dr robby on a rampage attempting to externalize his self loathing onto every person he sees struggling with something he can map to his own Problems™️ but then baby jane doe parries his attack perfectly by being zero years old
dr robby with colleagues: i see you have this problem that somewhat mirrors one of my own, unfortunately as far as my subconscious is concerned you are now Me and i need you to subject yourself to the exact unhealthy coping mechanism i use to deal with this issue myself. whitaker start isolating. samira start repressing. langdon doubt yourself forever. al hashimi Leave.
dr robby with abandoned infant: fuuuuck the only way forward is love and hope and forgiveness
Frank always had an issue with impulse control. His mother blamed his ADHD. His father: a lack of discipline. There was truth in both those statements. But mostly? Frank enjoyed the chaos. Seeing where the dominoes fell and all that. Climbing the tallest tree. Which lead to the obvious broken arm. His innate nosiness. Learning things he shouldn’t. Not planning ahead. Like not hiring a moving company.
But he’s not entirely sure what his body just did could be chalked up to poor impulse control. The early autumn Pittsburgh air cooling. Unfortunately making zero difference to his overwhelming anxiety.
His brain screaming for the release that the benzos gave him. An out from the constant, never ending working of sobriety.
OD.
Benzo OD.
A young guy, like him. Who tried to do it himself. And was now most likely brain dead. Found by his ex wife.
His brain was spiralling out of control. The proof of what his addiction would have lead to. And yet his brain still wanted, needed, craved the numbness that came with the meds. The soothing darkness of sleep. Though rationally he knew it was all a lie. Numbness didn't treat the underlying issue. Just let it sink in deeper. He'd barely kept it together as he rushed out of the Pitt. Ignoring the many voices call after him.
She had found him dry heaving out in the ambulance bay. And refused to leave him alone.
Steady.
Unflappable in the face of his reality.
Always seeing the potential in spite of his cynicism.
Mel’s hand on his arm. His back. Rubbing back and forth. Soothing. Her words just a blur of reassuring sound. But it worked. Slowly, he was able to piece himself back together. Loose stitching but he’d be able to suture the mess bit by bit.
He's rattled. Less composed than he'd like to be at work.
Impulse control.
Frank typically tried to curtail it to having one too many red bulls, or a cigarette that had Mel and Penny wrinkling their noses at him, or letting his thoughts run rampant in his head.
But right now? Still shaking. Gulping down air and clinging to every ounce of support Mel can give him. And he's likely to make a bad choice.
Which is the only explanation for what happens next.
Because one second he’s just staring at Mel as she starts telling a story about Becca. Some silly funny centre related drama. The next he’s pressing his lips to her cheek with a muttered thank you.
Frank’s brain logged several facts all at the same time.
do you ever think about Natalie who doesn't see Gabe but can feel his touch... because she has never met him yet she's all too aware of the immense grief looming over her family... she doesn't know who he is but she knows he's there...
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