Chapter Text
Jack Abbot doesn't expect to find Whitaker on the roof. He doesn't expect to find anyone on the roof, really. Robby was always the one to find him here, talk him down from an edge he wouldn't have stepped from, shove his shoulder on their way back to the elevator. And when the sun was setting, he'd do the same. Talk Robby down from an edge he would've stepped from, shove his shoulder, remind him that therapy is worthwhile. A bit like talking to a brick wall, if the brick wall was the most pessimistic man alive.
Abbot's expectations are rarely met by the universe, though. Whitaker is on the roof- a soul interrupting his private contemplation of if each day returning to this place was really worth it- of if Robby really would ever come back from that sabbatical. Perhaps the pessimism is contagious. The mousy boy stands on the other side of the railing, hands still clinging to the metal bars in sad self preservation. He can remember when that was the closest he could get. He can still remember the first time he let his feet begin to creep just barely over the edge, moments before Robby wandered out of the stairwell. Unfortunate wonderful timing.
"Rough shift?" He crosses his arms over the railing, leaning on it. The cold breeze of autumn is just enough to make him regret the light jacket he'd pulled off the coat hook on his way out.
Whitaker nearly jumps out of his skin, still clinging to the railing. "Dr. Abbot- I- Sorry, I shouldn't be up here, I should go-"
Abbot shakes his head, his eyes tracking to the skyline. "Got about as much right to be up here as I do. Which is to say, don't let Gloria find out."
The kid blinks. "Gloria? The lady that Robby complains about?"
"The things I'd do to be your level of naive about that woman," He shakes his head, a tinge of a smile forming. "What brought you up?"
Whitaker breathes, his shoulders dropping from his ears. The air fogs, ever so slightly as it escapes his lips, his head hanging. "I uh… had a teenager. Kid, scrawny guy. His dad was the driver in that crash- he didn't make it," He presses his lips together for a moment, something unreadable in his face before the softest snicker escapes him. "Sixteen years old. Sixteen."
Abbot's brows tighten, his brain somewhere between utter confusion and second-hand anger. Deep beneath that, though, a strange bubble of entertainment. Maybe this is how interns cope these days. No wonder he's Robby's favorite. "How's the kid?"
"Scrapes, a broken leg. He'll get back up," Whitaker can't stop the waterfall of giggling from his mouth this time, bending to rest his forehead on the freezing rail. "You must think I've lost it."
"I'm starting to," The attending tilts his head, leaning a hip against the bar, amusement clear in his features. Abbot crosses his arms, trying to stern himself, but the laughter fights its hardest to become infectious.
Whitaker pushes himself to stand, wiping his eyes. The laughter dies, but the tears, the smile remain. "My father died when I was sixteen," He looks at the sky, absent of the stars he saw that night, dotting the blue-black expanse while his mother broke down. The city is too bright, too condensed to show the endless open sky that Broken Bow could. Here, that sky wouldn't swallow him whole. "Cruel reminder. Something like that," He shakes his head. "Sorry- you probably didn't need to know that."
Abbot blinks at him, catching up to the information a few moments late, before a chuckle of his own escapes him. "That'll get you," He shakes his head, his own eyes picking apart the concrete. "Sorry about your dad, kid."
"It's fine. Long time ago-," Whitaker rocks on his feet, his sad eyes glimmering in dusk. "I should go. Santos will kill me if I make her wait," He nearly vaults himself over the bars, a move that nearly draws a snort from the older man. Nearly.
"What are you, some kind of parkour maniac?" Abbot's eyes follow Whitaker as he retreats toward the door. Robby had tried that, once. There's a reason they always climbed under the bars.
"Uh… path of least resistance?" He shrugs, grabbing the door. "Thanks, Dr. Abbot. For uh… talking to me."
"Anytime, kid," He nods, turning back to the skyline as the metal door shuts. His eyes can't help but fix back on the place Whitaker was standing, the place he'd clearly been crying, or near to it. It reminds him of himself, in a way. That cold detachment to grief long buried. Hopefully Whitaker's grief was buried in better circumstances than his own father.
Abbot considers going over the railing. He considers hanging his toes just off the edge, feeling the breeze on his face- but without Robby, it feels cruel. It feels real. He can't. He turns back to the door, to the elevator, to the night shift. He needs better coping mechanisms.
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Abbot's mind wanders at the slower moments of his shift. The soft outline of a boy on the roof. It wasn't his and Robby's routine. Had it been Robby, there would be less concern if he was on the other side of that rail. He knows well he can talk Robby down with enough time. But Whitaker? Was that what he wanted up there, or was he only tasting the cold fear that comes when you step just past that line, into the few feet before imminent release? Would he have gone further if Abbot had never found him? Would he be a patient now, draped in white cloth, the smell of blood permeating his room for hours until the morgue came to take him?
The heels of his hands dig into his eyes, a loud sight escaping him. "Fucking Robby," He grumbles, sliding his hands up his face and into his hair. Pessimism is a fucking disease. An infectious, creeping disease he can't seem to escape from, even if Robby is hundreds of miles away from him and skirting his texts.
Abbot is thankful for the gurney wheeling in from the ambulance bay. Perhaps thankful is an awful word for it- the person on that stretcher wouldn't be thankful for being on it, but to finally have a reason to get off his ass and out of his head that isn't waiting for tests or wandering between the same patients while Ellis and Shen bicker- he's definitely thankful.
Its patients like that that pull him through the rest of his shift, no matter how often the image of Whitaker's knuckles going white around the railing fought to overtake his mind. It's that image, though, that leads him to motion Whitaker over at shift change. "Got a minute?"
Whitaker rubs the sleep from his eyes but nods, waving Santos on. "Yeah. Yes," He speaks, stepping to the side, just out of earshot of the nurses' station. "I'm sorry about last night."
"Why?" Abbot's brows pinch. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, kid," He claps a hand over the man's shoulder, patting softly. "I uh… wanted to check on you after our conversation yesterday. You doing alright?"
"Oh." Whitaker freezes up, a minute change in his posture Abbot was looking just hard enough to see. "I'm- Yeah, I'm fine. I'm doing great."
Abbot narrows his eyes. As much as he'd like to push into the issue, step closer into the depths of that tinge of dishonesty lingering in his voice, Abbot knows they aren't close. They've hardly met, scarcely spoken. He frowns, but gives Whitaker's shoulder a squeeze. There's more muscle there than he's really expecting, but that's useful for a doctor. Maybe Whitaker is some secret gym rat- though mouse is probably a more accurate descriptor. "Alright. Good."
Whitaker nods, glancing about. "Thanks for checking on me?"
"Is that a question?" Abbot teases, a grin on his lips.
"Uh… something like that. Sure."
"Look, kid," Abbot hums, letting go of the man's shoulder. "Robby's told me a lot about you. Good things, you're a promising doctor. We could use more hands on the night shift, if you're ever interested in the dark side of things," He gives the kid a curt nod. "Think about it. Let me know, yeah?"
"Yeah," Whitaker nods, pressing his lips together with his teeth. "I can. I could," He glances around. "I'm sure we have enough people on days for me to slip out for a while. Someone else could take the students," He mutters, justifying to himself.
"I'll handle all that," Abbot gives him a thumbs up. "See ya, kid."
Whitaker smiles. "Bye, Dr. Abbot." He carries that smile through his entire shift.
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You can be warned that night shift takes a toll on you. People can tell you to sleep all they want, but it doesn't ring home until you're six hours in and trying to remember how to read. Whitaker was warned. Whitaker took the warnings seriously. Whitaker's hypothalamus, however, did not.
Lena slides him a candy bar, offering an empathetic smile. He can already see why Dana likes her so much. He purses his lips into a half smile, taking the sugar while he can get it. He'll crash later, certainly, but today is about surviving more than anything. Tomorrow will be better. He hopes.
The work, however, has been the least of his problems. The sights and sounds of the ER have become a strange comfort to Whitaker. He can't put a finger on it- though he hasn't really tried- content to spend his time here, put his whole heart into his work.
"Some of us are getting breakfast after the shift," Ellis leans over the desk, a grin on her lips. "If you don't kill anyone the rest of the night you can come."
Whitaker blinks at her, but nods. "Yeah. Sure, yeah," He looks back at his chart, then back up to her. "Who's going?"
"Abbot, Shen, I'm trying to convince Walsh, we can sometimes snag a nurse or two-" Ellis lists, then grins. "And me."
He nods, the slightest grin on his lips. "Yeah. Sounds fun."
"If you don't kill anyone."
"If I don't kill anyone," He yawns, standing and brushing off his scrubs.
"C'mon. We've got patients, and you've got a long six hours ahead of you," She leads him through the halls. "Maybe we need to add no falling asleep to the requirements."
Whitaker barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "You might get me there."
The second six hours is somehow easier than the first. He assists Ellis where he can, spends an hour or two in Triage, and perhaps a little too long comforting a very exhausted eight year old through his mom's stitches. He ends up carrying the girl to the nurse's station to pilfer for a treat and a sticker before taking her back to her mom to wait to be discharged.
By the time the shift is over, day shift beginning to trickle in as the sun starts to rise. Trinity catches him by the locker with a shove to the shoulder. "You look dead. Worse than your usual sick Victorian child dead," She snorts. "Make sure you set an alarm man, cause if you're late you'll never live it down."
"At least it won't be hard to fall asleep," He shakes his head, pulling his coat out of the lockers and wrapping up in it, tossing his backpack over a shoulder. "And I won't have to deal with thin walls."
Trinity rolls her eyes. "Don't eat my leftovers."
"Won't be awake to remember that they're there," He chirps back, shutting his locker. "I've got Wednesday off, movie night?"
"Only if I can pick."
"You always do," He shakes his head, heading toward the exit, caught on the shoulder by Ellis.
"You've survived your first night," She grins, pushing him along. "I'll give you a lift. Abbot's busy with handover, so he'll meet us there."
"Not walking would be nice," He nods, following her lead to the parking garage.
Ellis' car is simple, clean, and the back seat is far too comfortable for Whitaker not to be tempted to fall asleep. He'd be lucky to get a shower in before bed, though he knows damn well he's more likely to show up to his next shift with damp hair.
Ellis and Shen bicker in the front seat over something he doesn't particularly listen in to, his eyes roaming outside as they drive through Pittsburgh. What had once been a cold, endless stretch of places he had to question the safety of sleeping in was truly becoming home. Even if he never really went anywhere that wasn't necessary. He'd get to it. Eventually.
The diner is small, simple. Ellis parks up the street from it, ushering Shen and Whitaker out of the car. The morning air is crisp, but still warm, August settling into the city better than July had. Whitaker shuffles along, too focused on staying awake to make much conversation. Not that Ellis nor Shen realize it.
The diner is small, simple. It reminds him of home, Sunday mornings after church crowded into a too-small booth, sequestered on the other side of his mother, though it never stopped his brothers from stealing off his plate, no matter how hard he tried not to let them.
Shen and Ellis scoot to the middle of the square booth they're given, Whitaker taking the spot beside Ellis, dead into one of the corners. It was the best spot as a kid, always the cause of bickering between his three older brothers. He knew better to think that he even had a chance of getting into it.
It takes barely five minutes for Walsh and Abbot to catch up, taking separate sides of the edge, Abbot settling beside Whitaker and dropping his backpack beneath the table. "Did we miss anything good?"
"Whitaker trying to keep his head up for longer than five seconds," Ellis teased, handing out the extra menus.
The meal is a blur of strange comfort. Whitaker had hung out with some of the day shift, at Trinity's insistence, but there's a comfort, a familiarity to this. Clearly this is some sort of night shift ritual. The food is amazing, not to mention the lack of fending grabbing hands off of his bacon, and the coffee, however delicious, does absolutely nothing to keep him awake.
If he'd slept a bit more last night, taken the break Abbot had suggested, perhaps he wouldn't be fighting to hold his head up. But the combination of less sleep, warm of food, and the strangely warm presence of Abbot packed into the booth next to him has his eyes fighting to shut. Whitaker's head begins to droop, feeling heavy on his shoulders.
"Doing alright kid?" Abbot nudges him, leaning down to keep his voice quiet. It's not hard for him to go unnoticed between Shen, Ellis, and Walsh arguing over who should get certain cases. The arm on the back of the booth shifts, his hand settling over Whitaker's shoulder. "I can drive you home, if you're ready to head out."
Whitaker rubs his eyes, shifting his posture to sit up more. "I'll be alright. I don't want to leave before everyone else is done," He offers a sleepy smile, an endless softness in those tired eyes and deep eye bags.
"Don't worry. You'll get used to it soon enough," Abbot grins, setting his hand back on the back of the booth, interjecting the conversation when Welsh throws a barb at him. "Your asses in surgery take too goddamn long. If the cuts have to happen now, the cuts will happen in the trauma bay."
The thrum of the conversation pipes back up, but most of the words slide right past exhausted ears, his eyelids drooping again. He tries to pull himself back to consciousness a few times, but the sheer exhaustion gets deep under his skin, burrowing into his bones. He'd need a year to sleep this off- but a whole day until his next shift would have to suffice. Whitaker's head lulls to the side as sleep finally manages to grasp onto him, landing itself right against Abbot's shoulder.
"Down he goes," Walsh snorts, sipping her drink as she leans back in her seat. "He lasted longer than I thought he would."
"20 bucks, pay up," Ellis grins, holding out her hand. "Asleep before we even pay the check."
"Damn," Shen sighs, pulling the cash out and laying it in her hand. "I really thought he'd stick it out. Gonna wake him up, Abbot?"
Abbot looks down at the sleeping resident, shaking his head. "Let him sleep. I'll get him up when we leave. I wish I could sleep through your yammering."
"You're getting soft, old man," Ellis snorts, tucking the money into her pocket. "If Shen fell asleep on your shoulder you'd kill him."
"Shen isn't on his first night shift," Abbot raises a brow. "Besides, the kid looks like he hasn't slept in all twenty seven years of his life. He could use a nap."
"No kidding," Shen leans back in his seat, sipping on his iced coffee. "He could use some caffeine. Think he'll ever get used to the schedule?"
"Maybe after his first day off," Walsh snorts. "He'll probably sleep the whole time."
"We're not keeping him on nights forever," Abbot chuckles. "Robby would beat me for taking him."
"When's he coming back from that trip?" Ellis waves her fork.
"Fuck if I know. He dodges my texts half the time. He'll be back, though. He can't get enough, no matter how hard either of us try to quit," Abbot drains the rest of his coffee from its mug.
They settle into useless chatter, a quiet debrief of the day and its patients, an impressively calm night. A welcome turn from Whitaker's true first day. Abbot was half convinced the kid would keel over in the middle of that night- though clearly he'd pegged Whitaker for being far weaker than he truly is.
"I'm ready for bed," Shen stretches as the conversation dies, waving the waitress over for their checks. They settle on splitting Whitaker's food, this peaceful look on his face a bit too charming to say no to. Once things are settled and done, Shen and Ellis stand, Walsh sliding out of the booth through their side.
Abbot shakes Whitaker's shoulder as the group gathers their things, trying valiantly not to laugh at the sluggish rise of the man's head. "Morning kid."
"Huh?" Whitaker blinks, looks at the table, then Abbot. He shoots up, spine straight as a ruler. "Fuck, sorry-" He shakes the sleep out of his head, sitting up. "You could've woken me up, I shouldn't have fallen asleep on you."
"I've had worse things happen," Abbot stands, the others beginning to file out of the booth. He winces at the slight ache in his leg- a day of sleeping would do him some good right about now. "C'mon. I'll give you a ride home."
"But- I've gotta pay?"
"Don't worry about it. We covered it- think of it as a treat for being the best intern we've got," Abbot grins, motioning him out of the booth.
"He's the only intern we've got," Ellis elbows Shen, but it doesn't stop her smile.
"And a damn good one," Abbot nods, giving Whitaker's shoulder a squeeze. It reminds him of Robby, in some strange way.
The group shuffles out of the diner and into the cool morning air, the city just beginning to truly bustle around them now. Walsh stretches her arms up, a slight smile perched on her lips. "I'm out," She waves, starting down the street.
"Shen, you want a ride?" Ellis offers, dangling her keys. The attending shrugs, then nods. "Whitaker, need a ride home too?"
"Oh- uh- No thank you. I don't live that far," He holds up his hands, shaking his head.
"Suit yourself," She gives his shoulder a shove. "Good work today."
Shen offers him a fist bump as he passes. "We should keep him," He leans to Abbot, as if Whitaker couldn't hear. The two of them retreat back down the street toward Ellis' car.
Whitaker waves as they walk, standing awkwardly in their absence, tiredness sweeping over him again. "Thanks, Dr. Abbot," He smiles, turning his wave to the older man.
"Ah, ah," Abbot shakes his head. He stands firm, though clearly not far from being dead on his feet. "I'm letting you walk home that tired. That's just asking someone to steal your wallet," He gestures to his car, not far up the street in a handicap spot. Whitaker hadn't noticed when they'd arrived, too busy with Shen and Ellis' night shift rumor mill. "I'll give you a ride."
"You don't have to," Whitaker rubs the back of his neck, a little too sheepish. He knew all too well what walking around like a zombie led to- two weeks without money for food and begging his university for a new ID card.
"I'd like to still have a resident tomorrow, and Dana will kill me if she finds out you got murked because I let you walk home half asleep."
"It's plain daylight, I'd be fine-"
"Best time to get mugged," He walks behind Whitaker, nearly forcing him up the street. "It's not a problem, kid. Seriously. Let's go before you fall asleep standing up."
Whitaker gives him a downright pitiful look, but follows him, settling into the passenger seat with his bag settled on his lap, cradling it. He peers at the driver's seat, intrigued by the second acceleration pedal. "Was that hard to install?" He points as Jack puts his bag in the back seat, coming around to the front to climb into the car.
"I'd say no, but I wasn't the one who did it," He snorts, nudging the right pedal to fold up with his good leg. "Didn't take more than a day or two, though. Couldn't have been that bad."
"Huh," Whitaker nods. He has a hundred questions- mostly about the functionality of the parts, but lets it settle. He's too tired to think of mechanical things anyways. That was always his brother's forte.
The drive settles into a warm silence filled with eighties rock. It's an unsurprising music taste for Abbot, and a welcome change from Trinity's hyper pop mornings. There's something overly comfortable about the seat and Whitaker is beyond grateful he won't be in it long enough to truly fall asleep.
All it takes for Abbot to navigate is the street names, waving off any other form of direction as he pulls out of the parking space. "What do you think of night shift?"
"I think I need a six year long nap," Whitaker hums along to the song playing through the radio, his spine a little hunched.
"Wait till you work a double, kid. You'll sleep like it's the first time," Abbot laughs, a brighter sound than it had been around the others, at work. Whitaker finds his mind wandering as he stares over the laugh lines in Abbot's skin. What is he like outside of work? Quiet? Loud? Adventurous? A homebody?
They pull in front of Trinity's apartment long before he can come to any sort of conclusion. He shakes the thoughts from his head, zipping up his coat as he opens the door, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Thank you, Dr. Abbot. For the ride- and the food," He smiles, the exhaustion hitting again.
"Don't thank me, kid," Abbot shakes his head. "Go get some rest. Can't have a zombie on shift two nights in a row," He shoos Whitaker away from the car, waiting to drive off until he sees the front door of the building open.