Ok I love “Trinity knows about Hucklerobby/Huckleabbot first and has to keep it secret” as much as I think everyone in the world should. But recently I realized I forgot to tell my brother I have had a boyfriend for a YEAR!! And realized how fucking funny that would be. Dennis casually walking into the kitchen one morning in a sweater too big for him that is NOT his and Trinity like. Excuse me??? And Dennis realizes ohhhhh. yeah he forgot to tell her… whoopsies…
gonna rework my tags n shi... add some characs there too bc haha hehe puns and random shit
rn im thinking :
pope = pope-tart
jack abbot = jack-in-the-abbot
titus = titus axeforth mwhehehe
robby robinavich = michael robby roBEARivich(haha get it?? bear??)(idk why i just like thinking of robby as a bear hmmm)
Lizzie and Robby both have no idea how to communicate, but they try anyway.
Robby’s eye crinkles continue to make the world go round, thank you Robby’s eye crinkles 💜
Relationship:
Michael "Robby" Robinavitch/Original Female Character(s)
Characters:
Original Female Character(s), Reader, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch, Melissa "Mel" King, Kiara Alfaro, Princess (The Pitt), Dana Evans, Original Male Character(s), Digby (The Pitt), Perlah (The Pitt), Michael “Robby” Robinavich’s Eye Crinkles, Louie Cloverfield (The Pitt), Dennis Whitaker, Frank Langdon, Jack Abbot (The Pitt)
Additional Tags (Entire Work):
Gun Violence, PittFest (The Pitt), Post-PittFest (The Pitt), Homelessness, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Flashbacks, Seriously chapter two goes into detail about OFC’s experience at Pittfest and you can skip it entirely if you need to, The Pitt Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Mugging, random violence, Sex Work, sex work is real work, Louie is FINE, Cops
Notes:
As of chapter 5, Digby, Langdon, and Abbott are all mentioned but not appearing (yet 💜)
Relationships: Frank Langdon & Michael "Robby" Robinavich
Characters: Frank Langdon, Michael "Robby" Robinavich, very brief Dana Evans
Additional Tags: Chronic Pain, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Frank Langdon Has ADHD, Post-Rehab Frank Langdon, Whump, Swearing, Conversations, probable medical inaccuracies, Emotional Baggage, sort of comfort?, Post-Season/Series 01, medical neglect, Sort of? - Freeform, No beta we die like Frank’s self-esteem
Language: English
Words: 3,906
Chapters: 1/1
Summary: It’s been a few weeks, and Robby still hasn’t heard anything about what’s going on with Frank and his doctor. When Frank almost collapses and Robby forces him into a break, they talk, and Frank does his best to explain.
Or; Frank’s knee gives out while walking and I force them into talking a little about chronic pain and shitty doctors.
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THE FIC ON AO3
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Three weeks. It took three damn weeks for Frank to tell him he had made and gone to the appointment with his primary, then with Hagan, and the only reason Robby even knew was because Frank almost collapsed in the middle of his ED.
He could tell it was a rough day for Frank when he came in that morning, white knuckling his backpack where it was slung over one shoulder, an ever so slight limp to his gait. He didn't quite walk like himself again yet, there wasn't the same annoyingly correctly confident swagger anymore, keeping his head up with a grin on. Langdon ducked down more, kept his eyes pointedly at files when he heard gossip nearby. Most importantly, Langdon — Frank, he had to remind himself, now stutter stepped.
It wasn't the most obvious of things. It wasn't always. You'd have to watch him to notice, which meant he knew half the ED was aware of Frank's newfound unsteadiness. He'd lose his footing just a little, need to readjust how he was standing, put a hand out to whatever was closest to give himself that moment to balance. His leg would spasm oddly, and he'd try to shift to compensate, his brows pulling together as he put all his weight on one leg. It wasn't always. It wasn't even usually. But it was enough for Robby to see it, note it, and wait for it to come to a head.
It did, today. Thankfully, not during a rush. Probably made it more embarrassing for Frank, but it made it easy for Robby to help. Especially since he was about ten feet away when it happened.
Frank had been trying his damn hardest the entire shift to not look one wrong twist away from passing out. He did a pretty good job at it too, the bastard. He leaned against the counter, joked with Dana so he could smile instead of wince. He flipped off Santos as she poked at him, was a little more hostile in his constant pissing match with Garcia. Robby knew he was in pain, and more than he should've been, if not just by the fact that he actively avoided traumas coming in so he wouldn't have to lift them. It sucked not having him in there, but he didn't push, not when it was a little over four hours in and he'd seen Frank take six generic acetaminophen just thirty minutes ago, having just watched him pop the same at the start of the day. That could not be good for his kidneys.
It pissed Robby off, sometimes. A lot of the time. Frank's inability to talk about when he was struggling just made him angry. It must've been something taught to him, some shitty thing a parent or partner did, in order for him to act like needing a day off so he didn't keel over on shift was the worst possible thing he could do.
He also, quietly, frustratingly, knew he was part of the reason Frank, especially now, didn't tell him jackshit. Because he learned from Robby, who'd rather work through a heart attack then sit down for ten minutes. Because he'd called him Langdon, made him earn back the right to be called by his first name, prove himself worthy of it.
He'd been talking with Dana about a couple patients needing to be moved, one of which he desperately needed out of here before his mother threatened to sue them for not having an ICU bed open fast enough one more time, when it happened. It was in between glances.
He clocked Frank walking up with his eyes down on a clipboard, muttering something to himself, eyebrows pinched together and glossy under the hospital lights. His shoulders bobbed oddly, like he was tilting his hips to stop himself from stepping entirely on his right leg.
Robby turned back to Dana, frowned slightly, looked down at his own chart, and asked her if the kid with the broken leg had given them someone to contact yet. Every time she was asked, all she said was her mom was going to be so mad for doing something so stupid.
He looked back up to see Frank about to pass by, and four things happened at the same time. He took a step. His face drew up like he'd bit into a mouldy lemon. His knee buckled. Frank just about hit the floor like a puppet cut loose, barely able to shoot a hand out in time to grab onto the station's counter like it was a lifeline.
He couldn't even hide the grimace, and fuck, Robby knew all over again why people said 'I never knew they were struggling until they died'. It wasn't that they didn't know. It's that they didn't say anything.
"Fine, fine, I'm fine." Frank managed out to a Dana and Robby already rounding the station, trying to give them as convincing of a neutral look as he could. He had heaved one elbow up onto the table, leaning most of his weight on that, the other grabbing suddenly at the back of his thigh.
"I'd believe you a lot more of you weren't pale and sweating through your scrubs right now." She flicked at his hand that came up to bat at her own, pressing her palm to his forehead and grabbing his face to keep him in place. "How much sleep did you get last night?"
"Um, couple hours? Y'know, the usual."
Robby and Dana shared a look over his shoulder, both thoroughly unimpressed by that. "Not feverish, just clammy. Have you eaten today?" She asked next, watching him slowly try and straighten the leg back out.
"Yep. Part of my routine." He kept it clipped and nodded, stiff, wincing and retracting his leg again on instinct when something in there didn't like his movement. Robby ran through his little checklist of herniated disc pain, maybe sciatic, trying to figure out the best way to fix this situation without making him stand surrounded by doctors and nurses who would shove their noses in any kind of gossip they could manage. "Alright, c'mon. Break room. Dana, shout if anyone's dying." He got a nod from Dana, his arm around Frank, and a lot of sudden protesting from the man who had one leg that wasn't weight bearing.
"I thought you said you were going to talk to your primary." He grumbled as they got into the room, depositing Frank on the couch who instantly shuffled himself onto his front, hooking his ankles over the arm of the couch and propping himself up on his elbows.
"I'm pretty sure you wanting to know all my medical history is a HIPPA violation." He ground out instead of actually responding, voice tense. From here, he could see the way the muscles in Frank's leg jumped, contracting oddly and making ripples along the scrubs.
"And I'm pretty sure I told you I'd vouch for you so it wouldn't be an issue." Robby pulled out one of the chairs, setting himself down in it and leaning back, tossing his hands up. "What the fuck?"
Frank sighed, low and slow through his nose, closing his eyes briefly. "I made the appointment. Talked to her two weeks ago, Wednesday. She told me she'd contact Hagan again, and when I asked her to refer me to someone else, she told me he was the only one equipped to deal with 'apparent long standing injuries'. Got a copy of the referral and everything."
"But you don't want Hagan."
"No fucking shit, Robby. He's the whole reason I'm in this damn mess." Frank either didn't bother to hide it or didn't realize how much venom coated his words, dropping his forehead to the cushion and huffing into it. He moved one slightly unsteady hand back, and shit that was one of the first times he'd ever seen that. Frank didn't shake. He needed to twist just a little to do as he wanted and grimaced at it, pressing his thumb into the back of his thigh. The tremor put his hand off target, making it practically spasm when it hit wrong, leg contracting to get away from the pain and Frank falling fully onto the couch to quiet a groan.
Robby hated this.
He hated, viscerally, watching Frank in pain. He hated that Frank did this to himself, made himself unable to take the proper pain medication, doomed himself to this entire horrible situation. He hated Hagan for not listening, or not paying attention, or just plain not caring. And, almost most of all, he hated himself for not just fucking realizing.
"Hey hey, woah." Robby leaned forward off his chair, grabbing Frank's wrist and kneeling down next to the bed. "You're gonna suffocate yourself, man, I know this couch is not breathable." He muttered, realizing how cold Frank was. That he was physically cold from how much pain he was in. Goddamnit.
He put Frank's hand palm down by his shoulder and hovered for a moment, unsure what to do, where to put his own hands. If touching him would make it worse, or if he needed that soothing. He'd never felt like this with Frank before, so uncertain of his place in his life. Of where either of them were allowed to grate against each other. Frank had forced his way in, set all the precedents, and told Robby exactly what he wanted. He still did, albeit a bit quieter. Robby just didn't know what to give. He, ashamedly, added that to the list of things he hated.
"Seriously, turn your head or something, if you can't prop yourself up." Robby tried to keep his voice softer, that gentler tone he used for scared patients, people not knowing how much they could tell, what was allowed. It worked, or at least didn't register as patronizing, Frank slowly creeping his arms back up to move onto his elbows.
Frank's shoulders were trembling slightly, probably in pain with the rest of his back and legs, but turning his head probably caused too much trouble right now. Or, Frank was just being a stubborn bitch again. Robby didn't comment on the uneven breathing, in and out audibly through the nose, lips so tightly pressed together they might just get bonded like that, his head practically limp where it hung.
Robby, quiet, placed a hand between Frank's shoulders, one of the first times he'd voluntarily touched Frank since shoving him through the exit doors. "There you go. Just breathe."
They stayed like that for a while. Either waiting for an emergency to whisk him away or for the pain to recede or for a meteor to strike the hospital and kill them both, he wasn't sure, but none of those came.
Slowly, Frank's breathing evened out. He hands stopped their shaking, unclenching from fists and showing off white nail marks bitten into the palms. Robby could still see the pulsing of twitching muscle along Frank's leg and back, but it didn't seem as severe, as demanding. It wasn't gone, but it was becoming something he could survive with.
Robby nodded, sitting back on his heels and pulling his hand from between Frank's shoulders to run it over his own head. There were a few questions hanging between them, and he knew they'd be at least mentioned, but for now, he had a minute. He could wait.
Frank's voice was quiet, but even, when he spoke. "I met with Hagan last week. Thursday."
Robby began another list to keep a tally of whatever the hell kind of bullshit he was about to hear.
"I told him that the pain still hasn't stopped, that it's interfering with my work. I told him about the, the laying on the floor, and that it messes with my sleep, that I-I can't walk or sit down properly some days." Frank's hands clenched again, more from frustration at himself than pain. Robby would take the wins where he could get them.
So far, so good.
"I used all my five dollar words. Tingling, shooting, aching, burning. Making me unable to do daily activities, unable to work. Interfering with my life. Everything a doctor wants to hear. I told him you told me to talk to him. That you, Doctor Michael 'Robby' Robinavich, trusted golden child of the ED, wanted me to get help."
Robby frowned at being called a golden child, adding that to a side list of things to talk about another time. Frank did lift his head now, though, if only to tangle his hands in his hair, but progress was progress.
"I told him all of it, Robby, I swear. I don't even," his hands moved down to scrub over his face and sighed heavily as he spoke, voice slightly muffled, "know what else I could've said."
That caused his frown to morph into concern, shifting back up onto his heels and using his thighs as leverage to stand, going back to his chair. "What'd he say?"
"Robby, I swear, I get why he said it." Frank dropped his hands and splayed them out now, defensive.
"What did he-"
"It's fine, I get it, it's- I'll figure something else out-"
"Hey-"
"Really, I know why, just don't lose your shit at him because that'll make everything into such a big deal-"
"Frank!"
Langdon shut up, pursing his lips and clasping his hands together. He finally seemed to have control over his head, looking up at at the wall. He wouldn't look at Robby.
Robby let the moment sit, anger and anxiety swirling around his chest at the fact that, again, Langdon was feeling like he needed to defend before explaining. Before letting Robby form his own opinion. That he was laying face down on the couch, in enough pain he couldn't even stand, and was trying to get ahead of the ball to prevent whatever reaction he thought Robby was going to have.
All of this? On the list.
"Frank." He exhaled slowly, a bit of desperate need riling up to keep himself calm. "What did Hagan say?"
Frank looked down at his hands, then turned his head to the side a little to see him, eyes darting around before back at his hands.
"He told me I was drug seeking."
And just like that, all that hard work Robby did to keep his cool went flying out the window and smacked into the asphalt. "He what?"
"It's not that big of a deal-"
"Like hell it's not a big deal! What the fuck, Frank?" Robby stood, suddenly unable to think clearly about what he'd just heard. He paced, hands on his head, incredulous. "He has the records of what happened in the first place!"
"He does, and it's not like I'm just doing amazing after being told that by someone, but-"
"But what, man? You can't fucking walk!"
"He's not wrong!" Frank's head was turned to the side, tracking Robby best he could considering his circumstance. "I am drug seeking, aren't I? To him at least. I'm complaining about pain that, as far as he knows, healed months ago!"
What. The. Fuck.
He was going to burn that stupid list he made in the first place, because holy shit, that topped all of it.
Robby turned to him, something boarding on righteous fury coursing through him as he put his hands on his hips. "If you ever say that again, I'm sending you home for good, I swear to whatever version of God you were raised on."
Frank rolled his eyes, flipping his head to the side. It was an odd glimpse into who he used to be, and Robby resolutely did not want to think about those implications right now. "I'm just, I'm saying, I get why he said it. Me going to rehab isn't exactly a secret, Robby. Not everyone knows why, maybe, but everyone knows where I went. I know you've seen how everyone looks at me now, like I'm liable to start shooting up in the middle of a trauma bay. Who fucking knows what version of it he heard?"
"Honestly, I don't give a shit what he's heard, he's ignoring a patient telling him he's suffering. I swear.." He dragged a hand over his mouth, shaking his head and putting said hand up at the look Frank shot him. "You can't walk. That means suffering. Don't deny it or I'll get Dana or Collins in here to get a second opinion."
That seemed to do the trick, downgrading Robby from an offended glare to more of a dog being sent to his crate look.
Frank sighed, able to turn his head fully to Robby now and gesture with his hands. "If you've got solutions, I'm all ears."
"I can talk to him."
"And say what? You're not his attending. You're not even his friend, I think."
Robby clenched his teeth. "I'll figure it out. This needs to be taken care of, Frank. I can't have you in this much pain every day. It's a liability."
"It's not every day." Frank shot back, almost defensive again. "I'm, it's balancing. It's been, hard, the last few months without pain relief, but, I'm trying to adjust. I'm finally feeling normal again on my meds, but then this is getting worse, and now I'm getting headaches again from how many painkillers I have to use." He sighed, dropping his head into his hands again.
Robby was quiet for a minute, his thoughts snagging on a couple different words there. "What do you mean feeling normal?"
His hands hit the couch, Frank looking over at Robby with a highly confused look. "It takes a while to adjust to medications, especially when you hadn't been on them for two months and I'm having to adjust my dosage a ton, and get back into management. I'm just now getting back to take them regularly."
That's when his thoughts caught up, suddenly realizing what Frank was saying. "They didn't let you have your medication in rehab?"
"It's a stimulant and a non-essential medication, ADHD doesn't usually kill people when we're off it."
Robby called major bullshit on that, remembering the many, many times Frank had worked himself for way too long, didn't eat or drink water for over a day, even giving himself UTIs or the couples times he played both sides of the syncope line before he was medicated. He still did some of those, though not nearly at the same frequency.
"So-"
"Withdrawal was a bitch."
Robby nodded, saw the way Frank's entire body tensed and not from pain this time. Or at least, not anything current. He decided, quietly, that's where he'd drop the thought, leave it on the table to pick back up at a better time. One where they could talk face to face. "Okay."
He sat back down across from Frank, watching him for a minute as he worked to relax himself again. It was a struggle, clearly, but a different one from the time he came in to see Frank on the floor. That was urgent, terrified. A desperate need to make it stop. This was something old, frustrating, a piece from before that didn't go away. He wondered if Frank had back pain pre the moving incident, and that had just aggravated it, brought it to the forefront.
He'd ask about it another time, when Frank wasn't trying to get feeling in his leg back or giving Robby a small look into whatever went down in rehab.
It was his fault that Frank didn't think he could talk about it. He never visited, and Frank didn't call after the first one went unreturned. He was glad, morbidly and selfishly and childishly, not wanting to hear about whatever hell Frank caused for himself. He didn't want to get sympathy for that, for what he did. It's why he hated seeing Frank like this, and he knew it, too. Robby knew full well that every time he saw Frank trying not to breathe too deep and press a hand to the wall to keep himself upright, the lockbox he'd put his heart in rusted a little more.
He couldn't tell if he was interested to see what happened when it broke.
Frank looked better, relatively. He didn't look like he was going to scream anymore, which was good.
"Do you want me to talk to Hagan, or not?" He gave Frank the choice, the ability to have autonomy in this. It was a difficult one, evidenced by Frank's quiet contemplation as he picked at the threads of the couch.
"I don't know." He finally admitted, like it was so shameful. Robby supposed it was, for someone like Frank. His voice was even, thoughtful in a way Frank basically never got. "I don't, at least now, want to try pain meds. I just want someone to believe me, and know what's wrong."
Fucking shit.
Knowing Frank, that was pointed. Almost everything Frank did was pointed, done with intention, even if it didn't make the most sense or seemed to contradict a previous statement. Robby had always disliked when he'd done that, been snide and rude in a way that tended to pass by to other students or interns or residents or even the occasional patient. It wasn't rare he got called out. It was rare he got response, and when he did, he latched onto those people like wildfire to a dead forest.
People like Garcia. The surgeon. Who definitely knew Hagan.
"What do you think about telling Yolanda?"
Frank reared his head back, face squeezed together in the middle, looking at Michael. "Why, so she can start poking me in the sciatic when I piss her off?"
Robby closed his eyes for a moment at that. If he didn't know both Frank and Garcia better, he'd think they must've had a messy breakup and very angry sex at some point with the amount of bickering they did. "She might have a better rap with Hagan, or another ortho here that'll listen without judgment."
Going by the scowl that took over Frank's face, it was a great idea he did not want to get on board with purely because it meant telling Garcia something personal that he thought she'd use as a weapon.
"Think about it, alright? Figure out if you're willing to talk to someone who could help you get relief."
Robby knew exactly what he was doing phrasing it like that, standing up and stretching his hands above his head as he looked at the door. "Stay. Drink some water, stretch, sleep, whatever you need. Don't you dare come back out there until you can walk without feeling like you're stepping on coals, or I'll sick Dana on you. Okay?"
They had both been on the receiving end of many a chastising talking-to from her, and neither wanted a repeat.
Frank held up a thumbs up, forehead back in his other hand now that Robby wasn't where he could feasibly see him. "Loud and clear."
With that, Robby went back out into the ED, letting the hustle and bustle watch over him. He caught Dana's quizzical eye, concerned and curious, walking back over to fill her in, and conscript her help in convincing Frank to talk to Garcia.
They could figure it out, help fix this. Shouldn't be that hard.
