Jack actually started out on day shift at the Pitt, with regular run-of-the-mill emergencies to keep him entertained. It was as familiar as anything state-side could be. He was paired with Adamson learned how things worked here. While he’d met the other attendings at a faculty meeting, he didn’t really have much opportunity to talk to any of them beyond an awkward introduction and everyone’s ‘happy to have you’ response.
Not like he’d get much opportunity. Adamson announced that budgets were being cut so that most shifts would only have one attending. Once someone was fully trained, two would be a rarity.
Jack still worked with Adamson until he called in sick, and Dr. Robinavitch (everyone calls me Robby) filled in. They each claimed half the department until a particularly bad trauma came in and suddenly they were working in Trauma One together like they’d been doing this for decades.
The first time Jack’s eyes caught Robby’s over the serrated edges of the patient’s belly, he froze for a moment.
Robby’s eyes were as dark and open as a night sky, he thought nonsensically.
After the patient was wheeled up to surgery, Robby came around to put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Nice job, Dr. Abbot.” His voice was as comforting as a cup of hot cocoa in front of a fire, as a flannel blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
His eyes twinkled like stars.
Jack gulped. “Thanks, you too,” he managed to get out.
Working days, Jack realized, would ensure he rarely saw those eyes and heard that voice.
But if he switched to nights? He could start and end his shift with comforting dark eyes and soft voice, and the night would keep him company in between.
Years later, Robby asked if he was still not sick of working nights.
“My therapist says I find comfort in the darkness,” Jack replied. His therapist had more to say on the subject, but Robby didn’t need to know that.
Jack’s face when he says those words lives rent free in my mind.
