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Robby walks past screaming patients and needy residents(read:Langdon), walking briskly in the direction he saw Whitaker take off in, up toward one of the empty rooms upstairs. Robby hasn’t been up there in ages, but he knows now isn’t the time to be evasive, and in a quick movement he decides to take the elevator up before Heather or Dana have the wherewithal to stop him. He knows he’s needed here, especially with Whitaker taking an impromptu break, but he can’t just let the kid go off alone when he’s clearly upset. They take care of each other here, and that’s not going to stop being true on his watch.
He hears Langdon shouting his name as the elevator starts to close, and he crushes the ‘close doors’ button over and over in the hopes it'll get him upstairs faster. He’s not avoiding Langdon, not anymore since they properly talked about what happened in September, but he doesn’t have time for the bickering and bullshit that would ensue if he took the time to stop.
After what feels like an eternity, the elevator doors finally open with a bell sound that echoes around the empty hall. He steps out onto the abandoned floor, surveying how everything up here looks like time stopped. The floor and its rooms aren’t all packed up as you’d expect with how Gloria talks about them. It’s certainly not equipped to handle patients, but parts of it look like it’s never been touched, with half full carts clogging the hall and empty bed frames populating what he can see of the rooms, as most of the in-demand materials are missing.
Part of him wants to go into the first room he sees, but he knows Whitaker well enough by now to assume he doesn’t want to be found, especially considering how he took off without a word.
So Robby starts wandering around with sharp intent, looking around the once familiar corridors and waiting to hear or see something that might indicate another presence. He’s starting to think it might all be a futile waste of time when he passes the same corner for the fourth time, but then he hears it– a muffled sniffle coming from one of the old psychiatric rooms.
The thing is, Robby’s always thought of himself as a caretaker. It’s something he can’t help, something that resides in his bones right beside his desire to be useful. He’s tried not to let it get out of hand, and has definitely had to learn that being a mentor doesn’t, or shouldn’t, come with mothering. Despite this, walking up to the room with the door cracked open and seeing Dennis, his med student sitting in a heap on the floor, makes it clear this is a part of him that won’t ever change.
He’s careful with his movements as he starts to move into the room. He walks over softly, slowly letting himself into the room as he pushes the door open. He cringes when it creaks, heart twinging at how Whitaker flinches reflexively at the sound.
The boy sits in fetal position on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest with his back pressed to the side of the bed. There’s no mattress on the bedframe, just an empty analog chart, seemingly waiting to be filled out. It’s an eerie sight, but Robby doesn’t let his eyes linger too long on anything outside of Whitaker’s shaking form.
He zeroes in on him, noting how small he looks with his hands pushed beneath the crease of his knees. Robby is terrified of scaring him or upsetting him further, and decides to get on his level, crouching down in front of him and trying to think of what to say.
It mirrors them in pedes months ago, but he tries not to think about it. This close he can see the dusting of hair on Whitaker’s pale, thin arms, and he can hear the ferocity of the sobs that wreck his frame every few seconds. It sounds extraordinarily painful, and if Robby can’t get him to stop soon enough, he’s going to have to go home. He’s worked in medicine a long time, but he can’t remember the last time he saw a student hyperventilating like this, refusing to even speak.
“Hey, it’s Dr. Robby,” he starts, voice soft. “Do you think you could talk to me? Let me know what’s going on?”
Dennis ran off without much reason. There wasn’t a death, or a bloody injury. There had been a loud argument between a patient and his adult son in the middle of the ER, with more screaming than necessary and security involved to try and break it up. It was noisy, and it made multiple people, patients and staff alike go a little on edge, but it wasn’t the kind of thing people usually bolted over, especially when the argument remained verbal, with no physical threat. Robby can guess it reminded Whitaker of a worse time in his life, but even then his reaction just seems so extreme, like there’s some piece of the puzzle he’s missing.
Whitaker goes still, whipping his head up and meeting Robby’s eyes like he hadn’t even noticed him come in, despite his footsteps and the noise of the door. His blue eyes are watery and unsure, like maybe Robby isn’t someone he should trust. Robby knows he’s thinking selfishly, but with their moment in the carnage of Pittfest, seeing the distrust festering in his eyes hurts far more than he cares to admit.
His lips wobble as he parts them to speak, letting out a small, “S–scared.” God, he sounds so small, Robby wonders how even ended up in a place like this.
He furrows his brow, wondering what the right thing to say might be. He doesn’t want him to feel too embarrassed to return to the floor after, and he needs him to understand that things are okay, and that he’ll be safe.
“No one’s fighting anymore. We put them in a room just for the trouble,” he says, even though it isn’t true yet, he’ll make sure it happens. No one, not even a patient, is going to put his staff in a position where they don’t feel safe, and can't even stand to do their job. Not while he’s still around to stop it.
He thought saying the perceived threat was gone would make him feel better, but instead his eyes remain wide and scared still welling with tears like the words didn’t register, or like he doesn’t believe him.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” he says, careful to keep his voice low and even so he doesn’t scare him further.
“Help… me?” he asks, his voice taking on a childlike quality.
It stops Robby in his tracks. His brain goes through all the possibilities he’d been thinking of before. He’s not a psych, but he has to be able to read situations quickly, and he knows more than well enough what anxiety and PTSD look like to see now that this is something else. He’s heard of age regression before, but never seen it, let alone treated it. It isn’t something that usually lands people in the ER.
If it were anyone else, someone he didn’t know as well, or feel half as indebted to, he might find a psychiatrist to come help and make sure he came back to himself safely. But it isn't someone else, it's Whitaker. The boy who showed up when no one else had the time, and made an effort to help, even when there was no one around to see. It means something to Robby. He means something to Robby. And he doesn't want some stranger startling him back into sobs again, no, he can't have that.
With a better idea of Whitaker’s headspace, talking to him is almost easy. He’s always been good with kids, and he has the right amount of patience and authority necessary to maintain comfort and safety. He wonders if Dennis would think so.
“Don’t worry buddy, all the bad guys are gone, okay? Dr. Robby’s…” he trails off, still a bit unsure this is going to make a difference. When he sees a hint of hope on Whitaker’s face, he decides to keep talking, “Dr. Robby’s going to keep you safe, alright? You don’t have to cry.”
“All gone?” Dennis asks, his hands shaking. The lilt in his voice and his too-wide eyes would all be so adorable, if it wasn’t so startlingly sad.
Robby doesn’t want to know what made him so afraid of loud noises, but if he ever finds out, he’s sure he’ll be paying someone a visit after. ‘
“All gone,” Robby confirms brightly, forcing a cheery smile onto his face. He’s learned through the years that sometimes, you have to trick kids into mirroring your energy.
There’s a split second where it doesn’t seem to work, and Whitaker is looking at him with his sad blue eyes like he’s a problem he can’t solve, but Robby doesn’t stop his smiling, and before he can speak there’s laughter bubbling over from Whitaker’s lips.
He’s about to say something else when Whitaker dives forward and into his arms, forcing them into a hug.
“Okay, kiddo, be careful,” he warns, but he’s not really complaining. He rests a hand on Whitaker’s back, trying to soothe what’s left of his fear away.
There's a soft, "Love you," said into his chest, and before he can respond Whitaker is pulling away to speak.
“Um, Dr. Robby?” he asks, voice still timid and small.
“Hm?”
“Did you kill ‘im?”
He bites back a laugh at the idea that he’d ever be that kind of person and says, “I don’t hurt people. But you’re safe, okay? You’re alright.”
He hasn’t been this version of himself in so long, voice hushed as he coos softly to calm someone vulnerable. He thinks it’s working. He knows it’s worth it.