and they say (how the good die young)
Michael "Robby" Robinavitch & daughter!reader
It was just a normal morning. An overworked, emotionally exhausted single father snapping at his daughter. A stubborn, defensive teenage daughter snapping back. Three words that should have never gone unsaid remaining unspoken. Just a normal morning - until a boy brought a rifle to school.
Part 1 | Part 2
Words: 10,3k
Content: School shooting, Hurt/Comfort, Gun violence, injury, single dad!Robby, Reader!daughter, No major character death, suicidal ideation (it's Robby after all)
No use of Y/N
Read on Ao3 or below the cut:
A/N: I know nothing about medicine, so if you do, please squint at the medical bs I wrote based on sleep-deprived research and ended up sounding halfway decent to me :D
Jack burst through the doors of the ambulance bay. The wheels of the gurney he pushed along at a merciless, break-neck pace squeaked under the assault. A shrill, high-pitched tone that his brain latched onto because thinking about the girl bleeding out beneath his fingertips was just too cruel-
Robby shouted your name.
A sound made up of guttural heartache and pure, unfiltered, raw grief.
Jack had never seen the man run so fast. He almost collided with the gurney. His trembling hands found your face, brushing away sweat-drenched strands of hair sticking to your skin and wiping tears off your cheeks while his own tears dropped down on you.
āShe grappled for a gun with the shooter.ā Jack hissed through teeth clenched so tightly he was surprised they hadnāt shattered yet.
Baran rushed into the trauma room, listening intently to the report of the paramedics while Jack stopped just outside the trauma room doors, grabbing Robby less than gently to hold him back.
Jack's hands were covered in your blood. There hadnāt been time for gloves.
āSheās my daughter!ā Robby snarled, trying to tear free.
āExactly!ā Jack hissed back. āYou canāt treat family! I didnāt stop you when you worked on Jake's girlfriend, when I should have! I knew I should have, but I didnāt, and look what it did to you! I am not going to let you do this to yourself! Baranās got her, Robby!ā
Robby deflated. The fear of the day demanded its tribute as he sagged against Jack. Dana brought over a chair for him. He sat there, long limbs folded awkwardly, more reminiscent of a wet tissue than the usually so headstrong man Jack knew.
Once Jack was convinced he would get up again to rush into the trauma room the second he turned his back, Ahmad standing on the side ready to step in should he try to anyway, Jack took Dana aside.
He stared at his bloody hands - your blood. Jack had to squeeze his eyes shut against the thought and the nausea it came with - and set his helmet aside.
āRobby jr got her nipples pierced."
āWhat?ā
Jack gestured for Dana to not interrupt him. He could barely string two thoughts together, he didnāt need interruptions or distractions right now.
āRobby doesnāt know. He doesnāt need to find out like this.ā
āWhen did she- How do you know?ā
Jack shot her an exhausted, wry smirk. āBecause the kind of piercer who accepts the obviously fake ID of a sixteen-year-old isnāt the kind you want to do your piercing. It got infected. She asked me for help. Just- he doesnāt need to find out like this, and sheā¦ daughters deserve to have some secrets from their fathers, no? Just- sheāll feel horrible enough once sheās better and realises sheās been naked in the ER. Just- can you take them out for her?ā
Danaās expression softened. āYeah.ā She sighed. āIāve got her. Donāt worry.ā
Worry was all Jack had left.
He found a chair and dragged it over to Robby, too exhausted even to pick it up. He slumped down next to his best friend and watched the coordinated chaos of the trauma room.
āThe asshole who shot her is dead.ā He said coldly. No emotion coloured his voice. He had no regrets. āI shot him.ā
āGood.ā Robby replied.
They sat next to each other, outside the trauma room theyād ruled for the past twenty-odd years as the new attending they'd known for less than three months fought for your life, forced onto the sidelines because suddenly their love for you had become a liability.
āWhat are you doing here?ā
āWorking.ā Robby huffed without looking up from his tablet. There was a gaping, bleeding hole in his chest where his heart used to be - where you used to be.
āWeāve got it under control, Michael.ā
He bristled at the sound of his given name off Danaās lips.
āGo be with my daughter.ā
āAnd how, pray tell, am I supposed to be with her when she is lying in a goddamn OR while Garcia is cutting into her, huh?! Because three fucking bullets-ā Robby slammed his hands down on the counter and hung his head, desperately trying to force some air into his lungs.
He felt like you were already gone.
Like you had already died but the universe in its endless cruelty was just dragging this out. Perhaps it was punishment for everything Robby had ever done wrong in his life. For all his weaknesses and shortcomings.
Youāre just like your mother!
The words echoed through his head again and again and again. An endless loop of torment custom-tailored for him. His own personal hell.
Baran had to shock your heart twice. You were given twenty units of whole blood. Esme was still cleaning your trauma room. Robby couldnāt bring himself to look at it.
He looked up at Dana, who wore her disapproving mom-face that always unnerved Robby.
āIām about as useful as a limp dick up there, Dana.ā He rasped, pleading silently with the charge nurse to not call Jack, who had left to debrief with his SWAT team who were still at the school. Another wave of patients had arrived while Robby paced the waiting room upstairs, being slowly driven crazy by his own spiralling thoughts and the feeling of your necklace in his hand.
The chaplain had tried to talk to him. Jefferson tried to talk to him. Dylan sat with him for a while, but Robby sent him away to help Kiara, who was still with the families of the students and staff in the cafeteria.
āThe last critical patient just went up.ā Dana said after a moment of silent consideration. āWeāre still giving oxygen and fluid to some kids as we observe them, but no more GSWs.ā
Robby nodded. His eyes were glassy, his gaze distant. Dana lowered her clipboard.
āWhy donāt you sit with her friends?ā
He shook his head. āAnd tell them what, Dana? I- I- There is nothing I can do. My daughter may be dying right now, and thereās nothing I-ā He buried his face against his arm, fighting to not let the sobs bubbling up in his throat fall from his lips.
āYou donāt have to do anything right now, Robby.ā Dana said firmly. āYour daughter is in critical condition. You arenāt her doctor, and you donāt have to be one right now. You can just be her dad.ā
āI should have said it.ā He croaked, his voice finally failing him.
āSaid what?ā
Robby wiped his eyes roughly, berating himself in his head for ever letting them leave his eyes, and straightened up. āDoesnāt matter. It doesnāt fucking matter anymore.ā
āSheās not dead, Robby.ā
He forced a bitter, tight-lipped smile and walked away without another word. What did Dana know?
Youād been doomed the moment you had been born, and Robby held you in his arms for the first time.
Robby didnāt get to keep the people he loved.
Garcia found him an hour later, doing CPR on a college student in the same trauma room youād been coded in. The same trauma room where Baran broke your ribs trying to keep you alive. Where Langdon cut into you. Where Crus shoved a tube into your chest and your blood splattered onto the ground.
āShould you be working?ā She asked with that derisive, sneering tone Robby couldnāt stand when it was directed at him. He didnāt stop giving compressions. Didnāt talk.
He didnāt want to look at Garcia.
If he didnāt look at her, if he didnāt slow down or stop, she couldnāt drag him to the family room and tell him the news. And if she didnāt tell him the news, then a part of him could continue to delude himself into thinking everything was fine.
You were just at home. You were doing your homework or cooking or lounging on the sofa with one of your projects you had rarely ever finished since you taught yourself how to crochet during Covid.
His grandmother would have loved to see you with her old crochet hooksā¦ how dear they were to you, how dear all her handcraft tools wereā¦
Robby had forgotten to add Jack into his consideration. With all the detached effectiveness of a soldier, Jack, who still wore his tactical clothes albeit without the body armour (clothes soaked in your blood. His babyās blood. His little girlās blood), he had Baran taking over and was steering Robby towards the family room.
He relented only because he knew Jack was not above throwing him over his shoulder.
The ER watched, as if Robby was a condemned man being led to the gallows.
āShe was too unstable to tolerate the anaesthesia for long.ā Garcia began as soon as the door closed, sparing Robby the humiliation of asking him to sit - something they both knew he would not be doing. āWe managed to fix the biggest bleeders for now. Her intestine was nicked, but we got that taken care of and washed out her abdomen. We started her on a full course of antibiotics. Her right kidney took some more damage. We donāt yet know if she will lose it, but we are carefully optimistic. The third bullet miraculously missed all major organs and blood vessels. We could remove all three. We didnāt close her up at this time. We want to give her 24 to 48 hours to rest and hopefully stabilise further before we go back in for the beauty treatment. Sheās in the surgical ICU now and as stable as we can hope for at this time.ā
Some of the tension Garcia always held herself with eased. She didnāt go soft, exactly - Robby doubted Garcia was even capable of that, but she softened ever so slightly around the edges.
āSheās a real fighter, Robby. Iāve seen patients pull through worse. And sheās young. Teens always bounce back quicker than adults.ā
Jack asked a few follow-up questions, about the surgery and her care from here on out until the next surgery, all the questions Robby should ask but couldnāt.
Not that he absorbed any of the information.
His torture would continue.Ā
That was all he could take away from this.
The universe had decided he had not suffered enough. It would continue to dangle you in front of him like a carrot, waiting for the right moment, the moment he allowed himself to hope before tearing you away right when it would hurt most.
āWhere are you going?ā Jack held Robby back when he tried to follow Garcia.
āI have patients.ā
āYou donāt.ā Jack hissed. āYou have your daughter-ā
āDonāt make me.ā Robby pleaded through a broken sob. He could not bring himself to look at Jack. He stared at the dried patch of blood on his pants and pretended it wasnāt yours. āDonāt make me sit there and watch her die.ā He pressed his lips together to trap the next sob already crawling up his throat.
āShe isnāt dying.ā
A bitter laugh broke through Robbyās defences.
āShe is not dying, Michael!ā Jack placed his hand over the side of Robbyās neck and forced him to look up. āSheās not. You heard Garcia. Sheās a fighter. And she needs her dad right now.ā
āI canāt.ā
āBut you will.ā Jack said firmly. āBecause she is your daughter and youāve always done what you could to be there for her. You never stopped when things got difficult. You wonāt start now. I wonāt let you.ā
The walk towards the elevator felt like marching through hip-high molasses. The elevator was too tight, too quiet and yet far too loud. The hallway into the SICU, past the nursesā station where pitying looks already waited for Robby, seemed endless. A nurse whose face he did not see through the fog clouding his brain brought him a chair so he could sit next to your bed.Ā
You were drowning in tubes and IV lines.Ā
His little girl.
He could barely stand to look at the tube coming from your mouth, knowing just how far that shit went down your throat to reach your lungs.
His sweet, innocent little baby.
Emergency medicine was brutal and barbaric, and he never, never thought heād one day have to look at you and be punished with the knowledge of just how much trauma you were put through in the name of saving you.
And for what?
They would not save you, he knew, he felt it in his bones, so what was this all for? Why were they putting you through all this agony when he already knew it was all for nought?
Robby reached for your pale hand resting on top of the blanket and cradled it in his, careful, terrified of hurting you despite knowing exactly how he could touch and manipulate your body without causing harm. He ran his thumb over your knuckles, back and forth, eyes locked onto the sight of your small hand disappearing beneath his own.
Someone cleaned the blood off your skin.
You looked so delicate and smallā¦ so terribly fragile, and he didnāt know how to handle any of it. Jack sat down next to him, seemingly fighting with the same wave of suffocating emotions. He put his hand on Robbyās knee and gave it a little squeeze - maybe to ground Robby, maybe to ground himself. He couldnāt tell.Ā
Maybe Jack couldnāt either.
The machines breathing for you whirred. Monitors beeped. Fluids ran through the IV lines and into your body.
Robby tried not to look at your abdomen, tried not to think about the gauze shoved into your body cavity and the medical-grade plastic wrap keeping your intestines from bulging from your body. His little girl, cut open like a pig about to be butchered and haphazardly wrapped in plastic wrap like you were some leftover deli sandwich while machines kept your body alive because you were not strong enough to do it yourself.
How long until he would have to pull the plug like he had to for Adamson?
How long would the universe torture him with this sight this time around?
āSheās a fighter.ā Jack whispered, voice raw and quiet, lacking all its usual strength and perhaps that terrified Robby most of all. āSheāll pull through.ā He put his free arm around Robbyās shoulder, who simply sagged into the warmth of the embrace, head tilting to the side and coming to rest on Jackās shoulder. He brushed a fleeting kiss to Robbyās temple.
āSheāll pull through.ā
Robby wondered idly what the greater torture was, his hopelessness, or Jackās hopeā¦
Perhaps it was witnessing his hope knowing it was futile and wasted, because you were doomed to be loved by Robby and Robby never got to keep those he loved.Ā
He wondered how long it would take the universe to take Jack from him as wellā¦
Jack had fallen asleep. Running towards the sound of gunfire and death demanded its tribute after a while, even for one Jack Abbot, Robby supposed.
The SICU quieted down further with the setting sun.
Visitation hours had ended a long time ago, but not a single nurse had made any effort to send Robby or Jack home.
The dim light illuminating the nursesā station fell through the glass separating your room from the hallway. The machines you were hooked up to beeped and whirred, a ceaseless ambient noise that made it impossible to ever forget just how close to death you were.
Robby tried not to look at your body. He tried not to think about how vulnerable and exposed you were under the blanket, your torso cut open and only held together with plastic wrap.
Your skin looked pallid, ghostly already despite the machines forcing your body to stay alive a little while longer, even through all the trauma it had to endure and would continue to be put through.
āI love you.ā Robby whispered and carefully, terrified or hurting you, smoothed down the blanket over your chest. āI love you for everything you are. I love your mischief and the grey hairs youāve caused me, and I love your courage, your heart, and all your kindnessā¦ā
A nurse walked by your door. He didnāt look into your room. Nobody could look at Robby. As if heād become something terrible, something infectious. As if looking at him would make his misfortune spread to others.
He could not blame them.
āThank you for being- being all that you have been. For coming into my life when I needed you most. For being the only light at the end of the tunnel I could see most days. Thank you for existing and loving me despite everything.ā
Robby hadnāt been able to do this with Adamson. Between a lack of time and the atmosphere of the improvised Covid ward, he just didn't have the chance - though that was just an excuse.
He didnāt have the strength to say goodbye to his mentor.
He was a coward.
But you deserved better.
āForgive me for not being a better father.ā He lifted your hand off the bed and pressed his trembling lips to your cool knuckles. āI forgive you for leaving me.ā
You were back on the operating table two days later. Two days of sitting in a corner of your room like a wraith, waiting. Robby felt as if someone had hollowed him out. He was an empty shell keeping vigil over the remains of his daughter.Ā
A body he could barely recognise as yours at this point.
He managed to ask a nurse for a hairbrush late during his first night at your side. He carefully brushed the knots and tangles out of your hair and braided it loosely. ICU patients with longer hair often suffered from severe matting after a stay, and you liked your hair so muchā¦ you were seventeen, of course you did.
He would not claim it was an act of hope. He didnāt have any, just fatherly affections that suddenly had no place to go anymore.
Like phantom pains leading to muscle spasms.
He couldnāt control it, couldnāt stop it, couldnāt make his treacherous, failing body realise that this - this thing lying in the ICU bed - wasnāt you.
Not anymore.
You were gone or about to be, but his muscles remembered caring for you, doting on you, and they refused to stop.
He adjusted your blankets and made sure your socks were neat, brushed the hair from your face. He ran his knuckle over your cheek in a feather-light touch while whispering soothing and encouraging words you probably couldnāt hear anyway.
Social workers and chaplains kept pestering them, but Robby eventually learnt ignoring them led to such uncomfortable silence they usually left.
Kiara and Dylan were more persistent, but not by much.
Only Dana and Jack he couldnāt drive away.
Robby sat in a corner of the surgical waiting room with a cup of shitty hospital coffee in his cold hands, his feet drawn up on the uncomfortable plastic chair in a way that made his lower back sting and stared blankly at the wall.
Your friends were here, waiting with him and yet giving him space.
Just two units trapped in the limbo that was hospital waiting rooms.
Robby remembered sitting in one of these sterile, cold, empty rooms when he was a kid, after his grandmother had a heart attack. The nurses were nice, bringing him snacks and drinks and just being there with him without making him perform his fear and grief for it to be taken seriously. His grandmother was fine, but the end result never quite made the hours in the waiting room hurt less.
Robby had lost bits and pieces of him along the way before.
The five-year-old boy who died on his first shift in New Orleans, so worried about getting in trouble until the second his little heart gave out, took a big chunk. You hadnāt been born yet then - you hadnāt even been a thought Robby played with in the dead of night without ever allowing himself to really want.
If you had already existed, Robby was sure that death would have broken him.
Every patient he lost since, every patient he couldnāt help, every case of domestic abuse where the victim went home with their abuser despite everything he tried to get them help, every patient suffering from substance abuse disorder he couldnāt get to go to rehab - he had worked at PTMC long enough now to see them all coming back, one by one, dropping like flies - took a piece of him with them.
His grandmother dying. Your mother leaving. Messing up with Janey.
Everything carved chunks out of him until Robby was a moth-eaten tapestry of misery he barely recognised when he looked in the mirror in the morning.
You were the best part of his life.
The only part that still made sense besides the medicine, and as he sat in the quiet, suffocating waiting room, Robby could not even make sense of that. It ran through his head endlessly, treatment courses and numbers and tracking the progression of the operation in his head, unable to stop his mind from picturing you laying on that table - alone, naked, vulnerable - and he couldnāt stop picturing all the hands that would be inside you, the surgeon, fellows, residents, interns observing from the sideline while his whole life lay beneath their eyes, cracked open like a goddamn lobster.
He barely felt the tear rolling down his cheek and disappearing in his beard. He held onto the cup in his hands as if it were a lifeline and didnāt look up when the waiting room slowly started to fill at shift change.
Jack and Dana sat down on either side of him. Perlah and Princess, Jesse, Donny, Ahmad.
All the people who watched you grow up between stretchers and toys built out of tongue suppressors and cotton balls - some of which had been keeping watch over central for almost a decade now.Ā
They had all come to watch you die with him.
You had to learn to be independent far too quickly.Ā
Another thing he owed you an apology for.
Robby tried his best, he knew he did, even if he doubted it was never enough, but when the Pitt was drowning, he couldnāt just leave because he had a kid. You learnt to sleep on the couch in the breakroom or the on-call rooms even when the ER around you was drowning in noise. You helped Dana pass out sandwiches or juice to patients waiting for hours. You sat with lonely seniors and listened to their stories, or asked them to read your books with you. You played with the kids of patients. You sat on Doc Adamsonās shoulders and bossed him around.
Monty loved you.
He loved you as if you were his granddaughter, and Robby would never forget how you sobbed when Robby had to tell you he died. He was staying away from you as much as he could at home, always wearing a mask in shared spaces and otherwise keeping to his bedroom and ensuite bathroom. He was terrified of seeing you end up in the Pitt, of you getting sick.
Robby had lost much of his faith over the years, but he hoped wherever the thing that made a human more than a meat sack filled with organs went after the body stopped workingā¦ he hoped Monty would look after you.
Not that youād be alone for long.
When she dies, donāt you dare talk me down from the edge, heād told Jack two days ago, who merely looked at Robby with those sad puppy eyes Robby could never endure looking at long.
He knew Jack would have his ass on a 72-hour hold the second something happened to you.
Waiting had never felt so unbearable.
At first, Robby thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He could not even remember the last time he had a proper nightās sleep, much less a nap not taken while sitting in the chair next to you with his back bent awkwardly and his head resting on the mattress next to your hand.
He could only stare, blinking as if to chase away the hallucination that attached itself to his retinas, but the more he came to himself, the more he realised he wasnāt imagining things.
You were waking up.
You were waking up!
āShhā¦ā Robby was out of his chair, and by your side so quickly he knocked the piece of uncomfortable furniture over. āItās okay, sheifale. Iām here. You have a tube in your throat to help you breathe. I know it hurts, but just try to relax and not fight it.ā He brushed the hair from your face, both of his hands framing your head, fingertips hovering just above your skin, barely touching you.
āI know, I knowā¦ā He whispered and wiped a tear from the corner of your eye with his thumb. āOh, my brave girlā¦ itās okay. Itāll be okay. Iām here. Youāre okay. Donāt speak- wait, let me get you a pen.ā
He couldnāt begin to imagine how terrifying it must be to wake up with a foreign object in your throat, to have a machine breathe for you even when you were conscious, not be able to speak or advocate for yourself.
āHere.ā Robby carefully closed your fingers around a pen and held the little notepad for you. You struggled at first to find enough strength to drag the pen across the paper, but after a couple of attempts you managed to scrawl out a barely legible you stink.
āMayn gonif.ā Robby chastised you affectionately, biting back his tears. He didnāt want to fall apart in front of you, not when you were being so strong and brave. āSomeone had to go and get herself shot, excuse me if personal hygiene wasnāt my priority.ā
You scribbled again. Robby had to fish his glasses out of his pocket before the strain on his eyes left him with a headache he really didnāt need right now.
Iām sorry.
āYou have nothing to apologise for, princess.ā
I love you.
Tears burnt in the back of Robbyās throat.
āI love you too. I love you so much. So much, sheifale.ā Robby swallowed a thick, pathetic sob and bent down to press a gentle kiss against your forehead. He wiped away more tears slipping from your eyes.
The pen scraped across the paper.
Scared.
āI know.ā Robby whispered and smoothed down the blanket across your chest. āI know. Me too. Itās okay. Youāre safe now. Itāll be okay now.ā
Hurts.
He felt his heart shattering in his chest and had to close his eyes to fight off the wave of emotions crashing into you.
āIāll get a nurse. Weāll set you up with a morphine pump you can control yourself, yes? Is it okay if I leave for a second? Blink twice for yes.ā
You blinked twice. Robby could tell you were already getting tired and struggled to make your muscles move.
āIāll be right back, princess.ā
He rushed out of the room and towards the nursesā station. He wanted to be back by your side before you fell asleep again. He loomed behind the nurses, technicians and doctors coming in to assess you with crossed arms, scrutinising every motion, every little way they touched you, ready to jump in should he feel like they were not careful enough with his little girl.
You were given a VidaTalk to communicate and a morphine pump, the remote placed directly in your hand. You pressed down on the button immediately, and he felt his heart break a little bit more. You were in pain. You were in pain, and he could do nothing to take it away.
āLooks like I finally found the topic for my college admissions essay.ā The robotic voice of the VidaTalk announced into the whirring and beeping of all the monitors and machines surrounding you. Your eyes were tired, but Robby saw that mischievous sparkle in them that always lit up your eyes when you smiled.
āLetās focus on you getting better first, sweetheart.ā
āI thought you were going to write about your personal hero, Uncle Jack!ā Jack appeared in the door, a crooked grin plastered across his lips. āLook at youā¦ I donāt think you need any of these doctors anymore, huh? Lookinā strong.ā
āLame.ā
āIf you can give me cheek then youāre feeling better for sure.ā
Your finger tapped rapidly against the touch screen. āI feel like a tank ran me over. Can this thing swear? Fuck.ā
Your eyes sparkled.
āHow about we cut back on the swearing and get some rest?ā Robby said softly.
"Party Pooper."
A low chuckle bubbled up in his throat despite himself. The sound felt foreign in his mouth. Heād already surrendered to never feeling it again, and now here you were, looking at him, talking back even if you couldnāt talk - things could still go wrong. One little complication could still tear you away from him, but how could he let himself think about your demise for a single second while you were messing around with your godfather, as if you hadnāt been fighting for your life every day for two weeks?
āIām tired.ā
āThatās normal.ā Robby murmured and ran his knuckle over your cheek. āYour body is using all its energy for your recovery, there isnāt much left over for insulting your old man with a tablet.ā
āIām sorry I was a bitch, Dad.ā
āShh, donāt say that. Itās not true. It was just- it was just a silly fight. Letās just leave that in the past, yes? How would you put it? It was never that deep?ā
āEw.ā
Robby scowled at you, but its effect was severely undermined by the pure, unadulterated joy crinkling the corners of his eyes.
āIām the one who owes you an apology. It was awful of me to say that to you. Iād like to say that I didnāt mean to hurt you, but I honestly donāt know. Iāve been pretty messed up.ā
āI forgive you, Dad. I love you.ā
āYou do remind me of your mom.ā He whispered. Your brows dipped, forming an angry crease between them. Robby smoothed it down with his thumb immediately. āPeople arenāt black and white, princess. What she did is unforgivable, and Iāll never stop wishing that she talked to me instead of just running away and putting you in such danger. But before thatā¦ unhappiness and despair that drove her to do something so horrible, she was also a woman who would have cackled at you putting violet syrup in my coffee as revenge. She would have adored your sense of humour and your courage and the strong, unapologetic young woman you are becoming. She is a part of youā¦ all her good sides are in you, just as you have to live with all my bad sides.ā
āYouāre not bad.ā The monitorās emotionlessness was only offset by the hurt in your eyes. āIām proud to be your daughter.ā
Robby swallowed down another rush of tears gathering on his waterline. āIām proud to have you as my daughter, sweetheart.ā
āWill you promise me to go home when Iām asleep?ā
āNah, Iām staying right here.ā
āPlease, Dad. You have to take care of yourself too, not just others.ā
His shoulders dropped. āOkay. Okay, I promise.ā He said because he could not bear to argue with you, not when he could see how much you struggled to just stay awake. He knew you wouldn't back down anyway.
āShower, sleeping in a real bed for at least eight hours and eating a proper meal, Dad.ā
āWhen did you become the parent, huh?ā
āWeāve always taken care of each other.ā
The expression in your eyes made him falter.
āOkay okay. I promise. Whatever you say.ā
āWill you stay until Iām asleep?ā
āYes.ā Robby pressed a kiss to your forehead. āI love you, sheifale.ā He kept stroking your hair, standing over you while your eyes started to slowly fall shut, not moving an inch until you were deep asleep.
Robby went home.Ā
He didn't want to, but what was he going to do? Break his promise to his little girl?
He washed the hospital grime and fear-sweat off his body, drowning out the smell of antiseptic embedded deep into his skin by now in Old Spice and tried not to cry.
Crying in the shower. How pathetic would that be?
He did cry.Ā
Dry, silent, heaving sobs that shook his whole body, a mixture of all that he didnāt let himself feel while keeping vigil over you and stone-cold sober relief.
He checked his phone as soon as he was out of the shower. Jack sent him an update every ten minutes. A picture of you and your latest vitals. Jack understood Robby wouldnāt have been able to leave without knowing someone was watching over you the same way he would have been watching over you.
He pulled one of the mini lasagnas you cooked in bulk and froze in aluminium dishes for easy dinners out of the freezer. While that was in the oven, he gathered some things from the apartment. The SICU had strict rules, and you wouldnāt be allowed to have any plushies or blankets from home, not yet, but he could bring you some pictures, the charger for your phone, your spare earbuds since he had no idea where your main pair was now.Ā
Entering your room and being greeted by your familiar scent drove new tears into his eyes. The body spray you used that morning still hung in the air, and the crop top you'd gotten into a fight over lay crumpled on the bed.
He picked it up gingerly, meaning to fold and tuck it away in your wardrobe, but he ended up sitting on the edge of your bed, clutching the piece of fabric to his chest as he cried.
The timer for the lasagna sounded through the empty apartment, and Robby almost didn't manage to get up.
He also packed your Nintendo Switch. You would be tired and barely able to stay awake for longer than a few minutes at a time in the coming days, but that would change, eventually.
He hoped it would.
He checked his phone again and ate in silence.
In silence and alone.
No phone being shoved in his face, far too close for his ageing eyes to make out anything more than blurry colours - because youāve waited all day to show you this video, Dad. Just for that one video to devolve into twenty, and Robby started worrying just how much time you spent on TikTok. No bordering-on-snide back and forth between you two that always ended with you doubling over in laughter. It was usually the first time after a shift that Robby felt like he was not drowning. Seeing you happy and bubbly, chewing his ear off with all that youāve waited all day to tell himā¦ it was the only joy he had in life. The greatest joy he had.
You were the only reason he didnāt go on that three-month-long motorcycle trip heād been thinking about, the one where heād just drive until his luck ran out, but how could Robby challenge his luck to run out when you were back in Pittsburgh, staying with Jack while you waited for him to come back?
Some days, Robby thought youād probably be better off without him. Jack would take care of you, he knew that. You loved Jack. Jack had figured out a way that got him out of the darkness that had its claws embedded so deeply in Robby he sometimes wondered if heād ever see light again - but then he came home and was greeted by you singing along to one of Robbyās old mixtapes from college while making dinner in the kitchenā¦
Robby was a selfish, greedy man.
Robby wanted to be a part of your life, of your joy and happiness, and he wanted to see your smile when you spotted him in the doorway every day, and he wanted the way you jumped into his arms despite the fact you were inching towards maturity and Robby towards the grave - at least that was what his aching bones and bad back were telling him.
He knew he would only drag you down. He knew he had nothing to offer you but sad smiles he no longer felt reverberating in his chest, and he knew didnāt reach his eyes anymore.
But he was selfish.
So he stuck around and youā¦ well, you had nowhere else to go, did you? Robbyās mother had disappeared decades ago. His grandmother was dead. You had never met your maternal grandparents. Maybe once you went to college you would realise you had no reason to be around Robby anymore. That he was a mess. That you could do better.
Robby knew you deserved better.
He didnāt think heād be able to find any sleep, and he didnāt in his own bed. He tossed and turned, his mind assaulting him with the memory of you coding, of your blood on the ER floor, of the sounds of your ribs breaking he didnāt hear through the thick doors of the trauma room but still heard because heād heard it a thousand times.
His desperation brought him back to your room. He knew he couldnāt go back to the hospital yet. Heād promised you heād sleep. He curled up in your bed like the pathetic old man he was, clutching your pillow that smelled like your shampoo and that overnight keratin treatment you made him shell out far too much money for every time it ran out to his chest. He stared at the picture frame on your nightstand through teary eyes. It showed you huddled in a towel, your hair hidden beneath the towel, sitting on Robbyās lap in the backyard of Jackās old house, the one he sold when his wife died. You were holding a popsicle that was melting down your fingers and grinned at the camera in that endearing grimace-smiling all six-year-olds did when asked to smile for the camera.
You were so littleā¦
Robby looked at the picture and every time he closed his eyes, he saw you in the SICU, tube down your throat, feeding tube in your nose, old blood stuck in your hair, so pale as if you were already deadā¦
You recovered.
Within a day of you waking up, your medical team had you on your feet and walking. It was painful, it was exhausting and difficult, and Robby hated to see you struggle and the tears of humiliation clinging to your lashes as your team held your arms and encouraged you to move your feet.
It was brutal.
But, and the doctor part of his brain understood and supported this no matter how the side that was your father loathed the whole process, awake ICUs had shown significant increases in recovery rates and decreases in complications associated with the deep sedation most intubated patients were under in most of the country. There was no medical indication for you to be sedated, so you werenāt. You were still on a ventilator for now, but you were awake and walking.
Early mobility kept postoperative complications down, reduced the risks of blood clots and preserved muscle function.
Robby kept telling himself all the advantages, repeating them like a mantra in his head while desperately trying not to think about how much the effort you were taking looked like pure torture from the outsideā¦
Days passed. Timelines for common complications rolled by without touching you. Milestones were reached.
But you were always tired. You were in pain and uncomfortable, and the reality of all that had happened to you slowly started to sink in - Robby could tell by the haunted expression that had slipped into your eyes.
Physically you were improving, but mentallyā¦ Robby could tell you were struggling.
Your medical team concluded that your level of consciousness was enough for you to protect your airway, and your spontaneous breathing tests came back promising.
Robby was wholly unfamiliar with the role of the family member during an extubation, but he tried his best when your doctor prepped you for extubation.
āDad, you can sit right here and hold your daughterās hand.ā He said, addressing Robby as he would any other father of a patient. As Robby had done a million times, but today it felt wrong to hear the word Dad addressed to him in a voice that was not yours.
It had been so long since he heard your voiceā¦
Heād been listening to old voice messages you sent him when he missed your presence at home too much. He was so pathetic, but right now Robby didnāt even care. He sat on the chair assigned to him and held your hand, smiling at you with as much silent encouragement as he could muster. You squeezed his hand when the tube was pulled from your throat. You coughed, and tears rolled down your cheeks. Robby held his breath, eyes flicking wildly back and forth between your face and your stats on the monitor. Your oxygen levels fell slightly while you coughed and tried not to choke on your secretions. A nurse was at your side right away to help by using the wall suction to get rid of most of it, giving you some time to adjust having the tube out before handling that yourself.
āYouāre doing great, sweetheart.ā Robby murmured and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles.
āHi, dad.ā You croaked, voice raw and quiet, and you winced as soon as you spoke.
āItās okay, sheifale. Your throat will hurt for a bit while it and your voice box recover from the inflammation the intubation caused. Itāll go away in a few days.ā
āThirsty.ā You murmured. Robby noticed you were already struggling to keep your eyes open.
āYou are getting fluids through your IVs and the feeding tube.ā Your doctor explained. āBut many patients report a feeling of intense thirst after extubation. You may sip some water, just tiny sips though.ā
āIs that safe?ā Robby asked.
āYes. Weāll have a Speech-Language Pathologist come by to assess her swallowing function so we can determine whether it is safe to remove the feeding tube and have her feed herself, but research has shown that sipping water works best to reduce the sensation of thirst after extubation with no ill effects to recovery. We prioritise patient comfort in these cases over the older doctrines of mandatory fasting periods after extubation.ā
Robby nodded. He trusted your doctorās judgement. Robby intubated and extubated plenty of patients, but he didnāt usually get in contact with long-term ICU patients, nor was he well versed in the more recent research discoveries in the field.
Many liked to call emergency physicians butchers, but when literally fighting for lives, Robby gladly did everything he could - even if it wasnāt pretty. Your medical team was focused on different concerns.
They left after a moment of monitoring your breathing and oxygen levels. Robby held the ugly hospital-issued off-pink plastic cup in his hand and brought the straw to your lips, watching you take a cautious sip.
āJust a small sip, baby.ā
āI heard the doctor.ā You huffed.
āI know.ā Robby smoothed your hair down and shot you an apologetic smile. āYou know how I get. Let me fuss over you. It puts my mind at ease.ā
You huffed again, but Robby saw the smile you tried to hide from him. It made his chest feel lighter to see it, to see your face without the tube and the tube holder obstructing it. Compared to that, the transnasal feeding tube almost didnāt stand out.
āYou feeling okay?ā
You nodded weakly.
āShall I read some more?ā
āPlease.ā
Robby picked up the book heād been reading to you from time to time during your stay from the nightstand and searched for a bookmark. It was your favourite book from when you were a child. Robby doubted your choice had been a coincidence, despite the book never leaving your shelf in the years since. The last time these pages had been turned, Robby sat in bed with you, your little body curled up against him.
Heād gladly do anything he could to bring you any comfort he could in these times.
You fell asleep before he could finish even a single chapter. He tucked the bookmark between those pages but kept reading anyway.
His eyes, though, never stayed off your stats for long.
Robby missed your transfer from the ICU to the regular ward.
Your medical team had been discussing it for a while. You were improving. You still had a long way ahead of you butā¦ somewhere along the way Robby stopped thinking about your death.
He still sometimes woke up in the middle of the night, most of which he still spent in the hospital despite your attempts to make him go home, in a cold sweat, startling from a nightmare where things had taken a much worse turn.
You were talking to Caleb twice a week since youād been extubated.Ā
Things got dark. It was Jack who noticed that it had gotten too dark. That you crossed the line of grappling with what had happened to you into much more unsteady territory. Not that you could be blamed for it. What you had been throughā¦ no child should have to go through any of that.
Talking seemed to help you, but your smiles stayed a little too forced, your eyes a little too distant. That was when Caleb advised antidepressants. Robby closed off. He didnāt want to hear any of it. You were fine. You were struggling, yes, but how could anyone blame you for that? Youād been shot at school by a boy you were trying to help and spent hours running around the school, tearing yourself apart to help save as many people as you could. You starved off death with some gauze and stone-cold determination.
That was no reason to stuff you full of meds!
You were fine.
But you werenāt.
You werenāt, and, as Jack and Caleb pointed out, medication was just another support pillar they could offer to help you on your journey to come to terms with your new reality. It was no different than antibiotics, pain meds or physical therapy.
And just because a geriatric patient was still mobile did not mean Robby wouldnāt also prescribe them blood thinners to further help prevent blood clotsā¦
You had lost so much that day, much more than had become apparent right away. You didnāt lose your kidney, but a not insignificant part of your innocence had been completely shattered. The whole magnitude of the trauma that day, almost dying, and the strenuous recovery process had handed you was only just beginning to crawl to the surface.
The massive scar stretching all the way from the top of your sternum down to your pubic bone and the three smaller, round scars where the bullets entered your body would be with you for the rest of your life. Youād be reminded of what happened every time you took a shower, every time you wanted to wear a bikini, every time your shirts had a slightly lower necklineā¦
Robby didnāt want to, but he owed it to you to explore why he had that reaction to Calebās suggestion. He was a doctor. He should not still be so affected by outdated prejudice regarding mental health, especially in this time they were living in, where the discourse about mental health was as alive as never before.
He agreed to give his consent should you want to take the meds.
The entire time youāve been in the hospital, Robby had been thinking how heād do everything to help you and if the meds could help you deal with your dark thoughts, with the anxiety and sleep problems, the nightmares thenā¦ well, how could he justify denying you that?
Caleb reassured him theyād reassess your need for them every six months. There was a good chance you wouldnāt need them for the rest of your life. You didnāt have chronic depression. Your whole world had been turned upside down, and you needā¦ you just needed some help finding ways to cope with your new reality.
You spoke a lot with Jack. Robby tried not to be jealous. He had no reason to be. Jack was your godfather. Jack had been in a war zone. Jack lost his leg. Jack spent months in the hospital. Jack could relate to this new part of you that Robby didnāt even know.
There was a new part of you, one that your father didnāt knowā¦
You were moved to the regular ward while Robby was at the mall, picking up a new book and a couple of video games youād asked for. He was actually standing in a store looking at gaming laptops, considering getting you one of those since you wouldnāt be able to play on your computer at home - heād bring the thing into the hospital, but Gloria would never let that happen - and he knew there were some games you liked that you couldnāt play on the Switch, when he got your text.
It was a selfie of you in your new room.
Freedom at last!, youād captioned it, followed by a request for your favourite meal. The ICU had strict rules regarding everything family members brought in from the outside, one of which was no outside food. Youād been stuck with unsalted hospital food after your feeding tube was removed, and youād been begging to have it back in because the liquid diet was still better than the disgraceful meal plan from the hospital.
You can have whatever you want, he replied. Anything you want from home?
You sent a list - of course you did - that ended with donāt touch my nightstand in all caps, and Robby debated whether he wanted to know what that was about.
He decided the content of a seventeen-year-old girlās nightstand was between herself and the nightstand.
Robby finished his shopping and went home to gather some comfortable clothes for you, the quilt from his grandma you kept in your bed, a few of your most cherished plushies, some toiletries and a pair of slippers before picking up your requested meal and driving back to the hospital.
He found your room already occupied by your friends. They hadnāt been allowed into the ICU due to visitor limitations. Dwayne was still on crutches, but Robby knew they had all gone back to school a week ago.
Garcia had hit the nail on the head - teens bounced back faster than adults. It truly was inspiring to see how much the four of you refused to let this tragedy destroy you. Between talking about the memorial service the school held for the officer, the teacher, and the two students who died, you were discussing your plans for college and the summer. Dwayne got cocky about how the captain of the cheerleading team agreed to go to prom with him and Mira and Oliver exchanged shy glances.
āI donāt know about prom.ā You huffed and tugged at the front of your button-down pyjama top. The dressing of your surgical scar peeked out at the top. āNot with this ugly thing.ā
āScars are cool.ā Dwayne mumbled around the entire pack of Skittles he dumped into his mouth.
Robby couldnāt help the smile tugging on his lips.
āMr R!ā Mira was the first to notice him.
āHello kids.ā Robby deposited the bag he packed on the bed next to you and brushed a kiss to your forehead. āHello, sheifale.ā
It made him very happy to know you had found the kind of friends who would drop everything at a momentās notice to get to the hospital just because youād finally be transferred to a ward where they could visit you.
Robby settled on the chair Dwayne vacated when your friends said their goodbye and cleared out of the room. He unpacked the food he brought and listened to you fill him in on all the latest gossip your friends had brought from school, the cute puppy video you saw online and the ward gossip you picked up on from the nurses.
Robby could not imagine a place where heād rather be.
Robby found himself growing increasingly fed up with his own struggles. He was sick and tired of feeling like an empty shell. He was sick and tired of feeling like everything sucked all the time and would never get better.Ā
He was sick of hating the day, every day, before it had even begun.
He watched you get better, despite having had to go back in for surgery once youād stabilised to put permanent fixes in place where Garcia had only had time for quick patches.
He watched that haunted expression fade, a little more every day. He watched the antidepressants take effect and some of your old self returning to you. You tackled the full cafeteria during the lunch rush with your therapist, just sitting in the chaos and trying to endure it as your anxiety skyrocketed. When that went well, you moved on to the ER, then the waiting room, and from there you even managed to brave the park outside the hospital.
Robby was so endlessly proud of you, but at the same time a nasty, terrible part of him despised that you got better while he was still stuck, still trapped in his own bullshit as if it were tar slowly dragging him under.
And for the first time since Jack handed him the business card of his therapist a few days after PittFest, Robby picked up his phone.
Dana cackled.
Her laughter cut through the low buzz of ER madness and made Robby lift his head. His glasses sat low on his nose to prevent them from fogging up in the humid air being blasted through the department by the shitty air conditioning unit.
āWhatās that about.ā
āMy daughter just sent me a TikTok.ā Dana turned around to hand him her phone. Robby needed a moment to make sense of the video playing on the screen. In bold, white lettering written across the screen it declared filming my dad every time he uses hand sanitizer. The video started playing, showing Robby coming out of different rooms of the ED or stepping up to one of the many counters, rubbing his hands together. You, in your endless boredom as you called it, had apparently spent an afternoon following Robby with a camera - and he hadnāt even noticed. Every time he held his hand under a dispenser, you zoomed in on him.
āYou went viral.ā
āThis?ā Robby questioned with a raised brow. āThis thing went viral?ā He looked at the number beneath the little heart in the corner. āJee-sus.ā
Dana was still laughing.
āWhat the fuck even is this?ā
āAh,ā Jack grinned as he stepped up next to Robby, catching a glance at Danaās phone. āYou found Robby jrās project.ā
āHer what?ā
āGo on the profile, sheās been making all sorts of videos. The hospital honestly should hire her as social media manager. The people love The Pitt.ā Jack tapped on the profile. You really had called it The Pitt. Oh, Gloria would hate it.
On the profile were a series of silly videos like the hand sanitizer one, filming Jack doing tricks in a wheelchair, asking staff around the ER for their secret talents, a montage of Javadiās best shocked expressions, Whitaker ālooking like a sad, wet puppyā as youād titled the video.
But it was more than that.
You did an interview with Dana, asking her how long sheād been working at the Pitt, why she went into health care, why she stuck around despite all the challenges, what she loved about the job and one thing she wished the world knew about her profession. Youād done the same interview with a couple of people - Jack among them - but also medics, Esme, Lupe, Antoine, and at least one of their techs. You gave Kiara and Dylan a chance to talk about the help available for people that most didnāt know about.
You interviewed homeless people, asking them about their lives, showing that they were human, that most of them had lived a whole life before something terrible happened and made them fall through the cracks.
One video stuck out. In it, you talked about what the ER meant to you personally. You talked about all the days youād spent here when you were little, how much Robby had sacrificed to raise you. You talked about Adamson and the time you lost your tooth because you and Jake were playing chase and you slipped, knocking your mouth against a counter. You showed off the tongue-suppressor toys you built as a little girl, and Robby still kept around, almost a decade later. You talked about how you were almost born right here in the ER, on the way to the elevators, because Robby, in his panic at your motherās water breaking, couldnāt find the car keys. How inspiring it had been to grow up around so many people who dedicated their lives to being there for people on the worst day of their lives, who shouldered the trauma and heartbreak of it all just so people wouldnāt have to be alone in their hour of need.
āThis is where I almost died.ā You said on the video as you walked into the trauma room. You flipped the camera around and smiled sadly. āNobody likes going to the hospital, and Iām slowly losing my mind being stuck here too, I want to go home. I want none of this to have ever happened, but no matter what happened - this is home. My home away from homeā¦ and these people are my family. Iāve spent so many Thanksgivings and Hanukkahs and birthdays with them. I donāt have solutions for all of the things that are going wrong in the healthcare system, but if youāre in Pittsburgh and something happens to you, and you end up at the Pitt, you can trust that my family is going to take care of your family.ā
Robby found himself fighting back tears, just for the video to scroll away automatically and the next one starting. You were following Robby with your camera again, zoomed in on him while nature sounds played.
āHere we see-ā You said in your best approximation of David Attenborough. ā-a common exhausted, overworked, burnt-out health care worker in his natural habitat.āĀ
Robby burst out laughing. You panned your camera over to Jack, who was standing next to you. āThis is the existential crisis variant of the overworked, burnt-out healthcare worker.ā
Jack made a peace sign with his fingers. āI got over the existential crisis.ā
āDid you though?ā
āRascal.ā
Jack put his hand on Robbyās shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. āSheās doing good.ā
āYeah.ā Robby murmured, watching you chase after Jack in a wheelchair. You stood no chance of course. Jack had much more practice than you, but you were laughing, that shrieking high-pitched laugh that was so you and so real and for the first time since the shooting, Robby looked at you and saw the person you were before all of this shit.
But trauma was a conniving, resourceful bitch.
āAre you worried about her getting discharged today?ā
Robby shook his head. āNot as much as Iām worried about everything else. Sheās been struggling with going outside. Her therapist took her to a store, and she started crying and almost had an anxiety attack.ā
āWhich isnāt surprising with what sheās gone through, but sheās not ready to give up on her life just because some asshole decided bringing a rifle to school was the solution for all his problems. She handled that shit, brother. Yeah, it didnāt go how she hoped it would, but she used her skills, and she calmed down again and ended up buying a bunch of snacks to bring back to her room, and she'll be stronger for it. She did good. Healing isnāt linear.ā
That was the exact same thing Jackās therapist told Robby during their last session together. A weekly occurrence at this point.
āI know.ā
Jack kept staring at him.
Robby sighed. āShe wants to go back to school once sheās cleared.ā
āOkay.ā
Robby glared at Jack. āOkay? Itās not! Itās far from okay, man!ā
āShe doesnāt want to let this set her back. She wants to graduate with her friends.ā Jack shrugged. āSheās starting with half days, right?ā
āFor now.ā
āI think itās good. Donāt get me wrong, I donāt like thinking about her going back to school either, not after what happened, but she deserves to move on. She deserves closure. And she deserves to reclaim the school for herself. She doesnāt want this tragedy and the trauma to win.ā Jack slapped Robby on the shoulder and shot him a crooked grin. āGo on, finish up here and take our girl home. Iām sure Robby jr is looking forward to finally sitting on the sofa and forcing you to watch one of her shows again.ā
Robby chuckled. āProbably.ā
He too was looking forward to it, and to many, many more evenings like that to comeā¦
The End
The forbidden sequel (mind the warnings, 18+ content)
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