Chapter Text
* Robby leans back against the guard rail, the chill of the metal seeping through his cargo scrub pants and biting into the skin of his lower back. He should be on the other side of the rail, the safe side. Not here on the edge of the roof, not with nothing to stop a fall. But that thought is fleeting - he can’t bring himself to care. Not right now. Not after the absolute hell he went through for 15 hours. He looks down at the city below him, cars and miscellaneous pedestrians milling about despite the late hour. For them, this is just a regular night. A regular, ordinary night - not the end of an agonizing and dehumanizing shift in the emergency department of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Most of the people on the street would never see the amount of carnage Robby had faced just today.
The street becomes a haze of yellow from the street lamps and glaring red from the brake lights of the traffic as Robby’s eyes start to unfocus. Distant honking and general city din reach his ears, but the noise is becoming muffled somehow.
It’s a 10 story drop from this rooftop to the pavement below. He feels his legs twitch, one foot shifting forward on the ground. His pulse quickens.
It would be so easy. It could all be over. No more pain, no more anguish, a small voice in the back of his mind tells him.
The thought is like a caress against his fried and raw neurons.
He stands up straight without thinking, pushing his hips off the guardrail behind him. He takes a tentative step closer towards the edge of the roof. Somewhere in his mind, the sound of the roof access door opening and creaking closed registers, but it’s not something he consciously processes. His heart thuds against his ribcage as he peers down past the edge of the roof into the ambulance bay. Mercifully, it’s empty. He shifts closer.
Do it, the voice whispers.
Robby’s vision tunnels on the ground below him, the tips of his boots now just a centimeter over the edge.
A meek voice cuts through the growing static in Robby’s mind.
“Sir? Dr. Robby?”
Robby doesn’t turn. He knows that voice. He would know that voice anywhere, even if they just met today.
“Is everything alright?” the voice asks, sounding a little frantic.
Robby shakes his head, feeling like someone just turned the lights on in a very, very dark room. He briefly takes note of how close he is to the edge of the roof, heart jumping in his throat. He shuffles backwards, butt hitting the guardrail, hands clasping around the freezing metal. He’s still looking down at the city, his breathing quickening.
Holy shit, he thinks as he realizes what he just came dangerously close to doing.
“Sir?”
The person behind him hasn’t moved. Robby looks back over his shoulder, fear and embarrassment making his cheeks hot despite the frigid temperature of the air.
Whitaker.
Again.
Whitaker stands just in front of the roof access door, wringing his hands anxiously in front of him, a look of horror across his face.
Fuck, Robby thinks.
He turns back to look out at the city, exhaustion crashing like a wave over his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, sir, I just… someone mentioned you might be up here and I just wanted to check in after…” Whitaker stutters.
Robby drops his head, fingers closing tighter around the rail behind him. Whitaker doesn’t need to finish his sentence, Robby knows he’s referring to his breakdown in pedes mere hours ago. Of course. Of course Whitaker would come looking for him. He’s too kind, too caring, too thoughtful. The thought of Whitaker worrying after him honestly makes Robby a little angry.
“I’m fine, Whitaker. Go home,” Robby says roughly, still refusing to look back at him.
His voice has more bite than he intends, and he cringes inwardly.
To his credit, Whitaker doesn’t leave. Or, at least, Robby doesn’t hear the door open again. What he does hear is the crunch of footsteps on the gravel rooftop coming closer to him. He lifts his head to the sky, eyes closed, and lets out a heavy sigh. He turns to look over his shoulder again at Whitaker, who has stopped halfway between the railing and the door.
“Heights aren’t really my thing,” Whitaker says with a halfhearted chuckle as he looks to the city beyond Robby briefly, clearly trying to diffuse the tension.
Robby doesn’t answer. He just keeps looking at the small boy - or, man, bundled in a puffer coat a size too big for him, hands shoved into the pockets. He looks too young to be in medical school, but his eyes tell a different story. A story Robby doesn’t want to admit to himself that he wants to know. He’d been strangely intrigued by Whitaker the moment he’d laid eyes on him at 7:00 this morning during rounds. Something about him caught his attention in a way students don’t usually do.
He watches Whitaker’s Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallows hard. He looks petrified, but he doesn’t turn to leave. He’s not saying anything else, just watching Robby and glancing to the city beyond. It softens some of Robby’s anger to watch Whitaker this way.
“I’m fine. Really. Just getting some air,” Robby lies, dropping his gaze and turning back to face the city.
“You don’t look fine, sir,” Whitaker says, his voice coming out a little shaky. “It looks like something else, entirely, actually.”
Robby tenses.
He turns suddenly, lifting a leg to hop back over the railing, planting both feet firmly on the other side. He shoves his hands in his hoodie pockets and stares down Whitaker, anxiety about being caught overriding any other emotion.
“See. Fine. View’s better on the other side, that’s all,” Robby says quickly.
He starts into a clipped walk, trying to appear collected.
As he passes by Whitaker, he mumbles a short, “I’m gonna head out.”
* Whitaker’s hand shoots out to grab Robby’s arm, halting him as he tries to pass him. Whitaker’s pulse jumps, surprised with himself.
This is certainly not what he expected to find when he came up to the roof. He’d just gotten Santos’ address after she’d offered him her spare room, telling her he needed to grab some things he kept in another room in the hospital (a lie) and that he’d meet her at her house - or, he guesses, their house?
Robby stops, looking a little incredulous as he peers down at Whitaker’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Whitaker swallows hard again, nervous but determined to help his attending.
“I won’t tell anyone…” he starts, and a look of relief washes over Robby’s features.
Robby looks up at Whitaker then.
Whitaker thinks that he much prefers this look on Robby’s face. Something not so hardened, so weary and, honestly, defeated. Which is weird, because why would Whitaker prefer to see Robby any type of way? They just met, and he -
Robby interrupts Whitaker’s spiraling train of thought as he runs a hand over his beard, sighing. Whitaker chastises himself internally, refocusing on the topic at hand.
“But this is the second time today I’ve caught you in a… state. What’s going on? Talk to me,” Whitaker continues, still holding onto Robby’s wrist.
Whitaker can’t think too long about how he’s touching Robby. He must not think about how he’s touching Robby. Even though Robby’s been touching him all day. Little pats on the back here, a hand clasped on his shoulder there. It had been constant throughout the shift, messing with Whitaker’s head in a way he doesn’t want to admit to himself. He also shouldn’t notice the way Robby’s dark eyes reflect the city light, and how warm and muscular his forearm feels under Whitaker’s hand.
Focus, Whitaker thinks.
Robby’s gaze drops back down to Whitaker’s hand around his wrist. Whitaker notes this, dropping his hand finally and shoving it into the pocket of his coat. Embarrassment colors his cheeks, but he stays, waiting for Robby to speak. Robby doesn’t meet his gaze.
“It’s nothing, kid,” he whispers, turning away from Whitaker and walking to the rooftop door, pulling it open and disappearing behind it.
The metal door shuts with a rough click. Whitaker stares at the door and can’t help but feel a little disappointed.
“Right,” he mutters to no one.