Chapter Text
Whitaker had been working in the ER as a student doctor for a few months now. He'd gotten used to the routine and the rounds and found himself more comfortable on the day shift. And as he did with any shift, he stood at the nurses station, looking up at the screen to pick a final patient to look after before his shift finished in 30 minutes and he could go back to the eighth floor and crash there for the night.
Brushing his eyes across the screen, he found a 46 year old male with joint problems, nausea, back ache and dehydration. Seemed easy enough for his final patient.
But how wrong he'd be.
He walked over to North 20, one of the more secluded exam rooms and pushed the door open with a practiced smile.
"Good evening, I'm Doctor Whitaker. How can I help you?" Dennis let out as he walked over by the patients bed side.
The patient let out an exasperated sigh. "I just wanna know whats wrong with me." He let out, clearly looking tired and bothered.
Dennis frowned softly. "I'm sorry, are you here for a follow up? I can grab whoever—"
"No! No, its my first time here. I've just been having issues with my joints and my back... and I've been so dehydrated and nauseous. No matter how much I drink water or take whatever a doctor has prescribed me, the nausea and dehydration don't go away," He explained. "I'm tired of being told its age. I'm physically active. I know when something is wrong."
Whitaker nods at the patients explanation, but he couldn't find anything wrong with the reasoning of age. He was 46, so joint issues wasn't unheard of. The dehydration and nausea, however, made him curious. His young mind began racing. The dehydration could be a kidney problem. Nausea problem is, obviously, a stomach problem. Or something else in the digestive system causing pain. It was up to him to find out.
Whitaker begins with the routine stuff, asking questions and taking a patient history, making sure to note down everything so his charting could be precise and accurate. He didn't want to miss anything and be written up for it later. And for the patients sake, obviously. Whitaker takes some blood for tests and with the patients consent, feels the patients abdomen. No tenderness or firmness, no bumps that could signify cancer. Once he'd gone through everything he could think of, he takes a small step back.
"Alright, theres nothing that concerns me at the moment, but hopefully your blood tests will point us in the right direction," Whitaker smiled. "If you'd like, you can go home and come back in a few hours for the results."
That seemed to make the patient snap a little. "No! I'm finding out today. I don't give a damn how long it takes, I will be staying until the results come back."
Whitaker pauses for a few beats, taking a moment to note irritable into the patient chart, and let's out a soft breath. "That's okay. But testing can take a few hours, so just make yourself comfortable."
Dennis felt everything had been taken care of for now, but as he turned his back he learned the patient didn't share the same sentiment.
"Where the fuck are you going?" He let out, causing Whitaker to stop in his tracks and spin back around on the balls of his feet.
"I... can't do much more for you until the blood tests come back. I know it can be frustrating but—"
That seemed to do it. The patient reached into the blanket and pulled out a pistol with a silencer on the end of it. Great. So even if Whitaker dies now, no one will be traumatised at the sound of it. Instinctively, the student doctor throws his hands up in surrender, the patient's hands shaking.
"I-I don't know what else you want me to do, sir, I-I've done everything I-I can think of for you a-and I can't—" Dennis's eyes darted to the window for a moment. Fuck, he was going to die. This is where he was going to die. God, why must you punish him like this? Dennis just wanted to be a doctor. Dennis knew his mother didn’t approve, but he just wanted freedom and independence.
"You are going to do every damn test you can think of. But I'm not leaving this room–this hospital–until I know what is wrong with me." The patient said, clearly not empathetic for the colour draining out of Dennis's face.
And threatening me will fix everything?, Dennis thought. "I-I'm so sorry, sir, but I don't have clearance on e-everything... I'm just a student doctor a-and I—"
Big mistake. The biggest mistake. The most monumental mistake Dennis could've made in his whole life was rendering himself useless to the man that held his life in his hands.
With a swift flick of the wrist, the patient pulled the trigger at Dennis's shin as if he wasn't using that, sending Dennis to the floor and clutching the wound as tight as he could with a yelp escaping his mouth.
"Go get your fucking boss. The head of the hospital for all I care. Just get 'em here." He said.
Dennis could barely understand him over the sound of the ringing in his ears. Over the sound of his loud breathing. Over the throbbing in his chest and the adrenaline flooding through his veins. He was going to die here. Bleed out slow and painfully.
"I said go, damnit, before I put another through your damn head!" The patient threatened.
That was enough to get him up and hobbling to the door. Opening it, he let in a deep inhale and pushed out whatever word fell from his mouth.
"R-Robby..!" Is what fell out. Quiet, weak and fearful. There's no way his attending could've heard him like that. "D-Doctor Robby!" He let out louder, trying to push the sound out of his throat harder.
It seemed to do the trick, and the attending walked over as if Dennis couldn't feel himself getting cold. Without thinking, he grabbed Robby by the jacket and pulled him into the room, closing the door and falling to the floor in a heap, clutching his shin.
"What the hell–" Robby's voice seemed to stop in his throat. The patient was still wielding the gun, almost as if to show off his trusty weapon. Robby's head whipped from the patient down to Dennis, who's hands were now getting red with blood.
"Close the blinds," The patient instructed. Robby didn't really like being told what to do, but with a gun in the possession of an idiot and his student doctor injured, he wasn't exactly in the position to say 'no'. So, he covered the windows with the curtains and turned back to him. "You... are you a student doctor?" He asked.
Ah. That's why his student doctor was currently whimpering on the ground. Because he had the gall to be inexperienced around this nutcase.
"No. I'm the senior attending physician." Robby let out, his eyes fixed between the gun and the patient. He just hoped that this dunce had deemed Michael experienced enough to not end up with a bullet somewhere in him.
"Good. You're gonna run whatever tests you can on me to figure out whats wrong with me." The patient ordered.
Robby's brow twitched. Again, he didn't really like being ordered around. But again, he wasn't in a position to say no. "I'm gonna have to do a trade here," Robby finally says, hoping to get Whitaker to some semblance of safety. He couldn't give a damn about himself. "If you want tests, I'm gonna need something in return."
"He stays. I stay here. If anyone tries to move either of us, I will kill him," The patient snapped, causing Robby to sigh. "I need some damn leverage to pick up the pace in getting answers. You can have the gun if I can have the tests. But I can still walk. So don't try something stupid."
Robby looked down at Whitaker, who was pale and shaking, but still gripping his wound with good strength. Whitaker looked up at Robby, his puppy eyes swimming with tears. Damnit. He was supposed to protect his own, not leave them filled with bullet holes and trauma. But it was better than leaving them with the possibility of two bullet holes in Dennis, or a bullet hole in himself.
"Fine. Turn the safety on and slide it over." Robby ordered, and the patient did just that. He put the gun in the corner of the room using gloves. He wasn't stupid. Robby wasn't going to touch a gun that had 6 bullets, one of which currently lodged inside his mentee.
Robby moved over to the patient but looked over at Whitaker. "What are the patient's symptoms?" He asked, looking over at Dennis, who's eyes were currently fluttering off. Keeping him talking will help him stay awake.
"U-Uhm..." Dennis took a moment to blink, his face ghostly pale as he looked up at Robby. "Nausea, joint problems, dehydration. H-He doesn't think its age... uh... he's physically active... and no amount of water or anti-emetics stop the nausea or dehydration."
"Mhm," Robby nodded, taking a mental note. "And the tests you've done?"
"I-I, uh..." Dennis gripped his wound a little tighter, a soft whine slipping from his lips. He was clearly getting a little dizzy, so the strength on his wound was faltering. "B...blood tests... I-I felt around his stomach, too... no tenderness or firmness..."
"Good job," Robby praised, watching the colour return to Dennis' cheeks a little. "I'll get those blood tests bumped to the top of the list, kid. Hang tight for a moment." The attending stood, leaving the room to make a call to pathology and begging them to push the patient's blood test to the top of the list.
Once they'd begrudgingly agreed, he went to the nurses station. "Guys!" He let out, drawing the attention of his nurses and doctors. "No one goes near North 20, and I need security at the door but no one goes inside."
Dana was quick to shoot him a look of confusion. "Robby? What's going on?" She asked, the charge nurse crossing her arms in concern.
"Please, Dana. Just... if theres one time in your life that you listen to me, let it be this one." Robby begged, and she could tell by the seriousness in his tone that something was actually going on.
"Fine. I just hope you know what you're doing." She nodded, letting everyone get back to work.
Robby went to a different room to grab some bandages for Whitaker. If he needed to stay in that room, then he wasn't going to let him just sit there and bleed out. He'd never been filled with more guilt. Damn Whitaker. Every shift there was always something happening to him. Something, or someone, giving him an excuse to change his scrubs. But getting shot? This was most definitely a first for Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
He just hoped it wouldn't end in death.
Robby went back into North 20, the patient staring at Whitaker. "He's sleeping." The patient said, looking down at Whitaker.
Robby's head shot down to where Dennis was sitting and low and behold, his eyes were shut. He knelt down to Dennis and shook his shoulders.
"Dennis-!" His panic was cut short by Whitaker's heavy eyes fluttering open. "I need you awake, okay, kid? I don't care how shitty you feel, you need to keep your eyes open."
"Hngmn..." Dennis slurred out, his hand coming up to touch the bigger hands on his shoulder. Fuck, they were freezing cold. " 'M tired..." He let out, his blinks heavy with fatigue.
"I know, kiddo, I know..." Robby said, cupping his cheek with a care he didn't know he still had in him. "I need you alive, Dennis. So just keep your damn eyes open and keep letting me know how you're feeling, okay?"
Dennis nodded softly, slightly rejuvenated by the warm hand cupping his cold cheek.
"Uh, hello? What about me?" The patient snapped, clearly annoyed at the lack of attention on him.
"I can't do much more until the tests get here. You don't want to leave this room and I don't want to risk my students life," Robby said, and just as the patient was about to say something, Robby continued. "Do you want an attempted murder charge or a third degree murder charge?"
Or would it be a different degree, since the patient consciously brought the gun to the hospital? Robby didn't know. He wasn't a damn lawyer. But it seemed to shut the patient up as he bandaged Whitaker's leg tight.
"Just... don't get him anything else." The patient spat, clearly uncaring to whether or not Dennis lives or dies. But Robby does. More than he probably should. Whitaker's death would probably fuck him up for years. Not only because he's responsible for the young man, but also because he feels something towards the guy that he can't put his finger on. And he wants to. But he doesn't. But he does. It's all conflicting, but its not important right now.
What's important is that Dennis is alive. Not well, but alive.
As Dennis' bottom jaw jitters with the cold, Robby shrugged off his blue fleece jacket and wrapped it around Dennis' shoulders. Hopefully it stops him from going into shock for a while. Robby just hoped it'd be enough.
While they waited for the test results, Robby spends his time keeping Dennis talking, wiping his hands clean from blood. He let Dennis talk about whatever came to mind regardless of how slurred and weak it came out, Robby listened. He replied and made sure Dennis stay awake. Alive. Even though it hurt his legs to stay knelt infront of Dennis for so long, he didn't care about how much pain he was feeling. It probably didn't come close to how Whitaker was feeling right now, the poor bastard.
As they were talking, Dennis began to heave little. Leaning over, he let out a loud gag and couldn't stop until his lunch was sitting on the floor in a pile of vomit.
"Ughh... I'm... I'm sorry..." He mumbled, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand.
"It's alright. It's probably just the adrenaline dump. You must be feeling pretty shitty right now." Robby said as if it wasn't the most obvious thing in this whole fucked up scenario.
Dennis could only let out a weak chuckle. "Y-Yeah. No kidding." He mumbled. Robby moved a lock of hair from his forehead that had stuck to the sweat collecting on his skin. He'd never felt so bad and so guilty in his entire life, and he'd been through a lot.
After about 10 minutes, the chart had lit up with the results.
"Hypercalcaemia and low level of blood cells. Thoughts?" Robby said, looking down at the learning doctor.
There wasn't much behind his eyes other than the occasional wince and grimace, but eventually his mouth opened. "H-Hypercalcaemia... it... it explains the dehydration and nausea." He let out, his voice weak but still holding conviction in his judgement. Dennis may be wounded, but he was strong. Both mentally and physically, he was strong and determined.
"Very good. And the low level of blood cells?" Robby hummed, his eyes staying on Dennis.
The student doctor sat in silence for a few moments, his mouth opening but all that left was a soft whine. "I-I don't... I don't know... I'm sorry..." He mumbled out.
Clearly, the pain was starting to get to him.
"Don't worry about it," Robby's eyes flickered towards the patient chart. He was a builder. Time outside means UV exposure. UV exposure could mean cancer. "Do you use sun protection often?" He asked the patient.
"Uh, no... not really. Is that relevant?" The patient asked and Robby nodded.
"It is now. Can I do another exam?"
"Finally. Took you fucking long enough." The patient rolled his eyes, watching Robby walk over.
"Take your shirt off," Robby ordered, getting both a strange look from the patient and Whitaker. "I need to look at your skin." And he didn't think this exact patient deserved the dignity or respect for an explanation.
"Fine." The patient huffed, lugging off his shirt. As he sat up, Robby found it almost instantly. A mole about an inch wide, coloured both brown and black with a bit of swelling at one edge on his back. A sign of melanoma.
"The joint issues. Is it pain or weakness?" Robby asked, looking at the patient.
"Pain," The patient said, looking up at Robby. "What's the problem?"
"Are you sure it's your joints? Or is it your bones?" Robby asked, the patient becoming increasingly confused.
"W-well, yeah, I guess so. But I asked you a question, asshole. What the hell is going on?" The patient let out, becoming impatient.
"I think you have melanoma that's spread to your bones. It's called secondary bone cancer," Robby answered, mostly uncaring. "Regardless, you're not our problem anymore."
"I... I could have cancer?" The patient paused, now wearing his own expression similar to Dennis'. "A-And you don't even care?"
"You lost my empathy the moment you shot my student." Robby mumbled.
Now that his work here was done, he made swift work in calling the police and getting him handcuffed to the bed in preparation for transfer. He may have hurt Whitaker, but he still had the right to healthcare.
And the second that idiot was cuffed and his gun seized, Robby carried Whitaker into a spare room, grabbing a few nurses and another doctor to help him out in getting Whitaker to radiology for an xray. Dana was there, rambling off to Robby about how stupid he was.
"You should've called the police the moment you saw that Whitaker had been shot." Dana shook her head, the pair sitting in the nurses station now that Dennis was up in radiology.
"Yeah. But the patient could still move. D–Whitaker could run, sure, but I don't think the kid can outrun bullets," Robby explained, looking over at her. "I was more concerned on keeping D– Whitaker alive and with only one bullet wound."
Dana sighed. "You're lucky he didn't go into shock."
"Yeah. Tell me about it."
Robby's shift was long over, and the night shift team had hand over with the day shift, leaving him with Jack in his ear until Dennis' results came back.
"So... Whitaker was shot?" Abbot hummed, the pair leaning against central.
"People really don't know how to keep their mouth shut, huh?" Robby shook his head.
"Yeah... that, and he's a patient in the ER so we have access to his chart," Abbot hummed. "Is Santos not here?" They were good friends, so it wasn't a ridiculous question. Just made Robby a tad bit jealous.
"I told her to go home. I'm gonna be staying here to look after him. This is all my fault anyway." Robby crossed his arms over his chest.
"You don't seriously believe that, do you?" Jack chucked, but with a lack of response from Robby, he let it fade into a sigh. "This was nobody's fault. Not yours, not Whitaker's... just that idiot with a gun. He's in oncology now, though. Whitaker is safe here."
"I know. But that doesn't make it any easier. You didn't see him, Jack. He was so pale and weak. I thought he was going to die." Robby shuddered a little, only to realise Whitaker still had his jacket. He didn't really mind, though.
"Whitaker's strong, Robby. He wouldn't have come back after his first day if he wasn't." Jack tried to reassure him, but he knew Robby wouldn't bite.
"Fuck, I know," Robby rubbed his face with a deep sigh. "Is he back from radiology yet?" He let out.
"Yeah. He has been for a while. Probably got his results too if you want to take a look." Abbott said, pointing Robby in the direction of his room.
Robby went straight away, going into the room to see Whitaker sleeping. Of course he was. He walked over to the computer to see his results and low and behold, they were there.
A small segment of his tibia had been shattered from the bullet, which was still lodged in his leg. Robby was quick to get him up to the OR to fix his leg and remove the pieces of bullet.
Recovery was going to be a bitch for the poor kid. Robby didn't want to think about that right now.
It was just Whitaker's luck that he'd be the one getting hurt during a shift...