Pairing: Michael Robbinavitch x reader x Dennis Whitaker, Dennis Whitaker x Michael Robbinavitch
Description: You desperately need a vacation
Warnings: I don't know medical terminology and lowkey sucked at writing this, sorry smh
Work was unforgiving per usual. LEDs burned your retinas and after your last combative patient whom you had left to your fellow resident, you were quite literally just done with the day. The psychiatric ward, which was relatively calm, had become nothing short of a land mine and you were nothing more than its helpless victim. was nothing that would bring your mood back besides maybe a couple of strong, warm arms holding you close at night. Your feet felt extra heavy today as you made your way down to the ER.
After an elevator and a few twists and turns you found yourself face to face with the bustling emergency room. You gained a few smiles from the day shift and an awkward half smile, short wave from Mel. You adored the girl, even more after your last karaoke night with her and Santos. Yet, she was not the person you were looking for. Instead, your eyes were set on finding your farm boy and mid-life crisis.
It didn't take long until you spotted them. They were both in the middle of caring for a trauma, blood splattered across their patient's skin, dripping down their lacerated scalp on to the linoleum floor. You swallowed hard. Sometimes you missed the rush of a trauma, the feeling of getting your hands dirty and knowing that no matter what you would do whatever you could to keep them alive and stable. However, the overall rush and frustration of the emergency was what truly turned you off during your rotations. Psychiatry wasn't your initial choice, but it seemed you had a calling for it.
You didn't hear Robby or Dennis as they walked out of trauma 1, still wrapped up in your thoughts. Despite being a doctor yourself, you hadn't recognised your shaking hands and clammy skin until two warm hands gently reached for you, one on the small of your back and the other in your own hand. You practically jumped out of your skin, looking up rather quickly. You weren't aware of how much the room spun before, or maybe you were the one spinning? Your mind was a mess of dizzying colours and muffled voices. Perhaps you should have listened to your partners when they told you to take a break earlier that week. A second later and you were slumped over in the arms of Robby.
"We need some help over here!" Whitakers' voice rang clearly throughout the ER. In a matter of seconds, you were lifted onto a gurney with a few helpful hands, a routine check being performed by Robby himself. Dennis looked awfully worried, panicked eyes staring at your pale face and then back to his other lover's calm one. It was a simple routine of checking your heart rate, blood pressure and sugar levels, two of the three being awfully high while the latter was awfully low.
Being in the hands of such capable doctors and nurses who unfortunately happened to be your friends, you were hooked up to monitors and left to rest in your own section of the emergency room. A few minutes had passed since they finished their routine checks when your eyes fluttered open. These lights really weren't helping your migraine now as you squinted to blur them. Your ears rang for a minute before the noise finally dissipated into the distant beeping and buzzing of electrical equipment.
"You're back," a warm voice hummed, a calloused hand gently pushing any hair from your eyes. After letting your eyes adjust momentarily, you were met face to face with puppy eyes and a worried frown. "Hey, huckleberry..." you mumbled, rubbing your face into his hand desperately trying to keep his warmth.
He sighed, shaking his head at your antics. "You really scared us back there," he spoke your name with such sternness that you paused, "Why didn't you take a break when you felt like shit?" The question was more rhetorical than anything.
There was nothing you could respond with, not immediately at least. He glanced towards the closed curtains. "I'm fine, Dennis," you sighed once more, "I can't just take a break whenever I want. I didn't even feel bad until I.. well, y'know..." It was embarrassing to admit that you had fainted at work, even if it was just your overwhelmed body trying to catch up on rest. You watched as Whitaker rolled his eyes, feeling the hurt radiate off of him. "You can talk to Robby about that; I'm not hearing your excuses. What would have happened if you fainted anywhere else? Like, I don't know, driving home after work?" He glared and you swallowed hard.
"Dennis, please- You know I am responsible when it comes to leaving work, I would have napped or waited for one of you," but that was not a good enough excuse for Dennis.
"Oh, really? Just like how you're so responsible with taking your breaks? We have them for a reason. Use them. I'm getting Robby." There was no attempt at being the last word, only a small nod and solemn frown. "I'm not mad at you," Whitaker spoke up once more, his tone much softer than before, "I'm worried about you, we both are. I'm frustrated at the situation."
He turned and you watched as he stepped out from your curtained corner of the ER. Hot tears brimmed your eyes, both from embarrassment and uncertainty that your lover wasn't just mad at you. You understood he came from the right place and that he was entirely right, but that didn't make it easier to hear. Quickly wiping away any stray tears, you sniffled and adjusted yourself, so you were sitting up slightly rather than laying down. The blue curtains moved as Robby pushed them aside, his face full of worry and a smidge of annoyance. Dennis must have spoken to him on the way back to you, although he was nowhere to be seen now.
"Michael-"
"You aren't returning to work for three days, and you aren't leaving here until Dennis finishes work. You can move to the employee lounge after thirty minutes." The older man mirrored Dennis' stern tone with a practiced version of his own. All you did was give a nod, turning away from his gaze. You chose not to argue; they were right after all.
"I'm sorry, really." You spoke up, a frown adorning your warmer features. Instead of being met with the same frustration and sternness as before, a pair of chapped lips gently brushed your forehead while a hand squeezed your shoulder. "Be sorry later, just rest for now." Michael hummed, giving you one last peck on the lips before standing again. "Whitaker needs to cool off, but he'll come check on you later. Rest, please." The corner of his lips turned into the smallest smile, and he slipped through the curtain once again.
You would simply rest until your boyfriend's shift ended and pray he would accept your apology on the way home.
