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It’s a grueling winter. It seems the sun leaves entirely, and what little light they get during those short days is gray. Pittsburgh as a whole seems desaturated, drained of color and spirit. There are little pockets of white and quiet, when the snow falls, but then it melts and turns to slush that seems to cling to everything.
Therapy fucking sucks.
Robby tries three different therapists before he finds one he can tolerate. Carol is in her 60’s, wears cardigans that make her look like she’s in her 90’s, and is so informed and with the times that she sometimes speaks like she’s in her 20’s and fresh out of a lecture on intersectional feminism. In one particularly harrowing session she calls Robby a ‘spectacular self-saboteur’ and throws a stress ball at him.
It fucking sucks, and some days he thinks he’d genuinely rather have himself admitted to psych than continue fucking talking about all the horrible shit in his head. But then Jack will look at him with that crooked little smile.
“You’re doing really well,” he’ll say, quietly, quickly during hand-over. “Did you take the Sertraline today?”
And for a moment there’s color again. And Robby’ll nod, and Jack’s crooked little smile will widen just a little.
“Good job,” he’ll say, and Robby’ll carry that around with him for the entire shift.
Spring rolls around. Finally. They all forget, every year, what a face full of sunshine will do for your mental health, but this year it feels like doing a fistful of party drugs. Robby walks to work, every day.
(He stopped riding the bike in January; there was a snap freeze and Robby was 20 minutes late coming over to Jack’s place. Jack had a panic attack so bad he had to take the strong meds. Now the bike sits in his garage, until he gets a decent offer for it.)
There’s green in the world again, reflected in the green of Jack’s eyes.
In May, when everyone and their mother begins shedding jackets and getting funny ideas, Robby starts getting funny looks. Nurses look at him suspiciously, like they’re waiting for another shoe to drop. The med students and interns seem both more nervous and also relieved around him. Mel even asks him if he’s done something to his hair.
“Dana,” he says, casually, into his coffee mug.
“What?” she asks, already mildly irritated at the board. It’s only 07:13, god help them all.
“Is there something on my face?”
She squints at him both through and over her glasses.
“Just the look of a man who needs to give me a raise. Why?”
“Everyone’s acting weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Just… weird.”
She rolls her eyes.
“God help me. Weird how? Specificity, Robby, I don’t have all day.”
“Weird around me,” he hisses. “Did I do something? Perlah looked at me like she was ready to hit me with 5 of Haldol just now. Why are people acting like I’m three seconds away from going postal?”
Dana’s whole demeanor changes. Her eyebrows are practically dancing as she shoots him a look over her glasses.
“Oh,” she says, “That.”
“Dana.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t. But now I certainly am.”
She looks far too smug for 07:15, but there’s warmth in her eyes. (There’s always warmth in Dana’s eyes, no matter the amount of schadenfreude in her laughter. But there’s an extra scoop of it, just for Robby.)
“Robby, sweetie, it’s just that no one here has seen you this happy before.”
Princess immediately has something urgent to do on the other side of the department. Santos immediately has something urgent to do right there at the charge station. Langdon chokes on what’s probably his second Red Bull of the day. Dana hands him some paper towels without looking and plows ahead.
“Hell, I haven’t seen this version of you since, I think, 2019.”
“This version of me?” Robby asks, deadpan but blushing.
“Happy Robby,” Dana says, like it’s obvious.
“That’s- I don’t know how to feel about that.”
Dana shrugs dismissively.
“It’s a good look on you.”
“Yeah?”
“Therapy and love. Looks good on most people.”
Robby can’t stop overthinking it, so Dana takes him out for a post-shift drink at Terry’s. But as the night wears on, their post-shift drink at Terry’s becomes a sort of day shift post-shift drink at Terry’s. They trickle in, two by two mostly, until half the Pitt is scattered around the bar.
“How did this happen?” he asks Dana, sweeping a hand around the room.
“Oh, they’re not scared of you anymore,” she smiles, intentionally patronizing. He loves her so much. “So now they’re gonna follow you around. Like ducklings.”
“You know,” he says, polishing off his third lager, “you’re awfully smug for someone who’s gotten imprinted on just as much as me.”
“Stop it.”
“If I’m the Pitt dad, you’re the Pitt mom. I’m pretty sure Javadi would walk through fire for you.”
“I don’t need anymore kids.”
“Tough shit, you got ‘em. Hey, Dana?”
“Yeah, sweetie?”
“I didn’t eat lunch. Or dinner.”
Dana’s cackle draws the eyes of pretty much everyone in the bar.
“And now you’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk!” He lowers his voice and tries again, for a more convincing performance. “I’m not drunk. I’m tipsy.”
“You’re drunk, Michael. What will the children think? A lightweight at your size, it’s a medical wonder. ”
“I need the bathroom, but I’m worried about what’ll happen if I get off this bar stool.”
“Whatever you do, I know for a fact Dr Santos will film it on her phone. Go on, give ‘em a show.”
When he gets back, Dana’s been a mother hen and ordered him some nachos, but because she’s also a kind, wonderful soul, she’s also gotten him another beer. And because she’s a fucking shit-stirrer, she’s gotten him a ride.
“Better drink up before he gets here,” she winks.
“You didn’t.”
She looks entirely unrepentant.
“The kids deserve to know who’s got you smiling like that.”
“Santos still has her phone out, I can see it from here.”
But Robby’s quite a bit tipsy, and Dana’s smiling like that, in a way that always makes Robby soft and a little soppy inside - he loves her so much - and there’s good music playing. The people from the Pitt that he can see from his seat by the bar all seem to be having a good time, laughing in the glitter of the string lights. And yeah, Robby is happy.
So he drinks his beer and eats his nachos, and time slides away a little, and then a hand slides across his back.
“Hey, handsome.”
Dana’s smile makes Robby a little soppy inside, but Jack’s voice alone gives Robby goosebumps.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir,” Robby says primly, “I have a boyfriend.”
Dana cackles again, no doubt drawing the attention of the entire day shift once again.
“Wow,” Jack says, with his crooked little grin. He’s so fucking beautiful. “He’s one lucky guy to land someone like you.”
“I’m the lucky one,” Robby says, nibbling on a stray nacho chip. “You should see him - he’s a looker.”
From Robby’s other side Dana keeps stirring.
“Oh yeah? Real smoke show, huh?”
Jack tries for an admonishing look, trying to quell what he surely can see coming, but the two of them are four beers down and completely unstoppable.
“God, you have no idea,” Robby says, eyes still fixed on Jack’s face. “He’s got freckles like fucking stars. All over. Salt’n’Pepper curls and green eyes.”
“What about his arms?”
“Fuck, his arms.”
Jack shakes his head, smiling ruefully. There’s a delightful blush spreading across those prominent cheekbones. Robby wants to lick it.
“His hands?” Dana asks. “He’s a doctor, I bet he’s good with his hands.”
In a booth not too far away, Dennis Whitaker knocks over a glass. The blush is bright crimson on Jack’s face now.
“You need Jesus,” he says, pointing at Dana.
“I already got him. You need to get your man.”
“I’m trying.”
Robby trails his fingers down Jack’s chest - nothing but a plain black t-shirt between him and all those freckles - and hooks them into a belt loop. It’s really funny actually; this decorated army vet who last week didn’t move so much as a facial muscle when propositioned by a very attractive gay couple in front of no less than three med students is blushing and blinking at the ceiling, just from Robby saying he’s hot.
“Listen, you seem like a really nice guy-”
“Jesus fucking Christ-”
“-but I’m happily taken. So happily. And my boyfriend probably wouldn’t like it if he saw you talking to me.”
“I’ll fight your boyfriend in the parking lot,” Jack says.
“As hot as that would be, I think we have to face the music. We’ll always have this night, falling in love here at Terry’s, but we both know it has to end.”
Robby’s twisted on his bar stool, forever following Jack like a flower facing the sun, and he tugs Jack in closer, in between his legs.
“We’ll take what we have and we’ll rip it apart-”
“Oh god, he’s quoting song lyrics,” Dana laughs, sounding both horrified and delighted. “Stop him.”
“Stop me, Jack.”
And that’s how the ED chief got caught in 4K kissing his attending in a bar, and how Trinity Santos got free beers for a month.
“Can we go home now?” Jack mutters against Robby’s lips.
“Yeah, baby, take me home.”
