is everything okay?
fuck, he hates empaths. or, well . . . hate is a strong word to use when regarding a colleague he trusts more than most of the rookies on his staff, but the discomfort cassie mckay manages to evoke from him with her curious questions and perceptive eyes is unparalleld. she sees him in ways most don't: completely, in all of his horribleness, rather than in the meticulously - scattered bits and pieces he presents to the masses. here, now, robby craves nothing more than for the ground to cave beneath his feet and swallow him whole.
instinctively, broad shoulders draw upwards. tension makes his muscles coil tight. hand rises, rubbing soothingly and sheepishly at the back of his neck. exhale is heavy, maybe a bit theatrical, and he does a damn good job of avoiding that intuitive gaze by allowing his own to wander aimlessly around the bustling emergency room. uneasily, he rocks back and forth on his heels, and at first, he gives cassie little more than a dismissive shrug in response.
"with me? right as rain, doctor mckay." snort that slips through his nose is dry and humorless. lips curl to form a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, tight - lipped and forced. "with this place? depends on the second, really. it's all a matter of waiting for shit to hit the fan, but i'm sure you know that. we're the ones slapping cheap bandaids all over this ship's gaping holes."
ew. gaping holes. face scrunches in a grimace, and the attending clears his throat with a shake of his head. "you need something?" he inquires, going from colleague to boss at the drop of a hat. it's easier, in his experience, to hide behind professionalism. even if he fucking hates it half the time. "just about quitting time, huh? got some finished charts for me?"
