𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔
♡ note: hello hello. this fic takes place in this universe here
♡ pairing: jack abbot x gn reader x michael “robby” robinavitch
♡ word count: 1.4k
♡ tags: emotional hurt/comfort, pittfest, poly!rabbot implied but this fic is very much robby-centered
The emergency room is in utter chaos when the elevator doors slide open. It is normally bustling, but the mass casualty incident at Pittfest has only made it increasingly hectic. Doctors and nurses of the emergency department as well as trauma surgeons called down for consultations rush all over the floor. Patients in varying states of well-being are everywhere. The sudden barrage of sound that floods your ears makes you wince slightly. You already miss the soothing silence of the morgue in the hospital’s basement.
Your presence goes unnoticed as you make your way through the chaos. Everyone is too preoccupied with other, more important, matters than to pay you any mind.
Nearly everyone.
As you pass by Central, Jack lifts his head. He does a quick survey of the room, searching and searching for something until his gaze lands on you. The corner of his lips quirks up slightly, his serious expression lightening for just a moment as he gives you a nod in greeting. You give him one in return, and his gaze lingers for a beat longer, tracing over your face, before he looks away, devoting his full attention on his patient once more.
You continue on.
You weave through bodies on gurneys and in wheelchairs and in motion until you have arrived at your intended destination: the Pediatrics Room or the Emergency Department’s makeshift morgue for the time being. You do not need to be here quite yet, not as the mass casualty incident is still being addressed, but you had no urgent tasks that required your attention. It is not time for those who have passed to join you in the morgue in the basement, so you thought you would join them in the Emergency Department’s makeshift morgue for the time being.
The police officer standing guard at the door allows you entry once you show him your badge. As soon as you enter, everything except for Michael fades away.
You begin cataloguing.
He is sitting on the ground, back pressed to the wall decorated by cartoon animals. He has a hand in a tight fist while the other shields his eyes. The white gown he wears is covered in blood, no doubt from his work in response to the MCI. His shoulders are shaking, and he is muttering something under his breath, but as a result of the distance and the low volume he is speaking at, you cannot decipher what he is saying.
What you do know is that Michael is in obvious distress.
“Michael.”
The call of his name does not rouse any sort of reaction. You frown. Something is very wrong because Michael always reacts, always makes sure to acknowledge you, when you call for him.
You cross the room in a few steps. Your knees creak as you ease yourself down to the ground beside Michael. With the distance between you erased, you can clearly hear the quiet sound of his cries. Something uncomfortable and cold settles in your chest. Michael’s distress, his sorrow, brings you no joy. None at all.
His cries taper off, his breathing still ragged as he attempts to collect himself.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
You disregard his question.
“What is wrong, Michael?”
You have never been good at delicacy, or so you have been told, never one to “beat around the bush” as people like to say. What matters to you in this moment is that Michael is hurting, and you do not know why.
You can hazard a guess based off what you know of him. You know that Michael is an exceptionally empathetic man, a doctor who feels for each and everyone of his patients. You know from first-hand experience that he is a man who loves with his whole heart and cares deeply for others. You are sure that dealing with victims from the MCI is not an easy burden for him to bear, but you do not wish to guess what the exact cause of Michael’s distress may be.
Your question elicits a physical response from Michael. He turns his body away from you. The gold chain around his neck goes taut as his grip tightens on the Star of David pendant attached to it. He brings his other hand to rub the back of his head.
You shift closer until the lines of your bodies are pressed into one another. You will not allow Michael to hide from you. Gently, because it is Michael, you take his hand from where it is digging into the back of his skull and place it in your lap. He allows you. You cradle his hand with both of yours. Your thumbs run over the ridges of his knuckles, sweep along the pronounced veins that line the back of his hand, and glide atop the smooth expanse of his skin. You are not charting new territory. There is no part of Michael that you are unfamiliar with.
“You are a great doctor, Michael. I am confident in your skills as a physician. I know that with every patient you treat, you do everything within your power to give them the care they need.” You pause, looking around the room you both occupy: the makeshift morgue that is nothing like the morgue you work in on a day-to-day basis with the exception of the bodies of the deceased. “You do everything you can because you are a good man, Michael. You are a man who cares for each and everyone of your patients.”
As you have spoken, Michael has slowly turned his body towards you. It is the first time since you’ve entered the room that you have been able to view his face unobscured. You place a hand on his cheek, swiping away the tears that have fallen and the ones that continue to steadily make their descent. Your voice softens as it often does when you are overcome for the feelings that only Michael and Jack manage to elicit within you. “Sometimes that care is knowing when to make the difficult decision for your patients to transition to death.”
His expression crumbles.
“I know you, Michael,” you say, no louder than a whisper.
You sit there, on the floor of the Pediatrics Room, cradling Michael’s face and holding his hand. Periodically, you wipe away his tears with your thumb. There is not a clock in your line of sight, so you are unsure of how much time passes, but you are willing to sit there on the hard and uncomfortable ground for as long as Michael wants.
“I lost Leah,” he breathes out. He is nearly sagging into you at this point.
Your lips twist into a frown. Michael has spoken of Leah, Jake’s girlfriend, in passing. You know how much Jake means to Michael, so you know how much Leah meant to him by extension. “I’m sorry,” you say.
“She came in unresponsive. Bullet wound to the chest, through her heart. We couldn’t get ahead of all the blood she was losing,” he explains, eyes going glassy as he relives what happened not even an hour ago.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” you repeat. “It sounds like she was essentially DOA,” you say, bluntly but not unkindly.
A harsh exhale rips through Michael. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Jack said the same thing.”
“You did everything you could for her, Michael.” He opens his mouth to protest that he could have done more, so much more, but you cut him off. “I know you did, Michael,” you assert, leaving no room for him to argue, “because I know you,” you simply say.
A beat of silence passes.
“I also know that there are other patients outside of this room who could use your assistance.”
You let your words linger.
Michael takes a deep shuddery inhale, closes his eyes, and then exhales. When he opens his eyes, he meets your steady, unwavering gaze.
“Help me up?”
You push yourself onto your feet before assisting Michael onto his with an audible grunt. Once he’s steady on both feet, he takes another few deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. He runs both of his hands over his face, harshly wiping away the evidence of his sorrow, and tucks his Star of David necklace back underneath his scrubs before he turns towards you.
He opens his mouth. You cut him off. Again.
“Go, Michael. I’ll be here.”
His eyes crease as the ghost of something resembling a smile crosses his lips. He nods. He presses a quick kiss to the side of your head, an unspoken thank you, as he walks out and into the chaos of the emergency room.
When the door closes behind Michael, it is quiet once more.