Work Text:
Robby wakes up with a heavy head and sweat-damp sheets, his Star of David necklace stuck to the burning skin of his chest.
He is sick.
It's not a difficult diagnosis to make, recent events considered- he's been coughed and sneezed on more times than he can count over the past week, and the ‘Pittsburgh Plague’ (as the locals have taken to calling it) is sending more and more sniffling victims to his ED every day. Whatever influenza virus this is seems to be confused about the season, though, because it's July, and it definitely shouldn't exist in this sunshine.
He rears up, blinking blearily like a bear emerging from hibernation, and scrubs his hands across his face. Sighs.
Really, he ought to call in to work, let Jack know that he's going to be on his own today.
But no, he can't do that, because tomorrow is the 4th of July, and the festivities are probably already starting. There will be fireworks, like always, and Robby needs to be there for Jack to lean on if things get too rough. Plus, even without that, the fact that it's independence day weekend means things up at the Pitt are going to be busy.
No, he can't afford to be away.
So, rolling his shoulders and gritting his teeth against the ache that screams in them, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and gets ready for work.
When he turns up in his jacket, hair over his forehead already slightly damp, Dana frowns at him.
“Christ, Robby. It's like 80 degrees out, what are you wearing that thing for?”
Robby rolls his eyes, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder and dumping it beside his desk at central. When he leans on the countertop, it's mostly a (hopefully) surreptitious way of getting his energy back while he chats.
“Because I'm like a lizard who needs a heat lamp to stay warm, and you nurses always crank the AC all the way up in here.”
Dana crooks a brow. “It's cool in here, Cap, but it's nowhere near the temp you're dressed for. I tell ya, give it ten minutes and you'll be flinging it off and complaining about the heat.”
He probably will be shucking this jacket soon, but not for the reason she thinks. The fever that's currently giving him chills so intense he has to keep his fists clenched to stop shivering will, at random, decide to make him feel boiling hot instead. Another ten minutes, and the script will flip again. And so on and so forth until his shift finishes in twelve hours.
He tells none of this to Dana, though. She's got enough on her plate as it is.
After a couple of hours, he sneaks off during a quiet moment and steals away to the ambulance bay, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket with shaking hands. He knows he's not supposed to be smoking- he quit months ago- but he brought the pack along with him today because he knew it was going to be tough and he needed a safety net. Tempting fate, really.
Stupid.
Still, as he lifts one to his lips and lights it, the ritual is familiar enough to be soothing. And when the nicotine hits his sore lungs, he forgets for a blissful moment that he's unwell.
It doesn't last for any more than a second, of course. After that, the nausea kicks in, and he exhales the smoke with a heaviness in his gut, a mixture of illness-induced unease and the guilt of letting himself down for a quick fix that didn't even fix anything.
He's a mess. His scrub shirt is damp now, worse than his sheets this morning, and every so often when he's rushing around, his vision is obscured by flashing spots. He's definitely dehydrated, so he needs more than coffee, but that will look suspicious. Or will his dishevelled state be more suspicious than discarding the coffee for water?
He doesn't know anymore. He doesn't know much of anything except that he'd like to be in bed, asleep.
“Dr Robby!”
Tossing the cigarette to the ground and stamping it out hurriedly, he turns to find Santos rounding the corner, gripping the brick. She's out of breath.
“Dr Abbot wants you in Central 3. Guy’s crashing.”
Robby nods, and lets her lead the way.
He pulls his jacket on again after 1pm, the chills setting in once more. Along with the AC, there's now a fan at the hub that Perlah put there a little while ago. It sits on top of the desk, rotating back and forth, blasting air in a wide sweep. Each time it hits the back of Robby’s neck he curls in on himself slightly and feels sicker than ever.
The cold seeps into his bones. Calcifies his muscles. When he next has to get up and treat a patient, his joints creak like the floors of an old house.
Dr Mohan stands at the bedside of a woman with severe menstrual cramps, suspected endometriosis, and explains her plan in detail. She doesn't need Robby for this case, really, but she's looking to prove to him that she has what it takes to be thorough and quick.
When she finishes, he's so dazed he doesn't notice until she clears her throat, at which point he pulls himself upright properly and nods.
“Good. Proceed, Dr Mohan.”
At least, that's what he attempts to say. On ‘proceed’, however, he's cut off by several tickling coughs that seize him out of nowhere. He muffles them in the wing of his elbow, eyes stinging with tears of exertion, and worries briefly that he's going to gag. Eventually, things slow. Dr Mohan speaks to him, voice distorted like she's underwater, and asks if he's alright.
He nods, gives her a thumbs-up, and promptly excuses himself.
By the time 3pm rolls around, Robby is an empty husk of a man. The chills are worse than ever, but his chest is blazing with heat, and taking his jacket off only makes him shudder uncontrollably- so he suffers through the discomfort of wearing it and pushes on.
Just… five more hours. Shit. Fuck, that's- that's a while.
Leaning against the desk at the hub again, eyes burning as he stares vacantly at the tablet in his hands, he finds he has no neurons left to fire. He's definitely fucked now.
Time to find Jack and tell him what's going on.
As he turns around to leave, he's stopped by a familiar, unwanted figure dressed in a dark blazer and a plastered-on smile.
“Dr Robinavitch. Do you have a moment?”
Robby sighs. “Gloria.” He pulls his reading glasses away from the bridge of his nose, struggling to grip them in clammy hands, and shakes his head. “To be honest with you, no. I really have to-”
“This’ll only take a minute. It's about your door-to-balloon times last week.”
He pulls away from the counter and takes a step away. Gloria lingers about him like a bad smell.
“If you're talking about the anomaly, that's handled. It was a difficult case and anybody would have struggled to identify it as a STEMI based on the ECG. Now, I'm sorry, but I've really got to-”
No sooner has he broken off to the right than Gloria has stepped in front of him, hands raised, brows lifted with them.
“Hey, hang on. I'm not finished yet. I know it might only have been an anomaly to you, Dr Robinavitch-”
“You know full well that's not what I meant”
“-but the number appears on our system all the same, and it needs investigation. A thorough investigation. Are you prepared for the sort of questions that’ll bring?”
Robby sighs again. His legs are getting weak, and Jack is still so far away. “Gloria, I'm sorry, but I really need to-”
“Because I'm going to have the board on my back if I don't fix it, and we can't afford that right now. This place is struggling as it is without another magnifying glass on us.”
He twists around her, hoping to escape that way, but she remains in front of him. His vision is spotting, and this time he isn't even out of breath. Fuuuuck, he doesn't feel good. In fact, he feels really bad.
“Gloria.” He tries instead.
She keeps talking.
“I mean, there was the salmonella outbreak in the cafeteria six months ago- that was horrific but damage control was excellent. It won't be the same with this. We can't blame it on a supplier, it's human error. Doctor error.”
“Gloria.”
The back of his neck prickles with sweat. Every limb feels like static, buzzing, growing heavier by the second.
“I need you to work with me here, Robby, not against me. I'm not the enemy. I know we might disagree with one another on a lot of things, but right now we're on the same team.”
“Gloria, I need to-”
His words trail off, swallowed up by a sharp intake of breath that doesn't get rid of the distortion in his vision. He shifts unsteadily on his feet.
Something isn't right. Something really isn't right.
But the chief medical officer still doesn't seem to hear him, her words, continuing to flow, melting into an indecipherable blob of corporate jargon that passes right through him without comprehension. Within a few seconds, it's as though she's talking on mute. The ringing in his ears drowns her out completely.
He reaches up a trembling hand to swipe his brow, and finds that the skin of his forehead is scalding even to him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Jack. Jack, I need help. Jack, I'm not feeling well and I thought I could push through it but I can't anymore.
Jack, I think I'm going to faint.
This last realisation sends the last cold shudder of fear down his spine, followed by the even more terrifying truth that there's nothing he can do about it now. His knees are already starting to buckle. His shaking hand is already falling limply from his forehead to his side.
“Dr Robinavitch?”
He hears Gloria call his name as though from the bottom of a deep pool. Clearly, with his arm no longer obstructing his face, she can see the little colour in his cheeks.
The last thought he has before everything goes dark is,
God, I hope none of the younger ones see this.
“Dr Abbot.”
Jack internally rolls his eyes as he slips the chest tube into the pleural space, but his sigh is loud and clear. He isn't even supposed to be here today- somebody fucked up the schedule, and his night shift was switched to a day shift instead.
“Kind of busy right now, Gloria.”
He gestures with his bloodied, glove-covered hand to the patient he's currently working on, hoping this will banish this untimely disturbance for at least a few more minutes. Gloria’s never really been a fan of the guts and gore part of medicine- during a particularly rowdy night out (which she'd surprisingly attended), she'd admitted it herself, tongue loosened by a few tequila sunrises. It's why she decided to step into administration, instead. And why Jack is hoping the sight of viscera around him will mean she leaves him alone.
After all, it usually works.
This time, however, she simply calls his name again, even more insistently. He turns to where she's standing and finds her wide-eyed, feathers absolutely ruffled. His stomach drops.
“What?”
“Dr Robinavitch just collapsed.”
Dr Mohan, working beside him, places her hand on the edge of the chest tube. Nods in Gloria's direction while her eyes remain fixed on his, fearful but clear.
“Go.” She says. “I've got this.”
Samira is good. She has got this.
He steps back from the patient, nodding, and quickly yanks the gloves from his hands, tossing them into the nearest trash can as he marches towards the door.
“Where is he?”
It doesn't take long to find out- Gloria has only led him a few steps towards the central hub when he sees the crowd of people and his pulse picks up. He strides past her, pushing through the throng until he reaches-
Robby. Flat on his back on the floor of his own ED, completely unconscious.
“Shit.” Jack drops down to his knees at his partner’s side (Dana is already there, kneeling above Robby's head, holding his cheeks in the palms of her hands), then looks up at the assembly of people in search of answers. “What the hell happened?”
His eyes fix on Gloria, whose mouth opens and closes a few times in quick succession before she finds the words.
“I- I don't know. One minute he was standing talking to me, the next…”
“Did he hit his head? When he fell?”
Gloria's gaze flits to Dana, who shakes her head.
“Mateo and I managed to catch him before he hit the ground.”
Mateo, like the other nurses, is now a member of the gathered crowd. He nods in agreement, arms folded, brow furrowed in concern but eyes soft.
“Okay… okay.” Jack hesitates, too many ideas flitting through his head at once. Check his pulse. Check his pupils. Was this a syncopal event or something more sinister?
“Pretty sure he's got a fever.” Dana says, gently urging him to act, giving him the first piece of the puzzle. He nods and takes Robby's wrist in his hand, swallowing back nausea at its unexpected floppiness. Dana's right. His skin is blazing hot, and when his thumb presses against the pulse point, the thumping he feels there is weak and racing.
“Can someone get a thermometer?” He calls out. When one is offered, he directs it to Dana instead, occupying himself by counting the beats of Robby's heart.
120 at least. Tachy.
He buries down his fear and drags his knuckles across his partner's sternum.
“Robby? C’mon, brother, wake up. Open your eyes.”
Robby twitches beneath the heavy touch, lashes fluttering. He groans. It's incoherent, but at least it's something.
Jack fishes around in his pocket for his flashlight and clicks it on.
“That's it. You're alright, Mikey, take some deep breaths for me.”
He peels back Robby's left eyelid and watches the pupil roll sluggishly downwards from its lofty height. Flicks the light across his gaze and is satisfied when it reacts properly. Moves to the other one. Repeats the process.
Robby grumbles weakly. “Fuck, Jack. Wha’s that for?”
Jack could kiss him there and then. But he can't right now so he settles for squeezing his hand instead, sighing with relief when hazy brown eyes meet his own.
“There you are. You went dark on us for a second, Mike.”
“Whoops.” His partner drawls, voice scratchy, characteristically deadpan in spite of it all.
The thermometer beeps, and Dana withdraws it from Robby's ear. When she sees the reading, she whistles.
“Good God, Robby.”
Before Jack can even ask to see it, she's turning the screen towards him. It's flashing red, because of course it is, Robby's fever is at 104 degrees.
Jack frowns. Gives Robby The Look™ and is glad when he has the grace to look a little sheepish.
“What is it?”
“Too fuckin’ high for you to be working. How long have you been feeling like this?”
Robby’s eyes fall closed again, and he sets his jaw, shrugging. Obfuscating, obviously.
“A while.”
No shit, Jack thinks. A fever this bad must have been slowly rising for hours.
Dana’s brow suddenly crinkles and she leans forward, tapping Robby gently on the cheek until he opens his eyes.
“Hey. Cap. You were feeling crappy this morning, weren't you? Hence the jacket in the heat?”
It's posed as a question, but it's clear that she's expecting a certain answer, and she gets it- though Robby doesn't give her a verbal response, his slow, small nod is enough. Both she and Jack sigh.
“C’mon, Robby. We talked about this.” He says sadly. “It's okay to-”
“Not be okay. Yeah, I know.” Robby finishes, and with this longer stretch of speech Jack can hear just how rough he sounds. His throat must be killing him. “I just… I don't know, I didn't want to leave you. Not today.”
He's wearing that soft expression he knows Jack can't ignore, and everything suddenly becomes obvious. Of course. This shift, with its high likelihood of firework pops and more brutal injuries. The weekend Jack most often likes to spend buried underneath the covers of their bed, fingers in his ears, head against Robby's chest while the latter hums (he knows Jack finds the vibration comforting).
Typical Robby. So wrapped up in his desire to protect everybody else that he's willing to let his own needs go unmet.
“Mikey.” Jack begins, low and thick with barely restrained emotion. His hand finds his partner’s damp hair, fingernails scratching his scalp the way Robby likes. Fuck the fear of being noticed. Some things are too important to neglect. “You know that I love you, and you know that I love the way you love. But when the air’s getting thin, you've got to put your own oxygen mask on first, before you can think about helping others.”
Robby nods again, looking wearier by the second. His eyes flutter closed and he sighs. “Mhm. Sorry.”
Jack shakes his head, despite knowing Robby can't see the movement.
“No apologies right now, brother. You just need a bed and some meds.”
Another small nod. A deep inhale. And then Robby is lifting his head, bracing his palms against the floor and preparing to lift himself up. What little colour he has in his cheeks drains with even this small motion, and Jack quickly presses a hand on his chest until he lowers himself back down.
“Don't try to move, Mike. Just take deep breaths and let us deal with this, alright?”
Eyes falling closed (again). Nostrils constricting and dilating. A brow twitching.
If there were a guide to Robby, this image would be labelled ‘distressed’ in block capitals.
Jack's hand drifts through his partner's hair again, trying to soothe him as much as possible. He glances at the others- Perlah, Princess, Samira (she clearly got done with the trauma patient), Donnie- and they get to work immediately, silently gesturing to each other to get a gurney, a blanket, a room.
A few of the younger doctors are standing at the back of the crowd, so that when the others disperse, they're left there looking a little shell-shocked. One of them- Whitaker, Jack recalls, still fresh off the boat so to speak- is blinking owlishly, gaze darting between Robby and Jack.
“Is he gonna be okay?”
If Jack were a crueler physician, he'd urge Dennis Whitaker to find out the answer to that question himself. Given that he's not, and that the question is being asked like a boy worried about his father instead of a doctor worried about his patient, Jack gives him a reassuring nod.
“He’ll be okay. Just needs to rest a while. We're all only human at the end of the day, huh?”
Whitaker nods. Santos and Javadi nod. One of the new medical students who only started this morning, a bright but slight young woman called Julia who seems to have developed an attachment to Robby already, nods.
“Alright,” Jack says, squeezing Robby's shoulder. “Just hang on.”
They keep him in a quiet room until the end of Jack's shift, where he's checked on so frequently it's a wonder he's able to sleep at all. Yet sleep he does, balled up on the bed with a blanket thrown over him, barely flinching when he's poked and prodded during obs. Dana and Heather (the latter especially irritated that she didn't find out about what happened until Robby was already admitted) are there whenever Jack isn't. Princess and Perlah pop in occasionally too, bearing fresh compresses and reassuring words. McKay is the one to set up his IV. Samira never seems to stray too far from his room, and though Jack never hears her say anything, he sees her entrances and exits enough to know she's checking in as well.
The only people who aren't regularly slipping in and out of the room, in fact, are the younger docs. Jack can tell that they'd like to see him, but they all know Robby well enough to understand that he doesn't want them seeing him like this. Still, they pass on messages through those that do visit him. And whenever Jack leaves the room, he's always met with at least one of them asking how Robby's doing, whether there's anything that they can do to help.
It's hardly a surprise- Robby is a foundational pillar in the ED, and without him there, something feels missing. Wrong. Like a painting featuring only the background characters, all eyes pointed towards a character in the foreground that doesn't exist.
He's the glue that holds the place together. The bee, in Jack's favourite metaphor, that protects the hive.
And while it's a tough job, it's one rewarded with the admiration and adoration of others- Jack wishes Robby could see just how much he's missed and loved instead of sleeping through it all, too exhausted to even stir.
When 7pm rolls around, Jack wakes him at last, urging him to sit up and getting him dressed while he sits there, blinking dazedly, half-asleep and totally pliant. It's quite sweet, but it's definitely something Jack's glad the others aren't witnessing.
“That's it, Mike. Just slip your foot in there, like that, and I'll get your laces tied.”
Eventually, they're wandering through the hospital and out to Jack's car. Those who spot them say goodbye, and Dana even plants a kiss on Robby's cheek despite his weak protestations that she'll get herself sick too (even delirious, he's a selfless son of a bitch). Mel wishes Robby a speedy recovery, patting him on the shoulder and then seemingly cringing at her own perceived social faux-pas. Santos, Javadi, and Whitaker all offer their own awkward but sweet farewells too.
By the time they get to the car, Robby is barely awake, and he drifts off completely on the journey home. His head knocks against the glass so frequently that Jack pulls over, balls up the jacket Robby brought with him, and places it under his partner's head with a small ‘that’ll be better, babe’.
It takes an age, but at last they arrive at Jack's place, Robby leaning on him with each step, Jack keeping his partner upright through the trying journey to bed. Robby curls up under the sheets immediately. Jack has the job of getting him changed with little to no cooperation.
The evening descends upon them. Jack heats up some soup which Robby barely touches, then showers and climbs into bed next to his lover. He sends a text to each concerned colleague with a small update:
robby's alright. sleeping it off, fever staying manageable with tylenol. ill keep an eye on him, promise.
Dana shoots a message back at once.
Of course you will ❤️
He shuts off his phone with a small smile to himself, and sets it on the bedside table along with Robby’s meds for the next eight hours. He's set alarms to keep on top of them.
As he settles into bed next to Robby, the latter pulls him closer, murmuring into his neck,
“Got your headphones?”
Jack's heart warms. He nods. “I’ll put ‘em on if the fireworks start.”
Robby harrumphs, stretching his evidently aching limbs. “Put ‘em on now, Jack. It's alright. I'll tap you if I need you, promise.”
His words are quiet and sleepy, but these are the moments when he's unfiltered, so Jack knows that he's telling the truth.
And when Jack slips his headphones on (making sure the alarm will still come through them when he needs it to), and the world outside is silenced, he feels Robby's blazing palm on his neck. Index finger tap, tap, tapping a slow rhythm that Jack would recognise even in sleep- and that Robby could probably replicate in sleep.
Tap tap.
Pause.
Tap.
Tap-hold.
Tap tap.
Pause.
Tap-hold.
Tap.
Tap-hold, tap-hold.
.. _.. _.__
I L Y
Jack presses his lips to Robby's ear.
“I know. I love you too. Sleep now."
Outside, the streetlights flicker into darkness one after the other.
Inside, Robby falls asleep, and Jack quickly follows.