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Baby Jane Doe’s cries cease and her breaths even, sleeping lightly in Robby’s arms. Her feet twitch slightly, underneath his arm, but otherwise she stays still. Robby stands there for another few minutes, gently rocking her with little bounces as his own breaths settle, tear drying on his cheek. He waits until his eyes lose some of their redness, until they only have the light shade of exhaustion.
Slowly, he lays her down in the cradle. The movement rouses her, and her eyes blink back open, looking at him with an innocent softness as her mouth opens and her arms wiggle in the swaddle.
“Hey,” Robby whispers. He still feels the warmth against his chest, gone when he rubs a hand down his front but lingering beneath the scrubs and long-sleeve. “I’ll give you some formula, then make sure a nurse comes to check in on you after I leave, okay?” She sniffles in response, and he smiles. “Yeah. Okay.”
Robby closes the door to pedes, a quiet click sheltering Baby Jane Doe from the wails of the rest of the department. Lilting back slightly, Robby lets his back rest against the safety glass as he observes the scene. The sounds press into him again, the familiar feeling of overwhelm that swallows you as soon as you cross a threshold.
His eyes close, and he swallows. He aches for the thrum of his bike, the rev of an engine that quiets the thoughts in his head and overpowers the other vehicles on the road. His hands are cold without the leather gloves.
A breath goes in, then out. Robby searches for the dissipating warmth of Baby Jane Doe. He finds it nestled deep in his chest, a morsel of light that’s taken up residence in the empty, jagged edges of his soul.
He breathes again, and feels the steady weight of Jack Abbot’s head against his. A weathered arm around his neck, another wrapped around his waist. A heavy gaze, tired eyes that have seen the same and more. A heart that bleeds and refuses to beat without a shot of adrenaline.
A voice that cracked around the words ‘emergency contact’.
Robby sighs, and opens his eyes. His feet ache as he pushes himself back onto them, his body and the world pressing them down into the floor. It feels like lifting a mortuary bag, but he steps forward, towards the central nursing station.
His eyes look straightforward, no matter how the newly reinstated blue light of the patient board calls to him. He picks up his tumbler and lightly bumps shoulders with Dana as he reaches beneath the desks to grab his backpack.
“Hey, you.” There’s an edge to her voice, a simple greeting lined with fear and anger and love. Robby’s gut twists in anticipation of another conversation about himself.
“Hey. Are you getting off soon, or do I need to call a replacement for you?” There’s an edge to his voice, a light tease delivered with a bite overtop the worry and care. Robby’s mind is too conflicted to decide whether or not he feels guilty about snapping at her.
“I am. Called about half an hour ago, they should be here in a few.”
Robby shrugs his jacket on and sets his bag down on a chair. There’s a silence before his eyes come up to meet Dana’s. He nods and sticks his hands in his pockets to stop them from coming up to that familiar spot on the back of his head, or the well-worried skin on the nape of his neck.
“Good.” Dana continues to look at him, red-rimmed eyes and darkened eyebags. Exhaustion cloaks her the same way it's numbing Robby’s feet. “Good,” he repeats. “You should get some rest.”
“You talk to Abbot?” Robby resists a sigh. He knew it was coming, but he’d hoped against God’s apparent will.
“Yup.” He looks down again and rocks back on his heels. “Told me something about–” he clears his throat as he recalls the confession. Jack’s wording, blunt and direct, cutting through his unravelling layers. The worrying of his wedding ring yanking at the loose threads, unspooling the blanket he’d desperately swaddled himself in as his armour rusted and bent and caved. “–about dancing through the dark.”
He huffs a breath of a laugh, and looks up to see Dana’s thin smile, amused despite herself. Her eyes are searching his, holding the contact that he’s reluctantly granted. Disallowing him from looking away again. Keeping him here, grounded.
“You coming back tomorrow?”
His laugh has the slightest bit more substance this time as he shakes his head. “No.” This, he can say for certain. Dana knows this too, because she nods, pleased. Making sure he’s not killing himself with work, then. Making sure he’s letting go.
“You coming back in October?”
This is where he hesitates. He doesn’t want to lie to her. He won’t. Can’t do that to her. Especially not when she’s staring at him with such intensity. He can’t say he doesn’t know, or that he’ll try his best. But he doesn’t know. He wants to try his best.
“Maybe,” is what he settles on. It’s not satisfactory, he can see it immediately. The ghost of a smile she had drops, and her eyes turn down at the corners. Her face shifts. It’s subtle, but it’s devastating, and he knows that she loves him. She cares about him, and he’d all but told her that he’s planning on killing himself.
He speaks again before she gets a chance to. “I just need some time. I need to get away from this place for a little while. Jack said to take a cruise, or something. I might…I just might be away a little longer than October.”
It’s still ambiguous, but it lacks the total finality that she’s scared of. Dana looks at him for a little longer, searching. She nods, eventually, reluctantly. “Okay.” She reaches out for his arm. The jacket’s fabric cinches under her grip. “Take your time. Take as long as you need, alright?”
Robby lifts his other arm in a slight invitation, and she leans into him. They hug for a few seconds, until paramedics come in with another patient, rattling off their vitals. She pats his back and smooths out the canvas of his jacket.
“You’ll come back eventually,” she says confidently. “I did.”
He smiles at her, and gives her arm a gentle squeeze before throwing his bag over his shoulder and heading out.
He’s not really out yet though, standing in the ambulance bay. Fireworks are still going off in various parts of the city, faint sparks of light in the distance. He drums his fingers on the body of his motorbike, feeling the coolness beneath his palm. The light chill nips at his face, wind rustling his hair. He runs his other hand through the graying strands, tugging slightly as he thinks.
Pulling his gloves out of each respective pocket, he waits the short time it takes for warmth to return to his fingers. Sunglasses come out too, only so his eyes don’t dry out on the drive. He zips up the jacket, leaving it a little open at the top so it closes over his chest but doesn’t press up against his chin or tighten around his neck.
He straps his bag onto the back and swings a leg over. Settles into the seat, sticks the key in and wiggles the handlebars. Kicks up the sand, waits for the engine to warm up to its usual timbre. Even when it’s up to its usual rumble, exhaust breathing out wisps of smoke, he doesn’t set off.
“Fuck,” he grinds out instead. “Fuck! Fuck. Fuck you.” He says it to no one and to everyone as he twists around and unclips his helmet. It sits strangely. It fits, but the weight is unfamiliar. It weighs him down, but he also feels lighter with the straps underneath his chin. It is nothing in comparison to the world he carries on his shoulders, but it tires him more.
Dr. Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch speeds out of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center on a motorcycle, driving at inadvisable speeds at this time of night and with his amount of sleep, but he does so with a kindling in his chest and a helmet on his head, at the very least.
When Dana’s replacement comes in, she pulls them in for a brief hug and thanks them, for more than just coming in on short notice.
(“I passed Dr. Robby on my way here. He was wearing a helmet.”)