It's probably something only my high functioning depressed ass wants to see, but imagine Dennis' mental health worsening and nobody noticing for a long while, not out of malice or carelessness, but simply because sometimes that's the way things go. Especially if he still functions acceptably well in the ER for a while.
When the clearer and louder signs aren't there, people tend to overlook other things that, in hindsight, are definitely alarm bells. Again, most of the time it isn't intentional: everyone lives a busy life, and everyone has their own shit to deal with.
But like. Yeah, Dennis has started taking showers at five o'clock. Trinity doesn't even know how he gets up at that hour with the will to take a shower. If she hears the alarm go off at five o'clock, she will go back to sleep. It's too damn early.
Dennis forgets things. Victoria knows, understands. She would forget her own life if it weren't for Calendar. More often than not, he spends his lunch break simply relaxing quietly instead of eating the food he has promptly left at home. And he has a thing against buying or letting other people offer. Believe her, she has tried.
"I just like paying for my own things myself," he always tells her. "But thank you, really. You're way too kind."
Samira is glad not to be the only one who spends so much time with patients anymore. Okay, Whitaker definitely isn't as "slow" as her (come on, she isn't even that slow), but she's seen him listening silently to patients' babbling about their lives to him. He keeps his arms crossed, nods here and there. Usually lets them do most of the talking.
It may be a bit petty, but at least now Robby can't reprimand her if he doesn't reprimand him, too. It would make him too much of a hypocrite.
The kid's snappier these days. Kind, patient Whitaker. Nothing too worrying — he doesn't scream in anybody's face — but it's evident there's something going on. He tries to ask about it, but Whitaker has always been a pretty reserved person, the kind to talk about meaningless nothings just enough not to let you notice that you don't actually know anything serious about him.
"It's fine, Dr. Robby. Just not sleeping that well these days," Whitaker caves in, at least partially, after a bit more of gentle pushing.
Robby's heart aches. "Yeah, makes sense. Sorry to hear that. Try to rest, but if you need anything, just ask. Alright?"
And while Dennis' smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, there is this pretty pink that colours his cheeks, and Robby can feel the blush tinge his own skin.
Jack takes note of Whitaker's silent regression without saying much, not at first. Okay, regression is exaggerated, but. He is slower than before, and a bit more indecisive. The kid has improved so much in the last few months, but that old tendency of constantly second-guessing himself is making an unwelcome comeback. He should probably talk to Robby about it. Just to see if he's the only one who's gotten said impression.
So, they start keeping an eye on him. Just to be careful, just to be sure everything is alright.
One day in particular, Whitaker starts making mistakes. Stupid mistakes. The kind of mistakes that are understandable in MS, but definitely not in a resident, not anymore. What is astonishing is that Whitaker knows better than this. They know, they've seen it countless times. He is capable. But for some reason, his abilities aren't translating well anymore.
He is distracted. He is more irritable by the second. It's like he is in his own bubble, except it's acid water that composes it and having it burst would be dangerous.
If it weren't enough, the day is evidently taking a bad turn. It's one of those days when even taking a breath seems impossible, when adrenaline is constantly reverberating through their veins and the crash of it, they know, will be devastating. Thankfully no mass casualty this time, but God knows that doesn't mean it's quiet or easier.
However, during a duller moment, when the waves appear to have relatively calmed down, Whitaker replies not exactly courteously to an, admittedly, asshole patient, and Robby has to lightly reprimand him.
But Whitaker bites back. It seems like he doesn't do it on purpose, more like, he forgot to bite his tongue, but it escalates a little and Robby ends up slightly raising his voice.
It happens, especially when everybody's stressed. They all know. It still piques people's interest, so everyone's watching when, unexpectedly, Whitaker starts crying.
Not sobbing, screaming. Just this small, pained thing. Tears slowly descend across his cheeks in a pitiful parade, his lips closed, and Robby is petrified in front of this sudden turn of events.
Dennis tries to speak, to apologize, knowing him, but his voice comes out breathier and weaker than he intended, and it cracks slightly when he starts saying Dr. Robby's name.
Whitaker giggles, and then, half amused and half in ruins, a sob spills from his throat.
"I'm sorry," he croaks out, eyes wild and unseeing, open in a way that suggests haunted. He brings his hands up through his hair, lightly gripping some strands.
"You're right, I shouldn't– I shouldn't be here," he sniffles. He starts backing away, eyes still bloodshot and desperate. "I should... I can't..." he murmurs.
"I'm really sorry, really, I'm just... I..." he fumbles over his words. And promptly runs away.
The whole ER is frozen in shock, because fuck. They look at each other, and they all know. Something is wrong with him, and they haven't paid attention to it until now. They didn't realize until now.
Bursting into tears in the middle of the ER. That daunting shade of blue in his eyes. And a lot of pieces that seemed like random, useless weird stuff disconnected from one another abruptly comes together to form a bigger picture.
Fuck. He has not been doing okay. He has definitely not been doing okay.
Obviously, Robby immediately runs after him.
(I'd write something about it but I'm too tired honestly)
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