Chapter Text
Robby and Jack didn’t often cut through chairs to escape the ED: they were background checked, fingerprinted, and badged. Security on both sides knew them, so swiping in and out wasn’t necessarily needed, even if it was required by policy.
But in an effort to avoid Gloria who was once again trying to pin them down for some hospital fundraising event–
“It’s the perfect time. The MCI reflected the best work of this ED and its staff.”
“Uh huh.”
“And it’s still fresh in donors’ minds, so they’re more apt to...”
“Still fresh in all our minds too, you realize. Not exactly something we’d like to re-live while begging for money.”
“Unless we want to try doing it Oliver style. There’s gotta be some money in Robby getting on his knees to Please, sir, may we have some funding with the bigwigs.”
“Why me? You’d be better for it, already missing the leg. I’ll kick one of your crutches part way through the night, that’ll really get the tears going.”
“The fact that I keep you two employed is a testament to my magnanimity.”
–and they’d decided the best way out was through the busiest part of the ED, hoodies zipped over black scrubs and the screaming green DOCTOR part of their badges. Bags were slung over shoulders and they non-chalantly headed toward the exit door while discussing their ducklings’ work that day. (And absolutely did not hum the International Super Spy song to themselves as they weaved through the room.)
They were nearly to the partitioned part of the passage when Jack caught, from the corner of his eye, someone crossing in the opposite direction, the hood of their sweatshirt being pulled up to cover the tightly gathered hair at the nape of their neck.
“What’s Santos doing?”
Robby stopped short and looked back, “Hmm?” then looked in the direction Jack had set his own gaze.
If she felt herself being watched, the kid gave no impression. She slipped through the heavy crowd easily, zig-zagging around lines of people, chairs, crying children, and then, with practiced aloofness, scanned her badge for a door few people ever went through.
“Isn’t that the shortcut to the far campus elevators?” There was no outlet from that direction, only passages that led deeper into the hospital, corridors that weren’t kept fully lit because, without appropriate staffing, they were closed for use.
No fucking comment.
Jack replied, a hint of concern and confusion in his tone, “Yeah.”
“The hell is she doing?”
They turned in tandem, lock-step as always, and headed back into the fray, tracing her steps until they too were passing into the quiet, disused space.
They kept a short distance away, followed her in dead silence. Only once did they spare a look for each other, curiosity burrowing deep into their bones as they watched the elevator she’d taken stop at the 8th floor.
“There’s nothing up there,” Robby muttered, well aware of the empty and abandoned rooms currently locked off to the general public.
“Mmmm, there’s someone up there now.”
He asked, “Stairs?”
And Abbot answered, “Yep,” neither wanting the ding of the elevator when it arrived to alert the girl if she was up to something suspect.
They badged through to the staff stairs, careful to not let the door slam behind them. Each step was taken with purpose, softened but quick, and they both counted the floors as they went, numbers murmured under their breath as they passed the labeled doors.
“Eight,” Jack whispered as he reached the landing, turning to look at Robby who was pulling the second strap of his bag over his other shoulder.
Prepping.
“Think she’ll run?”
“No idea. Haven't gotten a sure read on her yet.”
Abbot did the same.
They slipped through the door, crept along in the darkened hallway like they were in Seal Team 6, once again steadfastly did not hum a stupid earworm to themselves, and narrowed down Santos’ location to the single room with music and a light on.
“And I’m here... to remind you... of the mess you left when you went away...”
“Get it, girl,” Jack muttered, and all pretense evaporated.
Robby rolled his eyes, put his back into the doorway of the room, and asked, “Are you serious right now?” before turning to see that Santos, poor unfortunate Santos, was staring at them with wide eyes, dirty scrub top bunched into her hands at chest level.
He took a brief survey of the room while she was stunned into inaction: textbooks piled on the side table with a beaten metal tumbler, notes spread out on the mussed bed, a partially charged laptop open in the middle of it for charting. Her bag was tossed atop the air conditioning unit, clothing piled into the corner opposite it.
“Okay, so...”
She closed her mouth. Opened it, snapped it closed again.
Abbot asked, “We thinking guppy?”
Robby answered, “Yep,” and then nudged the other back, took his own moment to put space between them. “Takot na munting isda.”
That brought her back into possession of her own body and she spit out, “Oh, fuck, you speak tagalog?”
The snickering at his back was more humiliating than the situation.
“Really? That’s what you want to start with?” He nodded toward... everything. “Seems like we’ve got perhaps some more pressing concerns.”
“Do Princess and Perlah know?”
Jack continued to not help by upgrading to a proper laugh. “Kid’s got priorities.”
“Shut up,” Robby grumbled out the side of his mouth, then told her, “No, they don’t, and we’d kind of appreciate them not knowing. It keeps me one step ahead of Dana, which I need to maintain the illusion of power.”
“Please, we all accepted her supremacy over the ED after the Great Swine Flu Short-Staffing of ‘09. And she wasn't even charge then.”
“Do you come with an off switch?”
“Yeah, but Admin might not be pleased with recreational use of sux.”
Santos had been bouncing her guarded attention between the pair of them, half a smirk falling off her lips into a frown, and with a sudden croak, she seemed to realize that she was standing there, 2 of her attendings in front of her, in a sports bra.
She dove for the clothing pile like an outfielder trying to catch a homer.
“Ow.”
“Yeah, generally speaking, your clothes shouldn’t need to be chased down. If they’ve started running from you, they probably need to be washed.”
The shirt she pulled on was either an old nightgown or some hand-me-down from Andre the Giant. “On the list for my next day off.” Tucking it into her pants did nothing but make her look more ridiculous.
And way too young.
“Uh huh.” He glanced around again, pointedly making sure she caught the underlying Going back to the topic at hand look he had slapped on his face. “Anyway, this is an... interesting set up? Anything we should know?”
She jutted out her chin, her lower lip, hands sliding into the pockets of the dirty scrub bottoms. “Mmmm, nope, nothing I can think of, boss.”
Jack snorted.
Robby elbowed him.
“Do you two always act like that?”
“Spousal privilege,” Jack answered, continuing, “This area is considered off-limits and the only people who come up here are med assistants trying to hide from Robby, Robby trying to hide from Gloria, and Shamsi’s daughter trying to hide from expectation.”
Santos lifted one eyebrow. “That’s a lot of hiding.”
Two sets of lifted eyebrows, like some sort of weird Gen X face thing. She dropped hers to see if they’d drop theirs, but no, just two expectant gazes waiting on her to explain what was going on.
Minutes ticked by.
Robby hooked the chair stuffed in the corner with a foot, dragged it over, hooked his bag off his back, sat.
Never took his eyes off her.
Well, that was disconcerting.
“You look like you’re sitting for a painting or something.”
“Or something.”
Robby leaned back into the chair, Jack leaned into the doorway, it was entirely too close to some 90’s CD cover, but the air of the room had shifted with him and for a moment, she considered her options.
Redirection.
“Spousal privilege?”
“Nice try. Returning to topic: You. Abandoned part of the hospital. Reason, please.”
Deflection.
“It’s not actually abandoned, just not currently used.”
“Now you’re playing semantics.”
Jack dropped his own bag, evidently having pegged the situation and settling in for the long haul. He disappeared into the hallway for a few seconds and reappeared with a rolling stool, promptly getting distracted with the sway of it.
Redirection, Take 2.
“Is he okay?”
Robby didn’t even look at Abbot. “He’s been up for 29 hours and ADHD meds only work for so long. I’d take him home to sleep, maybe drug, but I’m tied up for the moment and he doesn’t drive once he’s up more than 24 hours.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say you gave the most apt nickname to the wrong person.”
Distraction.
“Seriously?”
“It was a fender bender.”
“The cops were called, Jack.”
“Because insurance was involved, not because I was ticketed.”
“You should have been.”
Timing good, both men looking largely at each other and not at her, she turned toward the door, trying to gauge the distance between herself, how wide the space was, what exactly she could maybe use to slow them down if they gave chase...
Jack smacked the back of Robby’s shoulder and pointed in her direction. “Huidora.”
“Oh come on, you know spanish too?”
“That one I’m fluent. Also know some Urdu, little Russian, little Yiddish.”
Robby rolled his eyes. “His version of Russian and Yiddish is to point at me,” he told her, once again watching her with hawk-like precision which just wasn’t fair after a 14 hour shift, “and then repeat whatever I say, usually very wrong. Like Бегун.”
“Beg womb.”
“See. Now... last time before I have to be a department chair and call Gloria and get security involved and just generally cause a ruckus: explain. Please.”
She considered Defenestration.
The windows were safety latched, damnit.
Santos sighed, decided against assuming her Father’s Last Name as a defense mode, and slipped into an increasingly familiar posture with both arms crossed over her chest, one hip forward, a measured bored expression slapped on.
“There’s a real lack of affordable housing in the area for a single person.”
Nothing was said, merely a soft, waiting silence.
“Rent’s like minimum 3 paychecks, if you can find a decent place. Less if you take a shitty one, but utilities and everything makes up for it.”
More silence.
She retaliated with some silence of her own.
The act of mirroring only got her more silence. Who would have thought?
“Fine! Fine. Fine.” She threw her hands up. “I can’t afford a place, okay? I put myself into severe debt with student loans to get through school, my credit’s trash because I can’t afford to pay them and the credit cards I maxed out and rent and everything, and it’s just me, don’t have anyone else to co-sign with, so...”
“So you’re unhoused.”
The words made her shoulders slump.
Jack softened the blow, telling her, “Kid, you’re not the first, you won’t be the last. Did you look at the hospital exchange board at all? Talk to HR? Mention anything about hardship to them?”
“No.”
“Had you done any of those,” Robby announced, “you would have been given a couple of options. One would have been assistance in finding housing that you could afford.”
“Okay, I didn’t know that.”
“Two would have been access to a housing option that requires an application for evaluation of need. It's a pet project of a couple of the chairs and attendings from different departments.”
“Oh.”
“Jack's one of the attendings, I'm one of the chairs.”
Abbot waved at her with one hand, stupid half smirky smile that made her want to scream. Robby scrubbed his face with one hand.
“There’s a third, but usually when an ED student doctor, intern, or res applies for the second option, they don't need the third.”
“Wait, like they get accepted?”
“Yep. Unless there's some reason to deny the application, which, so far, you have no red flags.” Jack told her. “So, with all that in mind, get your things together. We've got a decent enough guest bed you can crash on tonight and however long it takes to get you approval. You and Robby will fill out the app first thing in the morning and I'll push it through with Walsh and Conley.”
It felt entirely too much like charity, her whole body bristling.
Robby waited a few seconds, let her process. He said one thing, just a simple, “Trinity,” and waited for her to look at him before he asked, soft, gentle, “When's the last time you felt safe? Safe when you slept or changed or ate?”
He was sure she was missing the dirty top from before, the need for something to move and twist in her hands, and he was tempted to rifle in his bag for the fidget spinner that lived in it. He didn’t, he wasn’t stupid enough to break the moment.
“Been a while.”
Finally, some actual fucking truth without a thirty minute delivery, pizza not free.
“Guest room has a lock–on the inside–and an en suite that also has a lock of its own.”
She heard the translation: I see you, I hear you, I have somewhere safe for you. Almost choked on it, panic cluttering her veins for a moment, then forcing her heart rate to slow.
“How... How'd you know?”
“When you tell things to patients, they're not generally held in confidence.” Robby tipped his head closer. “Your methemoglobinemia patient talked to Ellis. She let me and Jack know because people don't always respond to trauma in ways you expect, but she knows it's not to be discussed with any other individuals.”
“Oh.”
“Yep.” He hefted his bag onto one shoulder, then pulled it over the other. “You want help getting your things together?”
He watched her shift weight from one foot to the other and back, energy burning out, exhaustion slipping in.
But Trinity answered, “No, I can do it,” with no hesitation.
“Okay. If Jack and I step out, are we going to find you trying to scale the walls to get into the ceiling ducts in ten minutes?”
She was tempted to respond with her usual snark, but instead, Jack sassed, “She’s not fucking spiderman.”
And Robby shot back, “We don’t know that.”
“Seriously, you two are fuckin’ weird.”
“Welcome to the ED, after 20 years, weird is the nicest word you can use.” Jack grabbed Robby’s arm, yanked hard and the two practically fell into the hallway.
It was an entirely new weird bizarre experience that followed:
Trinity Santos, aged roughly 27 (how old was anyone, really), had gotten into the backseat of her attending’s, Michael (middle name unknown) Robinavitch, black Toyota Corolla, was told, “Car doesn’t move until seatbelts are on,” and then started singing to the radio as he took them out of the staff lot and onto the larger connecting road off-campus.
It wasn’t a full belt, but a quiet match to the melody of Alex Warren’s newer album, like he’d actually listened to Ordinary on repeat.
“You know this song?”
“Shockingly,” he said, “I have ears.”
Abbot snored in response.
“He’s asleep already?”
The lights going past the car were blinding her in the darkness, sending bright blooms of white and yellow and headache through eyelids and corneas alike.
“29 hours, Santos.”
“Is that normal?”
Robby adjusted his visor, blocking out some of the street lights himself. “Nope. And he thinks I’m going to let him go in tomorrow night too, which is flatly hilarious and will not be happening, but do me a favor and don’t tell him I’ve already swapped his shift with Shen’s.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“That’s a trauma response.”
“I meant not telling him about the shift change.”
“And I never said the trauma response was his.” He leaned forward as he turned a little too hard, one hand naturally coming up to brace Abbot who slid lightly toward him. “We'll get you settled tonight, get paperwork handled tomorrow, and I'll see if I can swap you and King.”
“I really don't need a day off.”
Another turn, this one up a street lined with two story houses, trees, fences, the crap from her childhood daydreams. “Okay. Name for me the last three proper meals you've eaten.”
“Uh, why?”
“Simple request. When and what were your last three actual, full meals.”
“Name yours.”
The car bounced over the driveway threshold, garage door opening as he rolled them slowly forward, lights coming on automatically. “Before shift, leftover hash and dry wheat toast, coffee. Lunch, whey-based protein bar, cheese stick, half a monster with Whitaker, and water. When he got in, turkey and mustard on rye, couple fries, more coffee.” The car stopped, parking brake engaged, and almost as if he weren't 6’1” and broad, smoothly shifted to lean against the steering wheel and look at her. “Now you.”
“Uh...”
A sleepy hand waved in the air suddenly. “Vending machine du jour since she started. Peanut butter crackers, trail mix, chips, occasional rice krispies treat. Whatever’s been abandoned in the staff room or the bribe food sent by admin. Coffee with that non dairy creamer shit Gloria insists is more cost effective. Whitaker's cast off energy drinks.”
“What the fuck?”
Jack shrugged, saying, “Espías, niña.” He yanked on the strap of his bag and added, “Vamonos,” as he popped the door, shoved it open with a foot and practically threw himself out of the car.
Robby did nothing to assist as his husband overcorrected and fell forward.
“Holy shit.” Trinity practically dove out of the back; the car door whipped open, narrowly missed Abbot’s head, and she too wound up in a heap on the garage floor as she slipped over her own overtired limbs.
“Well, that was entertaining.”
He’d already flopped onto his back and raised an arm, his middle finger extended. “Don’t be an asshole, asshole.” He reached down then, pulled up the right leg of his scrubs, and reached for the side of the twisted prosthesis, unflinching in the face of Robby’s laugh at him as the other finally got out of the car.
Robby laughed again when he saw the look on Trinity’s face as he came around to Abbot. “He’s fine. Did no one tell you he’s a transtibial amputee? Usually one of the first things the students like to chitter about,” he remarked, helping Jack to his ass then his feet.
“Chitter? What are you, 105?” he groused as he balanced himself, clearly leaning most of his weight to the left.
“Mmm, you’re so overtired, it’s adorable.”
Robby turned to her once he was confident that Jack wasn’t about to rejoin the floor, handed him his bag, and pointed him in the direction of a door. Helping her up took far less effort, if more careful placement of his hands as he assisted her. “Up we go,” he grunted out as he lifted, her feet coming off the floor for half a second and then let go with her feeling weird yet again.
Fuck, she was tired.
The garage door began rolling closed behind them, driveway lights winking out; she scrubbed at her eyes, feeling the soreness suddenly, and then heard a sparking, startled “Whoawhoawhoa.”
Eyes snapped open.
Jack and Robby were both there, Robby supporting her upper body, Jack bracing her with his good leg to keep her from sliding to the ground.
“Uh, sorry, I...”
“So, first rule in this house,” Jack said, “is that we don’t apologize for the shit that our bodies do when we’re exhausted.”
“You’ve been running on fumes for a while.” Robby nodded at Abbot over her shoulder, both letting her stand on her own feet again yet close enough and braced enough to lurch forward should she begin falling again which promptly happened. “All right then.”
She started in a weak, “I just... gimme a...” then sputtered, “FUCK,” as Robby tipped and twisted and angled an arm under her legs, other arm across her back and she was hefted like a child, her own arms automatically looping around his neck.
The air was stuffy for a second, then Robby turned to look at Jack, saying, “She gets it, don’t know why you can’t.”
And the wedded bliss bickering started again:
“She’s an infant with completely different trauma she’s working through, very different responses here, dear.”
Car door, bag. Closed door.
“Infants don’t generally have trauma.”
Other door opened, another bag. Another closed door.
“We own records older than her. Infant.”
Robby shook his head in amusement, shifting her up with a pop of his hip to ease the strain on his lower back. He said nothing, which apparently drew a lifted eyebrow in his direction from Abbot, who also said nothing.
Trunk, bag, slam.
Message received, clearly, Robby rolled his eyes and turned toward the door Jack had left open for them, a few short steps taking them into a short hallway and then a living room. He leaned down, easing her onto the nearest couch with a few cracking sounds, knees and back and hips and probably anything he’d bunched in the carry.
“I could–” she started.
He finished, “Accept help when offered when your body does things you don't particularly care for? How'd you figure out house rule two?” He waited for Jack to dump all the bags onto the floor near the door, kick it closed, before holding out a hand and then Robby was getting his own help up.
“These are weird rules.”
Jack, leaning against a chair arm, let out a noise of relief as he slid off his leg and held it aloft. “Instituted by the guy over by the sideboard writing down our alarm code. I'll let you figure out when.” He again gestured with his occupied hand, shook the leg like some bizarre rainstick.
Robby shook his head as he grabbed a pair of arm crutches in one hand and the post-it he’d scribbled their alarm code on. Crutches were thrust unceremoniously at Jack, who held out his leg in response.
“What am I? Your limb butler?” He took it anyway, sneaker prodding Robby’s elbow once he tilted the leg around to point the socket and its’ odor of stale sweat and body musk at the floor.
“Mmm, I think that was between best friend and life partner in the vows, wasn’t it? In richer and poorer, in sickness and health, to have and to hold replacement legs?”
He was immediately prodded in the stomach with his own prosthesis. “Would you go to bed already? You’re at 30 hours at this point and you’re setting a crappy example.”
“Ah, yes, thinking of the children. Must always be a proper role model for the young ones. This one hasn’t watched us decompress from work by flirting for the last hour. Nope.” Abbot used his core to pull him up and headed to the staircase situated between the foyer and kitchen doorways. “Make sure he gives you the alarm password too.”
There was the noise of his crutches, his leg, as he made his way up to the second floor. Once gone, Robby crossed back to the sideboard, scribbled down something else onto the post-it, and came back to her to hand it over, all while still holding the prosthesis. It seemed to surprise him suddenly as he realized that as well, and he grumbled as he went to drop it, shoe down, onto the boot tray where Jack had at least left his other sneaker.
While there, he made sure to point at the alarm panel on the wall. It was already armed, but he explained, “9194 is the code and then you hit this key for on, this key for off, and,” he flourished his hands like some bygone 90s game show presenting prize girl, “this will set it off like a fucking banshee if you even dare look at it.”
She nodded.
His eyes narrowed. “It is here to keep out anyone that should not be here. It is not to keep people in. You understand?”
She nodded again.
“If you set it off by accident, the company will call the house. You give them that password, no cops. If you don’t give them that password, cops. Lots of cops. They know Jack, they will appear out of the woodwork like we’re hosting a summer barbecue. Please give them the password.”
“Not a fan of barbecues?”
“Not a fan of Hiro Nakamura parking the SWAT truck in the neighbor’s yard after driving through their rose bushes.” He stepped over to grab her bags, looping his and Jack’s bags onto the hooks beside the door as he went, and then returned to the couch. “How you feeling? Up for a short walk?”
She opened her mouth.
Literally, just opened it, and Robby was already reminding her, “Rules one and two.”
“Actually kind of dizzy, probably just overtired. I’ll be fine if I could just like...” she swallowed around it, the words feeling bulky in her mouth, “hold on... to something.”
His face–narrowed eyes again, brows furrowed, assessing expression–said it all. “And you’ve been dizzy for how long?”
“It’s fine, really. It’s normal for me, I’m kind of used to it.”
“Uh huh.”
“I just can’t always balance correctly when I’m overtired.”
Robby still didn’t seem overly thrilled by her answer, but he dipped down toward her, both bags in one hand, and offered his arm to her. She cautiously reached out to grab on, let him tuck her into his side once she was steady on her feet.
“Slowly,” he told her, “You need to stop, just say the word.”
Couch to stairs wasn’t a problem, but the stairs seemed almost insurmountable and her head swam like it always did when she’d been up far too long on far too little. Her stomach gave a little growl and she pretended not to hear it, foot slipping off the first stair a time or two before she got purchase. His bodyweight was the only reason she didn’t eat it each time, the only reason she didn’t take a header midway up when the nausea decided to crowd in too.
“You need to vomit?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Yep, used to it,” he patted her arm, “which is a trauma response we will discuss tomorrow. In daylight. When we’re all capable of complex thought again.”
The landing came up quickly enough, thankfully, and she tried to let go, almost went backwards as her head spun, and Robby grabbed her before she could return to the first floor via ass over teakettling or human sled options.
A guilty look was cast in his direction.
Either due to graciousness or frustration or both, he said nothing, just kept her held close as he guided her to a door opposite the open one revealing his and Abbot’s bedroom.
She got a momentary glimpse, Jack seemingly having fallen asleep mid-changing for bed, turned face down with his shirt off but scrub pants and one sock still on while a shirt was still hanging from his grip. His left foot was on the floor, right leg tucked into the top of the duvet.
“That doesn’t look comfortable.”
“He served in deserts. He’s fine.”
Robby shoved the door open, revealing a room decorated with neutral gray-blue-pinkish hued walls, warm wood, mixed metal finishes, linens that looked softer than the utilitarian thick hospital cotton and wools she’d habituated to.
He walked her to the bed, set her down gently, and for a second, appeared to dissociate as he looked around like he didn’t know where he was. Then he shook his head, put the bag with her laptop and other items not necessary for sleep on the bench at the foot of the bed, put the bag with her clothes next to her.
“Bathroom is that door. If you get confused and piss in the closet, you can commiserate with Jack.”
She blinked up at him.
“Ah, hitting the wall? That’s all right, just about there too.” He patted her shoulder, pulled the bag down to the floor. “I’m going to take off your shoes, okay? Just your shoes unless you want help with anything else.”
“No, only shoes.”
He let out a protracted breath as he crouched down, knees creaking again, and she almost snapped back into herself, almost bit out an I can do it, but he'd already gotten one foot in hand before she could come up with words that made actual sense.
The apology was building instead.
“Trinity.”
Blue eyes caught brown. Shoes were laid by the nightstand.
“Thank you for letting me help. I'll lock the door behind me. Get some sleep.”
“I...” She swallowed hard. “Uhh...” Then, small, half-choked, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He patted her ankle, got to his feet, and with a click, closed the door behind him, the lock set.