Dr Robby’s headache and heart
The Pitt (Tv)
Truly unlimited number of ships - we love our ER polycule 🤣
(Open, Unmoderated)
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“You got a verse for that, too?”
Once again, Dennis pauses to think, willing his futile diploma into good use. He tries to stay focused as he meets Robby’s patient gaze, but the sight leaves his heart kicking erratically against his ribs.
“‘Come now, and let us reason together. Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; if they’re red like crimson, they shall become like wool.’”
“Jeez, Whitaker,” Robby huffs, elated. “You got the whole book memorized?”
“Something like that.”
Robby and Whitaker keep running into each other at the hospital's chapel.
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Darnell nodded, glancing over Robby like he was trying to place him in the hierarchy of important to ignorable and it could go either way. "What's this?"
"MSF FNG," Jack shot back. Whatever that meant, he sounded amused.
Darnell scoffed and looked to Robby, expression going decidedly unimpressed. "Oh, yeah? You here to find yourself? Have an adventure? Do something hard?" he asked, each question more mocking than the last.
And there was that question again, like it was haunting Robby. He stifled his instinct to bite back and kept it simple: "I'm here to help."
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Dennis Whitaker has a hard time breaking his "I don't need food habit because I'm broke as dirt" and now people think he has a possible eating disorder. He's fine of course, if only the hitting the floor and having a seizure hadn't happened in front of everyone in the Pitt.
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"What's this I hear about nude sunrise yoga?" Jack drawled. "Tell me more about these fantasies you have about me, Robby."
Robby shook his head once, like he didn't know what conversation they were having. Good. "It was a joke," Robby said, tone saying this was obvious. "The kid's miserable living with Santos. I wanted him to feel like he'd be helping me out."
"That just so happened to involve a very specific image of me," Jack pressed.
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"IPA," Robby called again, a reminder.
"For that, I'm getting you a Bavarian wheat beer, you prissy fuck." But Jack bypassed the respectable Penn Pilsner and grabbed a pack of their hopped-to-shit IPA, hating himself a little for giving in...but it would make Robby smile.
The door banged open, spinning Jack around, senses instantly on alert as a guy rushed in, black bandana tied around his face, pistol pointing at Sal as he shouted. "Open the register! Now!"
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There’s a hand, fingers cold, on his elbow – someone trying to get his attention. Usually, usually, his staff would know that just calling his name is enough, that he’s fine-tuned to the sound of it like a dog waiting for a command. But as he looks down and then to the person the chilled digits belong to, he finds Whitaker staring up at him owlishly. A shudder goes through him, senses zeroing in on the point of contact.
“Can I help you?” It comes out bitchier than he intended, caught off-guard as he is. But he doesn’t take it back, not even when the kid bites at his lower lip as if he wants to apologize.
“I just wanted to ask if you liked the chicken parm.”
aka Robby doesn't know he's being wooed by home-cooked meals and big, honest eyes.
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Jack and Robby break up with him on a Tuesday.
Dennis lives through it (terribly, in fear, in agony) for a year until his hand slips out of Jack's grip and he falls from the Fort Pitt Bridge.
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After Jack and Robby finally got serious, it came as a surprise.
When a patient's sister returned in the morning—bearing donuts and a smile that was half-chagrined, half-determined, her thank you note including a phone number—Jack was flattered. He was still charting, long past when he should have gone home, but he was glad he stayed. Not because of the phone number, though that was always a nice ego boost. But because of Robby. The way Robby's eyes went flinty when he realized why the woman was there. His smile tight. Shoulders tense. On the surface, perfectly polite. In reality, a storm.
Jack never expected Robby to be possessive.
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