Chapter Text
Robby didn’t move.
He stood rigid beside the nurses’ station, his eyes fixed somewhere over Gloria’s shoulder, expression unreadable. Not angry. Not confused. Just… blank.
Jack stood beside him, close enough to feel how tightly wound his body was, how shallow and uneven his breathing had become.
Gloria’s voice carried easily across the open ED.
“I want to thank you all for your patience and professionalism during what’s been a challenging few weeks. As many of you are aware, there have been necessary changes in department leadership.” She paused just long enough to let the tension build. “Effective immediately, Dr Jack Abbott will be stepping in as Chief of Emergency Medicine.”
A ripple passed through the staff clumped nearby. Some looked stunned, others merely uncomfortable, but all eyes flicked instinctively toward Robby, who hadn’t so much as blinked.
Jack’s heart pounded in his chest. He could barely swallow. The back of his neck was hot, his stomach turning over itself.
Gloria continued, her voice cool and businesslike. “We’re incredibly grateful to Dr Robinavich for his leadership and dedication over the past four years. The department’s success is due in no small part to his work, and we’re looking forward to his continued presence here at PTMC.”
Jack’s blood ran cold. Robby tensed beside him, barely, but enough that Jack noticed.
“We’re expecting both Dr Robinavich and Dr Abbott back on the floor tomorrow morning,” Gloria added. “Schedules will be updated accordingly. If you have questions, please direct them to admin.”
That did it.
Jack felt it before he saw it, the sudden drop in Robby’s presence, like something inside him had shut off completely. His jaw clenched so tight Jack thought it might snap. Still, he didn’t speak. He didn’t even look at her.
Staff began to murmur quietly among themselves again, a few peeling off to awkwardly get back to work. Gloria gave one final nod and stepped back.
Jack glanced at Robby, desperate to say something, anything, to make it better. But when Robby finally turned to look at him, his expression stopped Jack cold.
It wasn’t fury.
It was betrayal. Quiet, deep, and unfixable.
Robby took one slow, measured step back. Then another. He didn’t say a word as he turned and walked away, heading down the corridor like he was moving through fog.
Jack started to follow, but stopped himself.
Not here. Not in front of everyone. Not when Robby looked like he was barely holding the last threads of himself together.
The title pressed heavier against Jack’s chest now, crushing in its finality.
Chief of Emergency Medicine.
He’d never wanted it less.
The crowd hadn’t even fully dispersed when Kiara, strode up to Jack with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her voice was low but laced with fury.
“You have got to be kidding me,” she said, eyes still darting toward the corridor Robby had disappeared down. “She brought him out here like a pawn and humiliated him in front of all of us, and then threw you into the line of fire?”
Jack swallowed. “I didn’t know it was going to happen like that. I swear, Kiara.”
“Well, she sure as hell made it look like you did.”
Before Jack could respond, Dr. Heather Collins stepped forward, her tone sharp and businesslike, but her eyes were full of concern.
“Is Robby okay?” she asked. “Because that looked… bad. Really bad.”
Jack hesitated. “No. He’s- he’s not okay.”
Heather glanced over her shoulder, making sure Gloria had vanished before continuing. “He hasn’t been okay since Pittfest. And now they expect him to come back tomorrow like none of this happened?”
Dr. John Shen joined them, folding his arms as he leaned slightly toward Jack. “This was a power play. It’s not about what’s best for the department. It’s about control. And it’s cruel.”
“It’s beyond cruel,” said Dr. Mel King, brows furrowed as she approached. “We’ve barely recovered from the last week. You saw him-he could barely stand. And now he’s just expected to slip into the ranks like nothing’s changed?”
Dr. Trinity Santos lingered near the edge of the group, her eyes wide, uncertain. “I, um, I don’t really know how this stuff usually works,” she said quietly, “but… it didn’t feel right. It felt like watching someone get punished for surviving.”
Everyone fell silent for a second. Jack looked down at the floor.
“That’s exactly what it was,” Kiara said bitterly.
Jack finally raised his eyes. “I didn’t ask for this,” he said, voice rough. “I didn’t want his job. I would’ve said no if I thought, if I knew-"
“But you didn’t say no,” Mel pointed out. Not accusatory. Just honest.
“No,” Jack admitted. “I didn’t. But at least if I keep it for a while, he can have it back."
Kiara let out a slow breath, shaking her head. “This department worships Robby. And they just gutted him in front of us all. You’re walking into a minefield tomorrow, Jack.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “Believe me. I know.”
He looked back down the hallway, hoping, praying, that Robby hadn’t heard it all, that maybe, somehow, there was still a way to fix what had just been broken.
But deep down, Jack knew the truth.
Some things don’t get fixed.
Not easily.
And not without fallout.
Robby had barely made it down the hallway when the first wave hit.
It wasn’t sudden, it was a slow, suffocating swell of nausea and fear that crept up his spine like ice water. The lights overhead buzzed too loudly. The air was too thick. His breath wouldn’t reach his lungs.
Then his knees gave out.
He collapsed beside a crash trolley, fingers scrabbling weakly against the floor tiles. His chest was a vice. Every breath sounded like it was being dragged through a straw. His whole body was shaking, his vision tunneling fast.
He didn’t even hear her footsteps approach.
But she saw him.
Dr. Mel King had been rounding the corner behind diagnostics when she froze, instantly assessing what she was seeing. Her eyes widened slightly, but her expression stayed composed, more alert than panicked. She hesitated only a second before moving toward him with brisk but quiet footsteps.
“Dr Robby?” she said, voice soft, carefully neutral.
No response; just a choked gasp and a tremor so sharp it made his whole frame curl inward.
Mel didn’t touch him right away. Instead, she crouched beside him with the kind of stiff-limbed awkwardness that came from instinctively avoiding too much closeness, but her eyes were sharp, her tone measured.
“You’re having a panic attack,” she said plainly. “You’re safe. You’re okay.”
She sat back on her heels, watching him for a few seconds, gauging, calculating.
“I’m going to check your pulse,” she said gently, pausing to make sure he didn’t flinch. “Okay?”
Still no response, but he didn’t pull away when she reached forward.
Mel’s fingers found his wrist with practiced ease, pressing lightly against the inside. His pulse was rapid, too fast, but not dangerously irregular. She counted in her head, calm and focused.
“Alright,” she murmured. “I’ve got your heart rate. Now we’re going to try breathing.”
She let go of his wrist and sat back again, keeping her tone soft and clinical, not maternal, not falsely soothing. Just clear.
“Breathe in through your nose for four counts,” she instructed. “One, two, three, four… hold… and now out through your mouth for six. One, two, three, four, five, six.”
Robby’s breaths were ragged and inconsistent, but she kept going, quiet and steady, like a metronome beside him.
“In… hold… out…”
He missed the rhythm more than once, hyperventilating through clenched teeth, but she didn’t stop. She adjusted.
“Let’s try three and five instead. Smaller steps.”
“In… two, three… hold… out… two, three, four, five.”
Eventually, slowly, his breathing began to sync with hers. Still shallow. Still tremoring.
But not spiraling anymore.
Mel checked his pulse again, gently placing her fingers against his wrist.
Still fast.
But steadier.
“You’re doing good,” she said, voice still as even as ever. “This isn’t going to last forever.”
He made a tiny, strangled sound, not quite a sob, not quite a word, and leaned back against the wall, exhausted, curls plastered to his forehead with sweat.
Mel stayed seated beside him, careful not to crowd.
“I know it feels like everything’s too loud,” she said quietly. “Like your body’s turning against you. But you’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere.”
He blinked, sluggish and red-eyed, trying to focus. Her presence registered now, Mel. The second-year resident who didn’t talk much unless she had to. Who hated eye contact and always wore noise-cancelling earbuds when she ate lunch in the break room.
And yet, here she was. More grounded than anyone else could’ve been in this moment.
Robby didn’t speak, he couldn’t. But he nodded just slightly, chest still heaving, as his trembling hands curled in toward his lap.
"I'm sorry Dr King...it...it was ummm...very unprofessional of m-me."
"It's okay Dr Robby, I get it- I mean I don't get it because I haven't been in your position but I get it."
"I ummm- I need to go but ummm, thank..."
His voice trailed off mid-sentence, lost in a shaky breath as he struggled to push himself up from the floor. His knees buckled slightly under him, but he caught the edge of the wall, gripping the plaster like a lifeline.
Mel stood quickly but didn’t move to touch him, just hovered close enough to catch him if he fell. She nodded, awkwardly, fiddling with the cuffs of her sleeves.
“Okay,” she said. “Just go slow. Wall’s your friend. Are you sure you're okay?"
Robby nodded, barely. He didn’t make eye contact. Couldn’t. His face was pale, blotchy, eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red. His legs were visibly trembling, and he walked like every step might collapse underneath him. One hand stayed anchored to the wall as he made his way, uneven and unsteady, toward the stairwell at the far end of the corridor.
Mel watched him until he disappeared around the corner.
Then she bolted.
Her flat shoes hit the tile fast, the usually reserved resident nearly skidding as she turned the corner into the main ED. Staff were still lingering, scattered and unsettled after Gloria’s announcement. Voices buzzed, tense and fractured.
She spotted Jack near Trauma Bay 2, fielding rapid-fire questions from Perlah and Dr. Collins, both of them clearly furious and visibly distressed.
“Dr Abbott!” Mel’s voice cracked across the unit, louder than she usually ever spoke. “Jack-"
He turned instantly, brow furrowed. His eyes scanned her face and immediately sharpened.
“What is it?”
Mel’s hands were flapping slightly now; something she didn’t even seem to notice.
“He had a panic attack. Bad. He collapsed by diagnostics- he couldn’t breathe, I had to take his pulse. I got him grounded but he could barely stand, he’s not okay-"
Jack didn’t wait to hear the rest. He was already moving.
He pushed past Heather and Kiara without another word, the sting of their concern lost under the rising panic pounding in his chest. His pace quickened the second he cleared the ED floor, eyes darting down every hallway, checking each glass-fronted office and alcove with growing urgency.
“Robby!” he called, voice sharp and echoing down the corridor.
No answer.
He turned down diagnostics, the hallway where Mel had said it happened. The crash trolley was still askew, a faint smudge on the wall where someone had braced their hand. Jack’s stomach dropped.
He checked every nearby room, every corridor, storage cupboard.
Nothing.
“Robby?” Jack tried again, softer this time, breath catching. His steps slowed as he reached the stairwell door. He pushed it open, listening for any hint of movement above or below.
Silence.
Only the low hum of the building.
He jogged down two flights, scanning each landing, his leg throbbing. Then back up three, chest tightening more with every empty corner, every second ticking by.
No sign of him.
He wouldn’t leave the building, Jack told himself. Not without telling me. Not like this.
But doubt crept in anyway.
Back in diagnostics, Mel lingered awkwardly in the corridor, chewing the edge of her thumbnail.
“He said he needed to go,” she offered quietly as Jack returned, breathless and panicked. “I didn’t want to stop him. I thought he just needed air.”
Jack nodded, trying to mask the fear rising behind his eyes. “It’s okay. You did the right thing, Mel. Thank you- for staying with him.”
She nodded, eyes flicking down, clearly unsure what to do with herself now.
Jack turned back toward the ED, mind already racing with possibilities. Robby wasn’t answering his texts. He hadn’t answered all week. If he’d spiraled again, if he’d left-
He shook the thought off. Not yet. He wasn’t going there yet.
But as he re-entered the department, his heart sank at the empty space where Robby should’ve been.
Gone. Again.
Robby didn’t remember leaving the hospital.
One minute, he’d been clutching the wall outside diagnostics, the taste of panic still sharp in his throat. The next, he was blinking against sunlight as the city buzzed around him, too loud, too fast, too alive. His hospital badge still hung from his trousers, half-twisted.
He drifted through downtown Pittsburgh like a ghost, shoulders hunched, arms tight to his sides, like holding himself together physically might stop his brain from splintering completely.
Cars honked. Pedestrians passed. No one noticed him.
Good.
He walked without any plan. Down Liberty Avenue. Across the Smithfield Street Bridge. Through the Market Square crowd where someone laughed too loudly and he flinched so hard he nearly dropped to the pavement again.
His body still buzzed with leftover adrenaline; shaky, nauseous, muscles sore like he’d been running for hours. He wasn’t crying. He wanted to cry. But he was too far gone for that now. Everything was numb and blurred at the edges, like he wasn’t fully in his skin.
He ended up sitting on a bench by the river, somewhere along the North Shore Trail. Boats moved silently across the water. A cyclist zipped past behind him and made him jump again.
He pulled his knees to his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his pants. He hadn’t eaten more than a piece of toast in two days. His stomach felt hollow and tight. The migraine still pulsed faintly behind his eyes, low and persistent, like the city itself was vibrating through his skull.
He checked his phone.
Twenty-two missed calls.
Three from Dana. One from Gloria. Fifteen from Jack.
The newest one had come in just ten minutes ago: “Please tell me where you are. Please.”
Robby locked the screen and shoved it back into his pocket like it had burned him.
He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know what he wanted. Going back to the hospital felt like stepping into a furnace. But staying out here wasn’t safe either, not really. He wasn’t okay. He knew that. And Jack… Jack didn’t even know what they’d done. What Gloria had really done. What they were making Robby swallow and pretend was kindness.
He dropped his head against his arms, curling tighter on the bench. A passing jogger gave him a sideways glance. He ignored it. Let them think he was drunk or sick or crazy.
The sky had dulled to a heavy blue, the last warmth of daylight bleeding out over the rooftops. Robby walked with no real direction, just the aimless, mechanical steps of someone trying to outrun their own skin.
The formal shirt itched at his collarbone. He hadn’t changed out of the outfit he’d worn to the board meeting, pressed grey trousers, pale blue shirt, creased now from hours of sitting, sweating, spiraling. The weight of the hospital ID clipped to his waistband felt unbearable.
People passed him. Cars rolled by. The world moved.
His brain didn’t.
It had fixated on a single, quiet, horrible instinct. Something he hadn’t done in five years. Not since COVID, not since the sleepless weeks where he’d been drowning in PPE and grief and silence.
He found a pharmacy on the corner of a quiet block. Walked in, eyes glazed, posture too straight for someone who felt like he might shatter.
He bought the razor without a word, hands clammy against the touchscreen of the self-checkout. The pack rattled as he shoved it into his pocket. The moment felt surreal, too fast, too easy. The store lights buzzed loudly above him, and no one looked twice.
Ten minutes later, he sat alone on a bench at the far end of Schenley Park, his back to the path, hidden behind the slope of a hill.
His hands trembled as he dismantled the razor. He didn’t even hesitate.
And when the pain came, sharp, controlled, unmistakable, it was like a dam finally cracked. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding released all at once. His body stilled. His mind… quieted.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to breathe.
It wasn’t pride he felt. Or shame, even, not yet. Just silence. The endless static in his head finally dropped to a low hum. And the tightness in his chest, the screaming guilt, the overwhelming self-loathing… it receded, just a little, into something manageable.
His whole body felt loose, like he might slide off the bench if he wasn’t careful. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gazing out at the trees. The distant sounds of dogs barking and kids shouting on bikes floated up from the lower path. Life continued, untouched.
The city didn’t know he was here.
Didn’t care.
And maybe that was better.
For now, at least, no one could reach him; not Gloria, not the board, not Jack.
And for the first time in days, that almost felt like peace.
That didn't last long though.
By the time the haze cleared enough for him to look properly at his arm, the reality hit like a punch to the gut.
There were more than twenty-five cuts now, shallow, controlled at first, but some deeper than he’d intended. They crisscrossed over skin already pale and trembling, angry and red. Blood had soaked into the cuff of his sleeve, smeared faintly across his wrist and palm.
His breath caught.
Not from the pain, that had dulled to a strange, distant throb, but from the sudden rush of nausea that followed. The world tilted slightly. His vision blurred at the edges. His heartbeat, slow a moment ago, spiked violently.
He was getting dizzy.
He pressed his forearm tight to his chest, as though he could will the blood to stop, as though maybe if he held it close enough, the whole thing would disappear.
But it didn’t. His hand was slick. His shirt was ruined. And the silence that had briefly helped him breathe was now replaced with panic clawing its way back in.
His legs shook as he stood. The dizziness came in another wave, stronger now, and his stomach twisted hard with the effort of staying upright.
And then a sickening realization struck him, sudden and sharp:
Dana lived five minutes away.
He hadn’t even thought about it when he’d wandered into the park. Hadn’t connected the streets. But he knew this trail. Knew the turn near the rose garden. Knew that if he cut through the small dog run near the footbridge, he’d be at her apartment in five, maybe less.
His breathing grew fast again. Shallow. His good hand dug into his pocket for something; tissues, a napkin, anything- to press against the cuts, to hide them.
She can’t see me like this. She can’t. I can’t show up like this. I can’t tell her I failed.
His steps faltered. He started walking anyway.
The panic was closing in, thick and sharp. But he didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t go home. Couldn’t face Jack. Couldn’t go to the hospital.
His vision swam again.
Five minutes.
Just five.
By the time Robby reached Dana’s street, he could barely walk in a straight line. His shirt was clinging to his back with sweat, his sleeves rolled down sloppily, one cuff stained dark red. His right hand was pressed firmly against his left forearm, applying as much pressure as he could manage. It wasn’t enough.
The world tilted again as he climbed the front steps.
He knocked, weakly at first, then again, more urgently. His knuckles left a faint smudge of blood on the white-painted wood.
The door swung open faster than he expected.
Dana stood there in yoga pants and an oversized college hoodie, her hair tied back hastily, phone still in one hand. Her eye was still swollen but the colour was finally starting to fade away from the awful purple black colour. Her face shifted in an instant, confusion, recognition, then horror.
“Oh my God, Robby.”
Behind her, Mike appeared, taller and broader, dressed casually in joggers and a Steelers T-shirt. His brow furrowed as he took in the sight of Robby swaying in the doorway, blood visible despite Robby’s shaky attempts to hide it.
“What happened?” Mike asked immediately, voice low but tense. “Dana, he’s-"
“I've seen it- get towels. Now. Get the first aid kit, upstairs bathroom.” Dana’s voice was sharp with urgency.
“Are the girls-"
“They’re upstairs with the TV on. Go.”
Mike disappeared in a flash.
Dana reached out and gently took Robby by the shoulders. Her hands were steady, her voice softening. “Hey, hey. Look at me. Robby. You’re okay. You’re safe now. Just breathe. Can you come inside for me?”
His mouth opened like he wanted to speak, but only a small, broken sound came out. A mix between a sob and a gasp. His legs buckled slightly.
Dana caught him, easing him inside and onto the couch with practiced calm. She knelt in front of him as he curled slightly forward, still pressing his arm awkwardly to his chest.
“Jesus, Robby…” she whispered, softer now, heart in her throat.
The moment her hands gently pulled back his blood-streaked cuff, she flinched, not visibly, not judgmentally, just enough to show it hurt her to see him like this.
Dana was the one who found him during covid. She found him in a bath of his own blood, arms marked with months of trouble. He had promised her after that that he wouldn't do it again but here they are.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. “You’re not in trouble. You’re safe. We’ve got you. Okay?”
He nodded faintly, blinking slow and unfocused. His face was pale, lips slightly blue at the edges.
Mike reappeared moments later, arms full of towels, gauze, antiseptic, wraps. He set everything down on the coffee table, then hovered by the edge of the room, giving space but not leaving.
Dana worked quickly, gently. She didn’t ask questions yet. Just focused on stopping the bleeding, cleaning the wounds, wrapping his forearm with calm, firm hands.
“I’m sorry,” Robby mumbled finally, hoarse and wrecked. “I- I didn’t know where else to go.”
Dana looked up at him, eyes glassy. “You did the right thing. Coming here, that was brave. I’m proud of you for that.”
“I messed up.”
“Yeah,” she said honestly. “But you’re not alone. You hear me?”
From upstairs, the faint sound of laughter and a cartoon theme song filtered through the walls. Dana glanced upward, then back to Robby. “They don’t know anything. You’re safe here, okay? We’ll handle this. One step at a time.”
He closed his eyes, leaning back against the cushions, body trembling under the weight of exhaustion, adrenaline, and shame.
Robby tried to sit up a bit more, but the moment he shifted, the room spun violently. The edges of Dana’s living room warped like they were being pulled outward, stretched too thin. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing against a wave of nausea.
“Whoa, whoa, Robby?” Dana caught his shoulder just as he started to list sideways.
“I-I’m dizzy,” he mumbled, barely audible, his voice fraying into nothing. “It’s-my head’s-spinning.”
“Okay, stay still. Don’t try to sit up.” Dana’s tone shifted immediately, firm and focused again. “Mike, cold compress please."
Mike disappeared into the kitchen, moving fast.
Robby leaned heavily into the cushions, his breathing shallow. Cold sweat broke out along his forehead, and his skin had gone ashen. Dana gently placed two fingers against his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was rapid, fluttering like a trapped bird.
“Robby, hey, stay with me. You’re okay, you’re here, alright?” She reached for the water bottle on the table, unscrewed the lid with one hand, and pressed it gently into his right hand. “Try to sip, if you can. Slowly.”
He barely managed to bring it to his lips. The tremor in his hands made the water slosh dangerously close to the edge.
Mike returned, a cold towel in hand. Dana pressed it gently to Robby’s forehead and then the back of his neck, whispering reassurance the whole time.
“You lost more blood than you think,” she said quietly, not accusatory, just factual. “Your body’s freaking out a bit. It’s gonna pass, but we need to keep you still and hydrated, alright?”
Robby nodded, or tried to. His eyes had trouble focusing, sliding past Dana’s face like he couldn’t anchor himself.
“I’m scared,” he said finally, voice raw. “I don’t know how to fix it this time.”
Dana’s chest tightened, but she kept her hands steady. “You don’t have to fix it right now. You just have to let us help. That’s it. That’s your only job tonight.”
He let out a low sound, somewhere between a sob and a sigh, and dropped his head back again. His hand still pressed shakily over the gauze covered forearm, like part of him didn’t trust that it was really covered, really safe now.
Dana didn’t move. She stayed right there, one hand lightly on his shoulder, the other gripping his hand to keep the water bottle steady.
Mike hovered in the doorway, eyes dark with worry. “Should we take him in?”
“Not yet,” Dana said softly. “Let’s see if he stabilizes. But we’re not leaving him alone, not for a second.”
As Robby drifted into a half-conscious haze, his head finally resting on the arm of the couch, Dana leaned over and whispered:
“You’re not broken. You’re in crisis. There’s a difference. And we’re gonna get through this, even if we have to drag you the whole way.”
Robby’s body slowly stopped trembling, his breath beginning to even out, shallow but steadier than before. The dizzy fog didn’t lift so much as blur into exhaustion, until finally, his head slumped sideways on the couch cushion and his eyes slid shut.
Dana stayed still for a long moment, listening, watching. His chest rose and fell with a slow rhythm now, his fingers twitching faintly against the armrest. The pain had pulled him under, but so had the weight of everything else. He was asleep. Not peaceful, but at least still.
She didn’t move right away.
Her hand remained gently curled around his, her other still holding the damp towel at the back of his neck. The quiet buzz of the house around them, the distant sound of cartoons upstairs, a cabinet door clicking shut in the kitchen as Mike quietly cleaned up, felt painfully normal.
Too normal, given what had just happened.
Dana blinked rapidly, jaw clenched, the burn behind her eyes creeping up fast. She exhaled slowly through her nose, trying not to cry, at least not right there. Not next to him. But it hit her harder than she expected.
How had it come to this?
Robby, who used to light up with every wild patient story, who was too sarcastic for his own good, who used to pace the ER muttering about printers like they were personally out to get him- he was a shell of that now. Silent. Shaking. Bleeding.
And so alone in his head that he didn’t even call Jack.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, quietly. Mike had returned and stood behind her silently now, one hand on her shoulder.
“He’s gonna be okay,” he said softly.
Dana nodded, not trusting her voice. Her hand moved gently, brushing a lock of damp hair from Robby’s forehead like she used to when one of the girls got sick. He barely stirred.
“I hate that he’s back here,” she whispered finally, her voice catching. “He hasn’t done this in five years. Five, Mike.”
“I know.”
She let her head drop forward for a second, just a breath, then straightened. “We’ll keep him here tonight. No questions. He needs rest, not shame. And tomorrow… I’ll figure something out.”
Mike didn’t ask what “something” meant. He just nodded, then disappeared down the hall.
Dana stayed by Robby’s side, one hand resting lightly on the blanket she’d draped over him, her eyes still glassy. The man asleep on her couch was family, blood or not, and tonight, her heart ached for him more than she knew how to explain.
She knew she needed to call Jack but she couldn't bare to leave his side.
"Mike?" Dana asked gently.
"Yeah?"
"Can you call Jack for me?"
"Of course, I'll be back in a minute." He smiled sadly, stepping into the hallway to call him.
Once she was sure he was truly asleep, his breathing steady, his body slack with the kind of exhaustion that only came after total collapse, Dana moved quietly.
She didn’t want to wake him. But she also couldn’t leave his arm like that.
The temporary bandage he’d wrapped around it was barely holding. Already soaked in places, the fabric was loose and poorly fastened. Her heart twisted as she peeled back the edge, revealing the full extent of what he’d done.
Twenty-five cuts, maybe more. Some shallow and hesitant, others deeper, angrier. The blood had mostly slowed, but some were still seeping, sluggishly.
Dana inhaled slowly through her nose, steadying herself. She knew how to do this. She’d done it more times than she could count in her career. But this was Robby.
Not a patient. Not a stranger. Robby.
She opened the small first-aid kit from the bathroom and set out gauze, antiseptic wipes, steri-strips, and a roll of soft bandage wrap on the coffee table.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she whispered as she gently cleaned around the cuts, wiping away the dried blood and fresh streaks. “This is gonna sting.”
He didn’t stir, not even when she pressed the antiseptic over one of the deeper slashes. His body twitched slightly once, but his eyes didn’t open.
She worked in silence, her touch practiced and precise. Each cut was treated gently, cleaned and padded. She lined up the steri-strips along the worst of them, careful to avoid pressure where the skin looked too raw.
Wrapping the gauze took the longest. She wanted it snug, but not tight. Secure, but not clinical. It had to feel like care, not consequence.
When she finally finished, she sat back and exhaled shakily, her eyes stinging again. The clean bandage ran from his wrist to just below his elbow, stark against his pale skin and bloodied sleeve.
She wiped her hands on a towel, but the weight didn’t leave her chest.
Robby mumbled something in his sleep and turned his head toward the couch back, curling slightly inward. Instinctively, she reached out and brushed his hair again, just like before.
Then she gathered the bloody towel, the used wipes, and the remnants of the makeshift dressing into a bag and quietly stepped into the kitchen to dispose of it all.
Jack’s hands were shaking.
He stood in the centre of a busy street near their townhouse, red-eyed and hoarse from shouting Robby’s name hours earlier. He’d already called the police non-emergency line, checked the hospital registries twice, and driven to every place he thought Robby might go, parks, bus stations, even the train depot.
His phone buzzed in his hand, and for a split second he couldn’t look. Couldn’t take another wrong number. But then he saw it.
Mike Evans.
He answered so fast he nearly dropped the phone.
“Mike?! Do you know where he is? Please tell me you’ve seen him. Please.”
There was a pause on the other end. Just a second too long.
Then Mike’s voice, calm but heavy: “Yeah. He’s here, Jack. He showed up about an hour ago.”
Jack’s knees almost gave out. He had to lean against the brick wall behind him, eyes flooding immediately. “Oh my God. Thank God. Is he okay? Is he- please tell me he’s okay.”
Mike took a breath. “He’s alive. But it’s… it’s not good. He’s in rough shape. Dana’s with him now.”
Jack closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the cool wall. “What happened? Where did he go?”
“He walked here. From somewhere nearby, I think. His arm… he relapsed, Jack. Badly. Dana cleaned and wrapped it. He passed out on the couch after.”
Jack’s chest clenched, hard. His voice cracked. “No. No, he- he hasn’t done that in five years.”
“I know.” Mike’s voice softened. “He told Dana it hadn’t happened since COVID. He was panicked, shaking. We nearly had to carry him in.”
Jack wiped at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Can I come? Please, I just- Ineed to see him.”
“Of course,” Mike said gently. “You don’t even need to ask. Come now. Door’s unlocked.”
“I’ll be there in ten,” Jack breathed, already climbing into the car.
“Drive safe,” Mike added before hanging up. He looked back toward the living room, where Dana was still curled beside Robby on the couch, holding his bandaged arm like it might break if she let go.
Jack had never driven so fast in his life.
Mike stepped quietly back into the living room, wiping his hands on a dish towel as he crossed the threshold. Dana hadn’t moved since he left, still sitting at the edge of the couch, watching over Robby with that deep, quiet worry etched into every line of her face.
Her hand rested protectively over the fresh bandages she’d wrapped with shaking fingers less than an hour ago.
She looked up at Mike as he approached. “Was it Jack?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. I told him everything. He’s on his way now.”
Dana nodded, lips pressing together tightly. Her eyes flickered back to Robby- pale, still, his arm now cleaned and wrapped, but the emotional wounds far more raw than the physical ones.
“He didn’t even flinch when I was cleaning him,” she whispered. “Just sat there, quiet. Barely even looked at me. Like he wasn’t in the room.” Her voice cracked. “He disassociated, Mike. I haven’t seen him like that since he was twenty-four.”
Mike knelt beside her, resting a hand gently on her knee. “I know. He didn’t come here because he needed first aid. He came here because… he needed you. And you were here. You are here.”
Dana let out a trembling breath, her thumb absently brushing over the bandage again. “He hasn’t done this in five years. Not since the height of the pandemic. I thought we were past this. He thought we were past this.”
Mike was quiet for a moment before speaking softly. “Dana, honey… he was past it. But he’s grieving. He’s terrified. He’s lost his job, he thinks he’s lost Jake, and after everything at Pittfest… I think something in him just gave out.”
Dana nodded slowly, her eyes welling again. “He was so calm when he got here. Not okay- but quiet. Like he’d already made peace with hurting himself. That’s what scared me most.”
Mike squeezed her knee gently, then stood up. “Jack’s pulling up. I’ll let him in.”
Dana leaned forward slightly, instinctively drawing the throw blanket a little tighter over Robby, like shielding him would make it all less real.
“Prepare him,” she said softly as Mike turned toward the door. “Don’t let him fall apart before he’s next to him.”
Mike paused, then gave a quiet nod. “I won’t.”
By the time Jack reached Dana and Mike’s house, he looked like he’d been dragged behind a car, clothes wrinkled from hours of pacing, hair raked through, eyes bloodshot and wide with worry.
The front door opened before he could knock.
Dana stood there, arms crossed, shoulders tight. She didn’t say anything. Just stepped aside to let him in.
Jack entered quickly, eyes darting past her into the house. “Where is he?”
“Sleeping,” Dana said, voice low but firm. “Crashed on the couch about an hour ago. I don’t know how long it’ll last.”
Jack nodded, swallowed hard. “Is he… okay?”
Dana’s eyes softened a little. “He’s safe. That’s what matters.”
Jack followed her into the living room, and there he was- Robby, curled up on his side under a throw blanket, face pale and drawn, lips slightly parted as he slept. One arm was tucked tight against his chest, wrapped carefully in gauze. His breathing was shallow, but even.
Jack’s knees buckled slightly as he sat down on the arm of the adjacent armchair, just staring.
“I didn’t know where he went,” he whispered. “I’ve been calling every five minutes. I thought-"
He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.
Dana sat across from him, studying his face. “You want to tell me what the hell that was today?”
Jack blinked slowly. “Which part?”
"Start wherever you want."
“Let’s start with the part where Robby was told in a boardroom full of strangers that he was being stripped of his role. Then made to stand there while Gloria announced you were taking over. Then told he had to report back to work tomorrow like nothing happened." Jack winced. “I didn’t know she was going to announce it. She told me after his meeting. I hadn’t even had time to speak to him about it-"
“I know you didn’t,” Dana said quickly. “You were just as blindsided.”
Jack buried his face in his hands for a moment, exhaling shakily. “They used me. They knew if they gave it to someone internal it would soften the blow. They knew I wouldn’t make a scene. They played both of us.” Jack sighed. “He didn’t say a word the whole time. Not during the board meeting. Not during the announcement. He just… shut down.”
Jack looked at Robby again, a dull ache building behind his ribs. “He hasn’t self-harmed in five years, Dana. Not since COVID. And now…”
“I know,” she said softly. “I cleaned him up. He didn’t want me to touch him at first. I think he was ashamed. But he let me.”
“I should’ve been there,” Jack muttered, throat tight. “I should’ve gotten to him. Before this happened. He just ran.
“You couldn’t have known,” Dana said gently.
Jack wiped his face with his sleeve, voice hoarse. “I don’t want that damn job. I’m not keeping it.”
Dana nodded. “So what are you going to do?”
"We both have to go in tomorrow. If we don't, we're fired."
"Wait what? She said that?"
"Yep. I think I might give them an ultimatum- if they don't give them his job back, I'll quit."
Dana blinked. “You’d risk your own job for him?”
Jack looked at her like the answer was obvious. “He’s my husband, Dana.”
Her eyes softened.
“I don’t care about the title,” Jack said. “I care about him. If the board thinks it can break him and then dangle a promotion at me like a reward, they’re wrong. I’m not going to help them destroy him.”
Dana stood and crossed the room, placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Then let’s protect him. One step at a time.”
Jack looked up at her. “Thank you. For being with him. For being the one he trusted enough to show up to.”
Dana’s voice was quiet. “He didn’t come here to ask for help. He came here because he didn’t know where else to go.”
Jack nodded. “I know. But he still came.”
They both looked over at Robby, who stirred slightly in his sleep, his brow furrowed but his breathing steady.
“We keep him safe,” Jack said softly. “We keep going.”
Robby stirred with a quiet gasp, eyes flying open like he’d just been jolted out of a nightmare, or maybe into one.
His heart was pounding before he even registered where he was. Dana’s house. The soft hum of a washing machine. A blanket tangled around his legs. The throb in his forearm. The weight in his chest.
And Jack. Sitting just across from him on the armchair, elbows on his knees, watching him.
Robby’s breath caught hard.
“You-" he croaked, blinking rapidly. “You’re here?”
Jack didn’t move. “Of course I’m here.”
But Robby was already shaking his head. “You shouldn’t be. Not after what I said. Not after I threw that- fucking paddy- about the job like some petulant, God, Jack-" He rubbed his face with both hands, already unraveling. “You must think I’m pathetic.”
“Robby-"
“No, seriously.” He sat up too fast and grimaced, the pain in his arm making him hiss. “I made it all about me. You got promoted, and I acted like a child. I disappeared. I imploded. Because I couldn’t handle you getting the job I got fired from. What kind of person does that?”
Jack opened his mouth, but Robby kept going, barely breathing now, his voice trembling with self-loathing.
“I made a complete scene in front of the entire department. I embarrassed you. I embarrassed myself. I stormed off like I was ten years old having a tantrum, because you got the job I should’ve been proud of you for. And then-" he broke off, gesturing helplessly to his bandaged arm, “- I did this.”
His voice cracked.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. Honestly, I would.”
Silence fell between them; not the cold kind, but thick with grief and everything unsaid.
Jack stood slowly and walked over, crouching in front of him again. He didn’t reach out just yet. Just met Robby’s red-rimmed eyes with his own.
“I don’t hate you,” he said, quiet but firm. “I love you. I love you, and I’m worried about you, and yeah, this job thing, none of it went the way either of us wanted it to. But I didn’t take it from you, and you didn’t throw a tantrum. You reacted. Because you’re heartbroken. Because you care. And you didn't storm off. You disassociated and had a panic attack, it's not your fault."
Robby’s bottom lip quivered and he looked away, like he couldn’t take the kindness in Jack’s voice.
“I didn’t want the job like this,” Jack said, voice shaking now too. “Not handed to me after you were blindsided and humiliated. It doesn’t feel like a promotion. It feels like a punishment for both of us. You know I never wanted to be chief, I like the night shift too much."
Robby sniffed, a tear slipping free. “So… you don’t think I’m pathetic?”
Jack gave a quiet laugh, quiet and soft. “No, Mikey. I think you’re hurting. And scared. And trying your best with a brain that’s throwing every horrible thought at you like knives. But pathetic? Not even close.”
Finally, Robby let himself crumble forward into Jack’s arms, and Jack caught him without hesitation.
“I’m sorry,” Robby whispered against his chest. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”
“I know,” Jack murmured into his hair. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Dana stepped quietly back into the room a few minutes later, mug of tea in one hand, and a folded blanket in the other. Jack was still holding Robby on the couch, Robby tucked small and tight into his side like he was trying to disappear.
She crossed the room slowly, placing the mug on the table, her eyes flicking between them. “It’s still warm,” she said softly. “If you want it.”
Robby didn’t move.
Dana sat down on the other side of him, careful not to crowd. She didn’t speak again, just waited, her presence patient and steady.
Then Robby inhaled shakily and whispered, “I want to die.”
Everything stilled.
Jack stiffened beneath him, arms tightening instinctively. Dana’s shoulders rose with a breath she hadn’t meant to take, her mouth opening, then closing again.
They had known he was hurting. God, they’d seen the bruises in his eyes every day for a week. They’d sat next to his silence, watched him flinch from food, from mirrors, from sleep. Dana had bandaged the proof of it herself just hours earlier.
But hearing him say it- hearing him admit it aloud- shattered something in both of them.
“Robby…” Jack said, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t even have the rest of the sentence. Just his name, his whole world, falling apart beside him.
Robby’s face crumpled instantly, the floodgate cracking wide open.
“I want to hurt myself again,” he gasped, the words tumbling out like poison. “It’s all I can think about. It’s in my hands and my throat and behind my eyes- I feel like I’m rotting from the inside out and the only thing that makes it stop for a second is pain.”
Jack pulled him closer, but Robby didn’t stop. He couldn’t. It had festered too long.
“I keep thinking about it; razors, pills, anything. I’m just so tired. And I know it’s selfish and I know it’s awful but I don’t want to fight anymore, Jack. I don’t even know what I’m fighting for.”
Dana covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes shining, throat bobbing as she fought back the instinct to cry. She’d seen dozens of patients say the same thing, but hearing it from Robby, her Robby, the boy she’d watched grow up into this brilliant, broken man, felt like being gutted.
Jack tried to speak again but his voice cracked too hard to land. Instead, he buried his face into Robby’s hair, holding him tighter as if he could physically protect him from himself.
And Robby just broke.
The tears came hard and fast; gut-deep sobs that tore out of his chest and into the room like a storm. He shook in their arms, fists curled against his ribs, all the pain and guilt and grief pouring out with years of silence behind it.
Dana reached over and wrapped an arm across his back, her palm warm and steady between his shoulder blades. She didn’t say “you’re going to be okay.” She didn’t try to reassure him with false hope or tidy platitudes.
She just held him through it.
“I’m sorry,” Robby choked between sobs. “I’m sorry I said it. I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t put this on you.”
Jack pulled back just enough to look at him, gently cradling his face. “We want to know. Even when it’s this dark. Especially when it’s this dark.”
Dana nodded, her voice low but steady. “It’s not a burden to love you through this.”
Robby’s head dropped again, sobbing.