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Most people think that silence is far preferable to screaming, but Dr Robinavitch knows that the opposite is true in the ER. Screaming means the patient has the ability to maintain their airway, whether that's a construction worker with a crushed pelvis or a newborn baby testing out her lungs for the first time. Silence is a worrying sign. When a patient goes quiet, no longer chatting or complaining about their pain, it's time to make sure the crash cart is close by, because more often than not they're going to deteriorate quickly.
In the same vein, during lulls in Robby's worst shifts he slinks off to the roof and yells at the city below- at God, maybe. And he knows that this is, though unorthodox, a healthier strategy than most.
Shutting down isn't.
Yet as Jake spits that Robby isn't his father, tells him to fuck off, and Leah’s parents tug at his jacket and wail in grief, and Dr Adamson’s face watches him from the photos on the wall, he feels himself slowly slipping away. His heart pounds, his skin tingles. The sounds of the hospital become increasingly muffled. He retreats into his own mind, step by step, the distance between his psyche and his body widening with every meter he walks towards the pedes room.
Why there? It isn't a conscious choice anymore. His feet drag him through those doors and his knees bend as he leans against the wall and he slides down, down, down into oblivion.
Mel only heads into pedes just in case Mrs Cheu is in there, the old Asian lady with the head lac who mysteriously went missing. She expects to find nothing more than the sheet-covered mounds of a temporary morgue. Not her new mentor. Definitely not her new mentor.
“Dr Robinavitch?”
She says his name before she even fully registers his presence there, brow furrowing in confusion that quickly turns into concern when she sees how still he is. How blank his gaze is.
In the past few years, she's become more skilled at identifying complex emotions, and this one? This one she's only seen in one other place- the VA. It's the glazed-over expression of war veterans reliving their darkest days, caught in the throes of PTSD with no grasp on their current reality at all.
And somehow it is now on Robby’s face too.
She takes a few cautious steps, glancing back briefly in case somebody else is magically going to appear, then fixing her softened gaze on him again. His jaw is slightly slack. His eyes are dull, vacant.
He's… gone.
“Dr Robby?” She calls gently. “Are you… are you with me?”
He doesn't move. Barely even blinks. Even as she crouches down a few feet in front of him, totally overt for most people, he remains completely unresponsive, unseeing.
“It’s… it’s alright.” She says uselessly, trying to recall her training. “I’m- I’m just going to fetch some help, okay? I'll be right back, Dr Robby, I promise.”
After gradually rising to her feet (sudden movements are never a good idea when dealing with PTSD), she slips out of pedes and speed walks over to the hub where Dana, Perlah and Princess are currently talking.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt, I just-”
Dana gives her a small smile. “What's up, hon?”
“It’s- it’s Dr Robby. I think he might, um, need a little assistance? Maybe you could get Dr Abbot too?”
She must have a panicked look in her eyes, because the charge nurse immediately nods, manoeuvring around the desk, marching towards one of the trauma rooms and poking her head through the doors.
“Abbot, you got a minute?”
“Uh, just wrapping up with Shen but give me-”
Mel doesn't see whether Dana mouths something else or simply gives the attending a telling look. Whatever it is, though, Abbot quickly trails off, murmuring some excuse to Shen and exiting the trauma room.
“Robby?”
Dana nods. “Mel, where's he at?” Her voice is intentionally low.
Mel gestures vaguely, then realises it's easier and far more discreet for her just to lead them to him, so pushes onwards until they reach pedes again. The others’ faces fall at once. Evidently, his being here isn't a good sign.
She opens the door and steps inside, only leaving the smallest gap for Dana and Abbot to get through. The noise of the ER bleeds into the room anyway. Still Robby doesn't move. Upon seeing him, Dana sighs heavily and crouches at his side.
“I… I think it might be PTSD.” Mel says at last. “He's conscious but completely unresponsive, like he's dissociating. I saw it a lot at the- at the VA.”
Abbot hums, a single, low note of approbation. “It is.” He wanders slowly in front of Robby, then crouches down in much the same way she had.
“Robby? Talk to me, brother. Look at me.”
His voice is gentle. Soothing. It lacks the uncertainty that had plagued hers, which likely means this isn't his first time in this situation. Still, though, Robby remains a blank canvas. Eyes hollow, slight tremors shuddering through his body that Mel didn't notice before.
“Robby, it's Dana.” She too is soft. “I'm gonna put my hand on your shoulder now, okay? Nice and slow, baby, so you know everything's safe.”
Her hand lands like a sigh against his shoulder. She squeezes just enough to comfort without hurting him.
Abbot sits down, now, knees tented in front of him. Arms dangling over them.
“Come on, Mikey, come back to us. You're okay. It's all good, brother, we're right with you.”
Robby’s dulled eyes are beginning to fill with tears that Mel initially attributes to not blinking for a while, but quickly realises are more likely a sign of his distress. His nostrils flare minutely.
Abbot shifts even closer and places his hands carefully on Robby’s cheeks. His thumbs swipe at the tears that crest over them.
“Easy, Mike. Easy. You feel me touching you? My hands on your face? Focus on that, brother. Focus on the physical sensation. That's what's real right now.”
Mel, by now, is at Dana’s side. She leans in a little closer to whisper without disturbing the scene in front of her.
“Has this… happened before?”
“A few times.” The nurse responds, giving Mel a quick, reassuring smile. “He’ll come out of it soon. Always does.”
“And it's- it is PTSD?”
A nod. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Sh-sh, slow it down. Nice and slow.”
Mel turns, and finds Abbot still soothing his fellow attending. The latter’s chest is beginning to rise and fall more rapidly- not a great sign for his stress levels, but perhaps evidence that he's coming back. She hopes so, at least.
“In… out… in… out. We’re right with you, brother. We got you. Come on back, Mikey.”
And finally-
A sudden, gasping, breath. Hands jumping from his sides to Abbot’s arms, desperate for purchase. A shuddering whimper from a throat already scraped raw from sobbing, one that's soon muffled by Abbot’s jacket as he falls into his companion’s embrace.
“F-fuck. Ffuck, J-jack, I- Jesus, I- I can't- I couldn't-”
Abbot holds him tight against his chest, smoothing his hair, kissing the crown of his head.
“Shh, it's okay, brother. It's alright. Just catch your breath. You were gone for a few minutes there, had us worried.”
“‘M sorry, I- s-something just-”
“Breathe, Mikey. No need to talk yet.”
The exchange is so unexpectedly tender that Mel shifts backwards to allow them some more space, but Dana remains unphased. She rubs small circles into Robby's back, murmurs quiet comforts, not reacting at all to Abbot’s display of affection.
Eventually, Robby’s breaths slow down, the hitching sobs decreasing in frequency until all is silent again aside from the occasional sniff. He sags against the other attending and makes no effort to lift himself.
“Mel?” Abbot says at last, voice still low. “Could you please go fetch a blanket?”
She nods, rising awkwardly to her feet. Robby’s chin is resting on Abbot’s shoulder, eyelids clearly heavy. As the name registers with him, he frowns, mumbling.
“Mel? F-fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t’ve-”
Abbot’s gentle shushing cuts him off before he can continue. Mel clears her throat.
“It’s… it's okay, Dr Robby. You have nothing to apologise for.”
His still-glassy, exhausted gaze slides to her. She meets it for a moment, flashing what she hopes is a comforting smile, then steps back towards the door, opening it slow enough that it doesn't draw attention outside.
“Hear that, brother? You got nothing to apologise for at all. Close your eyes. Sleep. I’ve got you.”
She slips through the gap, eases the door shut, and moves in search of the softest blanket she can find.