The Sniffy Shift (from hell.) AKA Whitaker and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.
Fandom: t/he p/itt.
Collab with the amazing @silentsneezes, bc we have been cooking fics up for these guys.
Word count: 2.8k.
Part: 1/4.
Enjoy <3
7.00am.
“Hey,” Dr. Robby taps against the surface of the nurse’s station, grasping Dana’s attention whilst she was jotting things down already. “Did Whitaker call out sick again today?” He already knew the answer, really, but he had to ask. Maybe the kid had some sense, all of a sudden, and forgot about his constant need to prove himself and work through any and all sorts of ailments.
The blonde woman sighs, shaking her head. She drops the pen she was holding and gestures over to the break room, “no, not yet. Last I saw he was walking out of there. I’m going to keep my eye on him today.”
“You and me both, Dana.” He exhales again, heavily, running a hand through his hair. If there was enough time, he’d try to find Whitaker before the chaos got too much — yet, working where they worked? That was unlikely to happen, especially if Whitaker was trying to be sneaky and avoidant.
•
Dennis had barely stepped through the automatic doors, hadn’t even had time to get to his locker, when somebody confronted him with an overly-cheery smile for how early it was, and carrying a rather oversized bouquet of lilies. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Do you work here, dear?” The woman asks, and of course he can’t just walk away and ignore her, that would be awfully rude and he wasn’t that sort of person.
“Uh, I do, yes. Ma’am.” He quickly adds the last part, once again trying to seem as polite as possible, despite feeling like shit.
Before either one could speak again, the flowers are handed to him, and the woman in question seemingly decides that this is an excellent time to go on a short (although, it felt much longer) monologue on why she was gifting the flowers to the department. He wasn’t even working the day that her sister was treated, or… was it her mother? Either way, despite his best efforts to listen, there was already an ever looming prickling at the back of his sinuses and in the corners of his eyes.
“Uhhhh…” Whitaker peers at her from behind the lilies, already blinking away allergic tears. “You’re very welcome M-hhh-Ma’am.”
Now, he had two choices: stay and chat, potentially be told off for loitering in the process, and have the sneeze fit that was most definitely incoming. Or, he could quickly and as politely as possible leave the woman behind, make a beeline for the break room and drop off the flowers there, hope and pray nobody was inside, have his sneeze fit in private and then get to work. Whitaker opts for the latter.
“Evil incarnate flower,” he mutters, haphazardly resting them in a half-filled coffee mug sat in the sink, not really thinking about the fact that plants do not like coffee. ‘’IiitSHhH!’ And, so it begins. ‘tshiew! ishhh! ishh’shhh’itShHhiew!’ Each itchy, little sneeze hurts his throat — uncomfortably sore from coughing practically non-stop the past two days he’d taken sick — just about caught by his elbow in time. Dennis exhales slowly afterwards, leaning against the countertop for support. He needs to get out of the room of those damn flowers, splash his face with some water and shove his things into a locker ASAP.
Pink around the edges, his eyes dart around the room until they fall on an open tissue box; an underappreciated benefit of working in a medical setting is the constant supply of tissues — the nice kind, unlike the dollar store brand he’s grown used to. He’ll certainly need them. The cold he’s been nursing for the past few days has left his nose in a constant limbo of runniness and stuffiness, both working to give his voice an edge of congestion. Crossing the room in a few quick, nervous strides, he shoves a handful of tissues unceremoniously into his pocket, glancing around as if he could be caught any second.
Once his pocket is stocked and slightly bulging from the tissues, Dennis takes a second to mentally catalogue his symptoms: irritation of the eyes, nose, and throat; no visible rash; no significant difficulties breathing or tightness of the chest — ‘yet’ he adds with a grimace.
After shooting the flowers one last look of disdain, he slips out of the break room and sets off for the locker room. He can practically feel the sticky sweetness of pollen following him across the pitt, clinging to his face and forcing a few stuffy, useless sniffles. By some miracle, he makes it to his locker without interruption. It’s a seemingly slow morning in the pitt, which means one of two things: he’ll either have a tolerably exhausting day, end his shift at the scheduled time, and retreat home to sleep off the rest of his cold. Or they’ll get slammed at the least convenient time, he’ll work himself into the ground for who knows how long, and then pray he can catch a ride with Trinity to the apartment before he finds himself sleeping on the softest patch of flooring the ED has to offer.
Dennis vaguely registers the presence of his fellow med students filtering into the locker room around him, but his focus is primarily devoted to a prickling sensation that’s teasing through his sinuses; it ebbs and flows with every breath, threatening to turn into something more with each shaky inhale. He ducks behind the locker door, hiding behind the metal and pretending to be busy riffling through the contents of his locker. It’s a lame excuse and he knows it; there’s nothing in his locker aside from a clean towel that he uses to trick the scrub dispenser and a few granola bars from who knows when.
“Hey,” it was Trinity, and her voice is actually… soft, for once? She barely startles him, so the change in tone was clearly on purpose. “You sure you’re good for this shift?” She pokes him in the arm, earning a small squeak of disdain in return.
“Right as rain,” Dennis mutters, still pushing the objects in his locker around for a moment’s distraction. There’s an imminent sneeze toying with him, and he prefers it when fewer people witness what she calls his ‘kitten sneezes.’ Really, she isn’t wrong, but he doesn’t feel the need to ever admit that out loud; she’d never let him live that down.
Thankfully, Trinity backs off, tending to whatever it is she needs to do before they start their shift and so he has just a few seconds to stifle against his wrist whilst still hiding out in the safety of the locker. ‘Hh’nNggT, ‘tMmpT, tshh—‘ishhiew!’ The last two sneak up on him slightly, yet neither really assist the itch much further. Dennis sniffles, sighing. Before heading back out into the main room he’s quick to swipe at his nose with a tissue, and sanitize his hands.
Yet, the second he’s back out amongst it all, he spots Dr. Robby across the floor. They lock eyes for a split second, and he’s immediately looking for an excuse to escape whatever incoming lecture is waiting for him. Dennis ducks behind the nurse’s station, grabbing a chart and taking a quick peruse — he can easily handle a nosebleed, surely nothing can go wrong there? Despite not knowing who had put the file down, he double checks the room number and makes a hurried walk towards the room in question.
“Hi, Miss… Trowler, so, your nose has been bleeding since the middle of last night, huh?” The woman isn’t that much older than him, and she nods, holding multiple tissues to her nose. He knew that feeling. “It says here you haven’t experienced any physical trauma in the past forty-eight hours?”
She shakes her head this time.
“Alright. Well, has this ever happened before?” He waits, sitting down beside the bed, and watches her nod. Alright, well, that’s better than it being something new and terrifying, at least. “We may have to cauterize, have you had that procedure done before?”
Another little nod. Great! Surely nothing can go wrong now. He prepares the equipment needed, making what he hopes to be the right amount of comforting conversation whilst doing so, and talks her through the steps despite the fact she’s experienced it before. It goes without a mishap, and Dennis practically audibly sighs from relief, before stopping himself. Because that’s unnerving. Don’t do that.
“Feeling better?” Dennis hands her a wet cloth to clean her face with, disposing of the bloodied tissues from before.
“Thank you, much. I guess I just have a lot of allergies, and this just… happens sometimes.” She leans back on the bed, momentarily shutting her eyes.
“Oh, I know that feeling. Sometimes I think everything is out to get me — pollen, hay… animals. Can you believe I grew up on a farm?” He chuckles softly, removing his gloves. “You’re good to go now, Miss. If it happens again and you can’t get the bleeding to stop, come right back to us, okay?”
Dennis lingers for a moment, unsure if now’s an appropriate time to leave. His words sit awkwardly in the sterile air when the patient doesn’t reply, and he purses his lips, teeth sinking into his cheek before he steps out. For the most part, he’s grown out of his nervous tendencies when it comes to patient care, but occasionally moments like this catch him off guard. The social blunders are small enough to be insignificant, he knows that, but it doesn’t make it less embarrassing.
He reorients himself as he steps out towards the nursing station, giving the room a quick once-over to ensure that he won’t run into his attending. The coast is seemingly clear, so he pads over to Dana’s desk, exchanging the chart for the one of the tablets that are shared amongst med students. Preoccupied with the task of finding a new case, he fails to notice the neatly fashioned bouquet sitting just five feet to his right.
Free from their previous makeshift coffee mug vase, the lilies sit in a large mason jar, much happier with a steady supply of water than the day-old caffeinated bean juice Dennis had shoved them into. The surface surrounding them is littered in tiny yellow specks, spread in a thin dusting that brushes over the desktop, clinging to whoever’s fingertips fall nearby. Fingertips that have been holding the very same tablet Dennis is using.
Usually, he would probably have noticed something like that, but today he’s tired and trying not to stick out; just keep his head down. And, well, maybe it was silly of him to stop paying extra attention to his surroundings in that moment because he reaches to scratch an itch on his nose and only then does he wonder… huh, what’s that on my fingers?
Dana’s been too caught up helping Donnie handle an aggravated patient to notice the flowers, otherwise they would’ve been discarded in an instant. She’s seen enough reactions from Whitaker to know not to leave any non-plastic plant in the vicinity.
“Oh, shit—“ Dennis practically drops the tablet as if it were burning him, which in turn draws attention toward him from both Dana and a few other nurses, and then he grabs the nearest bottle of sanitiser and coats his hands in his. But, it isn’t going to be enough, he knows that. The itch is growing already and he feels an overwhelming amount of eyes on him, whether it’s actually happening or not, and so the only thing he can think to do is rush back in the direction of the patient’s room and hope that she's gone.
Thank whatever deity is on his side today, because she is, and he can fold forwards into his elbow without anybody staring. ‘Hhh’ttshh’ew! ii’ttZzshh! ‘tshhh’isHhh’tSzzsHi’uh! Ughhh.’ He groans, the rapid triple causing him to stumble slightly. Sneezing himself dizzy is unfortunately not a rare occurrence, but it never gets any easier or less frustrating, especially when he’s already spent the last few days doubled over in his elbow.
“Knock knock,” Dana’s voice is a sudden distraction, and he sniffles sharply, turning on his heels just as she enters. “So, the flowers are gone forever now. Apologies to whatever sweet, well-meaning person brought them to us.” She steps towards, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“Whitaker, what’re you doing back, huh?” The gentle squeeze she gives him is comforting, but he keeps the eye contact to a bare minimum, staring mostly at his own shoes instead.
“This isn’t — I’m not —“ he tries, blinking a few times, allergic tears escaping down rosy cheeks before he can wipe them away. “It’s the flowers. I’m feeling better.”
“You sure?” She bends down slightly, trying to catch his eye. “You can take five, go take some allergy pills. I’ll grab some for you if you forgot your own.”
Dennis nods, swiping a hand underneath his eyes to try and dry them, resisting the overwhelming urge to rub them. “Yeah, I’ll… I should do that. Thank you. But, I’m fine, really.” He moves quick, not wanting to linger and have any more questions asked, hurrying to his locker to check his bag for the blister pack of anti-histamines he usually carries. He swallows one dry, grimacing slightly and bringing another tissue from his handy pocket supply up toward his (very quickly pinkening) nose; all before going straight back out there to search for his next patient of the day.
In hindsight, he should’ve taken a few more minutes to let his body adjust to the meds, but if he’s learned anything working in the pitt, it’s that time is incredibly valuable. Maybe if he had taken those few minutes to tend to himself, a patient’s condition would’ve worsened. Right, that’s a much better excuse than abject self-neglect. He’ll stick with that.
Since he’d last stood beneath the massive screen over the nurses station, the number of patients had doubled in their typical morning intake. Skimming the list, he considers a few options — easier patients for now, although he’s sure he’ll end up with something more difficult down the line.
“You’re not cherrypicking cases, right Huckleberry?”
Dennis nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of Trinity’s voice from mere inches away from his neck. “Jesus!!”
Apparently whatever sympathetic niceties she’d offered him this morning had expired within the first hour of their shift, now replaced with her typical sarcasm and cynicism. She squints up at the board, lips curving into a smirk. “Here, I’ll make it easy for you.” Reaching for the (now clean) tablet, she pulls up a patient’s chart. “South 16. Leaking pustule abscess on the buttocks. Good luck, Whittie."
Before Dennis can so much as open his mouth to protest — or gag at the prospect of draining whatever it is this patient has brewing — Santos blows him a kiss and disappears back into the ever-moving pitt. Unamused, he looks down at the screen and resigns himself to his fate. Wrong choice.
He can’t tell what’s worse, the lingering irritation in his sinuses and eyes as he waits for his meds to kick in or the fact that he’s going to be spending the next twenty minutes in very close proximity with an older man’s leaking abscess. The only upside is that the whole ordeal gives him plenty of time to develop a calculated plan in order to get back at Trinity. Roommate solidarity his ass.
He manages to make it halfway through the procedure before his constant blinking results in dewy, wet lashes that cling to one another, only worsening the burning in his eyes. Ducking his head down, he nudges his shoulder into his eye awkwardly, grateful that the patient is facing away from him and therefore can’t witness his absolutely idiotic attempt to wipe his eye while keeping his hands sterile. Unfortunately, it does abso-fucking-lutely nothing aside from encouraging the sensation to prickle from his eyes to his sinuses.
“Alright, I’m going to go ahead and numb the area — you’ll feel a sharp poke, and some burning. You ready?” Dennis decides the best way to go is to just get stuck in, literally and figuratively.
And, he was pretty proud of himself for making it all the way through the procedure without any mishaps — patient related, or sinus related for himself. “That wasn’t so bad!” The man on the bed exclaims, exhaling with relief. Dennis chuckles slightly.
“Yeah, not so bad at all, huh? A nurse will be with you in a moment to let you know what happens next, okay?” He disposes of his gloves, sanitising his hands and opting to mouth-breathe for a little while to avoid the strong scent messing with him.