Chapter Text
Charting was a bleak downtime in the Pitt: a seemingly never-ending and ever-so-time-consuming reflection of the day’s failures and triumphs.
You’re used to this. Statistically, you spend more time charting than actively tending to your patients. Yet today, the mere thought of sitting down and tuning out the buzz of the ED seems impossible, a complete contradiction to the adrenaline and energy coursing through your body. And you are much too stubborn to give in to Baran’s AI app. After a grand five-car pileup within an hour of your shift, your body has failed to come down two hours later. For now, you were riding the high of having helped stabilize 3 trauma patients by 8:15 A.M. You knew the crash was imminent, and once the ER found a lull, you’d half-heartedly type away, trying, (and failing) to keep your eyes open. And your boyfriend, being the ever-so-sweet man he is, would pass his Redbull to you.
You understood how your body functioned in the ED. You were, however, too reckless to manage it, scraping by on granola bars and sandwiches like a street rat foraging for food.
But for now, you were eager. Maybe overly so, as you restlessly walked the ED, bouncing from peer to peer, desperate to catch any stray tasks they may have to offer. A sandwich delivery for Mel, a lab order for Samira, and a quick blanket for Trin’s patient. Your vigor for activity had grown to be insatiable, so you compromised by fiddling with your twitching hands.
Keep moving. Who needs help? … Seriously, why does it have to be quiet now? Does Den have anything? Where is he? My god, why hasn’t Dana assigned me anything-
You abruptly slam into an unfamiliar surface, met with a grunt. A hand flies to your forearm, offering a grounding squeeze.
Your attending.
“Robby!” You exclaim, letting out an awkward and tension-filled laugh. It was not reciprocated.
“I was actually-hah-hoping to run into you. Is there anything I could pick up? Two of my patients are just waiting on Surgery, third is sedated- hum.” You’ve seemed to have lost your words. Robby is, in fact, not listening. He is, instead, staring at you with furrowed brows and a questioning squint. Almost like he has taken the liberty to study you. Which, honestly, you really wouldn’t mind-
Right. Words.
You can’t even gather them before you’re, yet again, cut off, this time by a simple click of the man’s tongue.
In your dazed state, you’ve failed to notice his hand slip down your arm, firmly grasping your wrist between two fingers and inspecting your borderline vibrating hands.
“Go get some air. You look about ready to pass out.”
He releases your hand with a soft click, nodding towards the ambulance bay.
“It’s-“
“Ah-ah. Outside. Go.” Again, you’ve failed to argue.
Reluctantly, you nod, slipping past him and careening through the sea of people coming through. In a way, you were thankful for the command. It offered you some much obliged guidance in the cluster fuck of your hyperactive mind.
Outside, nestled in the conjunction of the pillar and wall, stands Trinity Santos, twiddling a cigarette box within her hands. She notices you first with a start.
“Wow, Bon– you look like shit.” Bon. A sweet, endearing nickname given to you on your first day: now being used in such a manner. Only Trinity Santos.
“ ‘s really that bad? Robin-a-bitch sent me out.” Although you try (and fail) to maintain optimistic humor, you have worn down quite quickly in the past few minutes. Trinity, obviously, notices. Stuffing the box in her front pocket, she sinks to the curb and pats the spot beside her.
“Well, thank you, Dr. Robin-a-bitch.” She affirms, tucking her knees under her chin. She clears her throat before continuing.
“So, Saturday.. Maybe a little, ‘thank-the-gods-you-finished-med-school’ celebration?” She tilts her head towards you, lips pressed together in question.
Your shoulders immediately perk up at the reminder, releasing a weight you didn't notice was there. Oh. Oh, God bless, three days left. Three days until you’re finally rewarded with the glorious title of doctor.
“Yeah?” She continues.
“Fuuuuucckkk yess-please-please, oh my fucking god.”
Your enthusiastic, albeit dramatic, response brings a giggle out of Trinity, clearing some of the fog from your head.
“Good then. Saturday it is.” Almost immediately, whatever warmth that resided in the conversation was spoiled, as Dana poked her head out from the sliding doors.
“Santos! You’re needed.” She beckons, gesturing for you to sit when you try to leave with her. Michael Robinavitch. That gossipy bitch.
You watch as Santos pushes up, making her way back towards the automatic doors. Before she can make it back inside, though, she leans back with a stern look.
“Once you’re back inside, sit down and have a sandwich. We don’t need you crashing. ” She iterates, quaking her brow in challenge when you respond with a dismissive mumble.
“I mean it, Bon!” She shouts from the connecting corridor.
“Yeah!” You respond with an equally austere cadence.
5:45 P.M.
Somehow, you’d made it this far. (Truthfully, you’d attribute your success to the sandwich Whitaker had pressed against your work station before you could even think of it. Fucker.) And when handoff finally came, you’d never felt more blessed. By 6:00, you were entirely ready to go home, belongings clutched closely to your chest like they could take you home in three clicks of a heel. You and Dennis kept your sides pressed together—in the most professional and unassuming manner possible—basking in each other's body heat in a sleepy haze. Santos was still keen on talking with Ellis for as long as possible; their conversation had long since grown uninteresting, so a soft, unbothered silence felt right, even as the ED droned on around you two.
“Phantom’s of the Pitt,” The invisible bubble housing you and Whitaker had popped. Jack Abbot stood before you two, his eyes flicking up and down with a boyish grin.
You don’t know if he’d ever let go of that. After finding out the two of you had been unhoused, he had, very sincerely, offered to help with your rent. It took an irregular amount of convincing to dissuade him from doing so.
“Abbot. Hey, bud.” Whitaker is swiftly pulled away as Abbot reaches his hand out, tugging him in and delivering two firm *thuds* between his shoulder blades. You can’t help but giggle into your shirt when Dennis lets out a muffled grunt of surprise. When Dennis is finally spared released from Jack’s hold, his eyes shift down to yours. It's a heavy stare, never failing to make you shifty. Like he's pressuring you into something. You shift closer to Dennis.
“So,” He starts, keeping that same fucking grin. Jack Abbot, one of your nicest coworkers, has you twitching side to side like a startled Rabbit. Bon. The name gifted to you for your hyperactivity on your first day, carrying the ferocity of a Jackrabbit. It’s not far off.
“Mm, what is it? Three days until you’re no longer a student?” His hands slip up to hold his stethoscope. You think maybe you’re a pervert, the way that your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his arm flexes.
You nod rapidly in confirmation. It is a struggle to keep your gaze locked on his, rather than ogling him. But you would rather not be on a registry.
“That’s pretty big, yeah? You thinkin’ about switching up your schedule after graduation?” He tilts his head in question. Not patronizing, though, a genuine ask. If you didn’t know better, you’d say there was hope behind it.
“Hah, yeah– a professor of mine had actually recommended that I do. For, uh, variation.” Like a sleeper agent, Michael Robinavitch is suddenly beside Abbot, silencing his response with a prying
“Do what?
“I was just asking about Bon’s post-graduation plans,” Abbot explains. But his tone is off. Competitive, even. He goes on,
“Hey, you too, Whitaker. We’d appreciate some… brighter people on the team.” Robby shoots him a glare.
“We’ll definitely think of it! Thanks- ope!” Trinity, rather abruptly, makes her entrance by flinging her arms over both of your shoulders, her keys dangling against your torso.
“Ready to go?” You jump at the chance, giving her a nod almost immediately. Abbot gives Trinity a curt wave and smile before giving his goodbye.
“Rob’ll walk out with you. I’ll see you three tomorrow.” Whitaker nods before beginning to lead you and Trin away, and even from afar, you can’t help but notice Abbot leaning into Robby. You could’ve sworn, saying something along the lines of, “See you at home,” with a squeeze of Robby’s ass. Fucken straight guys.
And you’d be damned if your roommates missed the gay tales of your middle-aged attendings.