out Dennis’s illness or giving him the benefit of the doubt– although it’s becoming evident to him that the younger doctor doesn’t know when to call it quits. “So,” he begins, but he’s interrupted. He’d underestimated how close the ambulance was to the bay; he’s been at the pitt long enough to be able to identify when a rig is going to pull up to the second, but he’s been uncharacteristically distracted. 

The sirens’ sound grows tenfold as they approach at haphazard speeds, spinning around Dennis’s head as he stares loosely in the direction of the ambulance. He shoves his sodden tissue unceremoniously back into his pocket and finds a pair of gloves held just before his eyeline. With a quick nod of thanks to Robby– a disjointed, slow jerk of his head– he accepts them and starts fumbling to pull them over his clammy hands. 

“What’ve we got?” Robby snaps into action, meeting the paramedics at the rig’s back door and immediately beginning his examination of the patient. Dennis tries to keep up, rushing to follow Robby’s lead and nearly bumping straight into his back in the process. Smooth, Dennis, he mentally chides. 

“50 year old female. She was an unrestrained passenger in the vehicle when–” 

Dennis prays that his adrenaline will take the reins again, silently willing his body to listen, to move, to attend to his surroundings, and to practice medicine– easy, right? 

“Dana, we need a room!” Robby calls across the ED once they make it past the entrance, his hands already carrying out a partial exam. 

“Trauma Two’s open!” Dana bellows back. As always, she’s working in the center of the chaos, acting as the pillar that keeps the whole damn place upright. 

“Alright. Whitaker, you’re with me,” Robby casts a quick glance around, “McKay! Javadi” 

The resident and student doctor join them in the trauma room at record speed, immediately getting the patient’s run-down, which, admittedly, was helpful for Dennis to hear again. A portable ultrasound is shoved into his hand, his other clutching loosely at a bottle of gel– when had he grabbed that?– “Dennis!” Javadi whispers, giving his elbow a slight nudge and snapping him out of his reverie. 

“Right– uh. Checking for lung sliding,” he spurs into action, his medical knowledge still miraculously intact despite his growing fever. “No lung sliding on the left,” he reports as the other doctors attend to Robby’s instructions, “the right’s clear too. Checking the abdomen next.” 

Robby steps back, allowing Dennis to take his place by the patient’s abdomen and position himself for the ultrasound. The room swirls around him for just a moment, its white walls blurring into a bright haze that forces Dennis to blink a few times to right his vision. One of Robby’s hands settles on his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

As distracting as Robby’s touch can be, it brings Dennis back to his body for a moment, back to the fact that he’s actively treating a patient. “Uh– the gel’s a bit cold, sorry,” he announces to the (unconscious) patient out of habit as he begins the ultrasound. McKay and Javadi exchange a look of concern. 

Dennis glides the ultrasound wand across the patient’s stomach, eyes straining to focus on the screen, “there’s free fluid in the belly.” That gets Robby’s attention immediately. He peers at the screen, reaching over to adjust Dennis’s hand ever so slightly before nodding. 

“Yep. It looks like a splenic injury. Javadi, what are our next steps?”

Dennis stares downwards, watching as Robby’s hand once again steers his own to get a different angle. He shouldn’t need help with an ultrasound, but his hand melts under Robby’s, suddenly incapable of moving without guidance. A tingling sensation pools in the tips of his fingers, and Dennis is unable to decipher if it’s from the fact that Robby’s hand is dwarfing his or if it's from the dizziness tugging at his consciousness. 

Another nudge to his elbow– harder this time– makes Dennis jerk his head upright. All three of the doctors have their eyes trained on him, so he sputters out a quiet, “sorry!” 

Before anyone can acknowledge Dennis’s behavior, Mohan opens the door in a rush, “Robby! We need you in Trauma One!” and with that, the attending is gone and McKay takes the lead. 

Luckily, she knows to delegate most of the tasks to Javadi, giving Dennis simpler instructions and double checking his work. Within thirty minutes, the patient is stable and awaiting surgery, and he’s off the case. 

Within the same thirty minute period, however, his symptoms start hitting him over the head like bricks one after the other: dizziness, headache (which makes the dizziness worse), congestion (which makes the headache worse), and body aches (which make the whole damn day worse). 

    13. Worsening symptoms of my cold curse

As Dennis finally steps out of Trauma Two, he’s met with a resurgence of the pitt’s chaos. More rigs have arrived since he’d last been in the bay, bringing with them emergent patients, some of whom were overflowing into the main halls. 

His eyes flick from patient to patient, his brain lagging as he tries to deduce who to help first. The decision is made for him when Abbot spots him standing idly by, “Whitaker!”

Dennis crosses the sea of gurneys, nurses, and doctors to where Abbot is treating a tearful patient. 

“She has an anterior shoulder dislocation. You’re going to help me reduce it,” Abbot instructs, eyes narrowing as he meets Dennis’s gaze, “got it?”

Dennis nods, looking over the patient's dislocation before recounting, “there’s skin tenting, most likely due to a bone fracture, so… traction-counteraction is needed. Then we can treat the break after.”

Abbot gives Dennis a onceover before bracing himself by the patient’s head and getting into position. “You’re going to provide counteraction. Make sure you’ve got a sturdy stance.” 

He tsks at Dennis, tilting his head to the side and gesturing with a nod of his head for Dennis to shift. “Spread your legs wider. Your feet shouldn’t be aligned with your hips.” 

Dennis adjusts, earning a nod of approval as he tries desperately not to think about the way Jack’s voice had sounded when he instructed him to spread his legs; fever or not, his attraction to his attending persists. 

The reduction itself goes relatively smoothly all things considered, but it seems to zap Dennis’s remaining energy. Sweat is still dripping down his back and pooling in his scrubs, and he’s certain that the pitt has never been hotter. He swipes his wrist across his forehead, collecting an embarrassing amount of sweat and wiping it against his scrubs– thank God they’re dark. He doesn’t need everyone to know just how incapable his body is at regulating its temperature right now. 

To make things worse, Dennis’s sinuses prickle angrily as he inhales, enough to make his eyes water. The sensation takes root in the left side of his nose, worsening with the next inhale, which stutters halfway through and falls into a fluttering exhale. Still standing by the patient’s bedside next to Dr Abbot, Dennis stalls; his feet plant themselves stubbornly in place, refusing to move until the itch is attended to. Two soft hitches build on one another and Dennis presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

He can feel his brows knitting together, eyes slipping shut just as the third and fourth hitches make it past his lips. The final hitch is determined, filling his chest with its inhale. Nose buried in his elbow, Dennis shudders with a congested stifle, “n’kGXt!” 

His head bobs down hard and quick, the action unplanting his feet and causing him to stumble towards Jack a few steps. The attending’s hands land on Dennis’s sides, bracing him with a surprised, “Jesus, kid.”

Dennis leans into the touch, his body overwhelmed by– “hn’gxXt!”– the itch that’s now searing through his sinuses, having traveled from just the left side to what feels like his entire nose– “ih’ngXCch!” 

By instinct, Dennis tries to stifle, but his attempts just worsen his body’s need to expel the cold from its system, resulting in a quick gasp and then a cluster of sneezes that tumble out over one another, “ig’ksSst! ngXch-ksch!iih’ksSCHh! kK’tTsSCHhy’w!”

The fit leaves Dennis panting, dizzy, and with his nose running into the crevice of his elbow. He keeps his head bowed and hidden, but an embarrassed blush reddens his ears and neck. 

“Bl–” Jack begins, but Dennis cuts him off with a belated, “t’sSXch’ehw!” to which an older man raises an eyebrow. Abbot hesitates for a second, letting any final sneezes make themselves known before attempting to bless the younger doctor again. 

“Bless. You trying to set a record or something?” 

“No, I’m— sorry. I’m nodt—,” Whitaker begins, words falling from his mouth without any real coherence. The itch lingers in the back of his throat, each word egging it on until, “hnGjXch! S-hihh’iSZSHh!—sorry!” 

A liquid sniffle follows Dennis’s apology, and he shoves his free hand into his pocket in a vain hope that it would contain a tissue. No such luck. He sniffles a second time, then a third, his nose still tucked into the crook of his elbow. Luckily, the sniffles are lost to the chaos of the ED, stamped out by sounds of medical machinery and a chorus of voices. 

Dennis pointedly avoids Jack’s gaze, his eyes skirting around for the nearest exit from the overcrowded room. He can feel the attending’s hands over his scrubs, bracing him with a sturdiness that he desperately needs. 

The nurses station is crowded as ever, as is the rest of the pitt. An overflow of patient beds lines the hallways, blocking the exit nearest to Dennis. Fine, that’s fine. He just has to cross by South 15, pass the breakroom, and take a few minutes in the stairwell by the family room. 

“Sorry,” Dennis offers again, his brain churning out the same useless apology as it works through the molasses clouding his judgement. 

“Whitaker.” Jack’s hold on Dennis’s waist continues, his grip growing firmer as the student doctor takes a step forward. 

Dennis’s fever-addled brain miscalculates. Lifting just a few inches off the ground, his foot collides clumsily with Abbot’s sneaker, missing the ground entirely and instead landing on the toe of his prosthetic. 

Fumbling to find his footing, Dennis feels the room spin as he tries to lift his leg again; the limb shifts off of Jack’s foot, landing on solid ground by some miracle. 

The heat that’s been sitting dormant beneath Dennis’s skin now sears to the forefront of his mind, blurring his vision. His body practically wilts: legs shaking, posture slumping, and head swimming. 

Oh. Shit. 

He just barely registers, “Alright kid, stay with me. You’re alright.” 

Dennis tries to nod, to get his tongue to do anything more than sit like a rock in his mouth. He wants to agree– yes, I am alright– but all he manages is another whispered apology as he slumps further towards Abbot. 

“Fuck!” Jack hooks his arms beneath Dennis’s, keeping the younger— surprisingly buff— doctor upright. He barks, “Robby!!” as he casts a glance over his shoulder, catching his fellow attending in his line of sight. 

that's all for now ~ any and all comments/tags are appreciated :) thank you for reading!