Chapter Text
Second year resident Dennis Whitaker is a much more confident person than the one who first arrived in PTMC two years ago. The city has become more familiar to him, made friends inside and outside of the hospital, and most importantly, it feels like he’s actually beginning to feel settled into his work. Finishing first year of residency was such a huge weight off his back, that he’s finally able to consolidate everything he’s heard and seen about Jack Abbot, and his feelings towards them.
Widowed for over four years now, Abbot has been a topic of conversation since Whitaker first arrived in the pitt. He’s caught tail end of conversations walking between supply room and trauma 1, unintentionally eavesdropped standing at the central bay munching on cereal bars. Every new person arriving at their department gets a rundown on the pitt’s most eligible bachelor, every med student, resident, or nurse has a niece, a college best friend, a dog walker they really trust they’d like to set Abbot up on a date with. This isn’t even counting the ones from other departments braving the night shift to try their own luck.
And Abbot is busy, kind, put upon, and polite. He takes on the ones he has trouble declining. Dr Evalyn from ortho is such a sweet older lady and her neighbour’s daughter who she watched grow up just moved back in town, or Francis from finance has a strong hand on the department’s yearly budget and a very lovely family friend.
None of them lasts very long, but no one has anything bad to say about Dr Abbot either.
The distance between Whitaker and Abbot is immeasurable, it’s difficult to cross like the Sahara desert, it’s vast and magnificent like the Grand Canyon, it’s intimidating like the depths of the Mariana Trench. It’s the age, the experience, it’s the ease in his fingertips and the controlled, commanding tone of his voice. The scrubs shift into shadows around his well trained shoulders and biceps, small droplets of blood slowly navigate down the surgical gown covering his broad chest during high pressure emergency surgery. The distance is all Whitaker thinks about whenever Abbot enters his line of sight.
It’s a gold rush that everyone is participating in and Dennis Whitaker, second year resident who’s no spring chicken, would like his own sprinkle of gold dust to admire at home.
The bar is gay and loud and the one Whitaker thought he saw a glimpse of Dr Abbot last time he was there. It’s 10pm and his friend has been gone for the past half an hour, his luck apparently peaking tonight with a tall dark and handsome fellow.
Whitaker puts down the beer and walks up to what he imagines Trinity would refer to as a finance bro. His self assured sway of hips and wandering hands do look like they’re missing a grey Patagonia vest to complete the package, but it doesn’t stop him from being one of the most conventionally attractive people in this bar at the moment.
Three minutes is all Whitaker needs for the guy to be all over him. Two years in Pittsburgh has rid him of most of the doubt he had about whether he’s considered attractive in this big city, and seeing life and death in their most gruesome form day in day out has also chipped away a considerable amount of social anxiety, and without the anxiety, his awkwardness. Mostly.
Whitaker slowly navigates them towards the other side of the bar. Once he decides it’s the right time, he moves away from the man’s tight grip on his waist and takes the five steps needed to break away from the dancing crowd and into Abbot’s arm. Abbot only tenses up for half a second when Whitaker goes for a small peck on his right cheek and lets Whitaker settle himself snugly against his side. “Hey.”
He looks at the man that has followed him to the edge of the room and ducks his head into the crook of Abbot’s neck.
“Hey, darling. Thought I lost you for a while there.” Abbot’s hand rests gently at where the guy’s hand was just three seconds ago, and gives the man a clear Can I help you look.
The man shoots Whitaker an annoyed glare and turns around to disappear back into the gyrating group of bodies.
Whitaker leans further into Abbot’s embrace and absentmindedly plays with the fingers that have no intention of slipping into his waistband, unlike the previous ones. Seeing Abbot’s biceps and forearm in scrubs is nothing compared to them pressing into his back.
“I see you’ve kept yourself busy though.” Whitaker looks at the two younger men who are eyeing him with displeasure, and a third guy whose look of contemplation lets Whitaker know he’s evaluating whether he wants to add a new person to his plans tonight.
Like the last time Whitaker saw him at this bar, Abbot has no shortage of men willing to make a fool of themselves to catch his attention, always surrounded by all kinds, all hoping they will be the one to win the night’s prize.
“Only fair to keep myself occupied while you’re out having fun, don’t you think?” Abbot plays along smoothly. As if this isn’t the first time they’ve come this close to each other’s proximity, as if they aren’t just two regular colleagues who have never met each other outside of work one to one.
Whitaker has no intention of blue balling anyone tonight, so he takes his cue to leave. Standing up from leaning against the wall and most of Abbot’s side, he brings his hand up to feel Abbot’s stubble graze against his thumb. He lets his eyes linger on the older man’s jawline a couple seconds before he smiles and drops his hand.
“I’ll leave you to it then.” He gives a small wave and goes back to the bar where his friend is standing, looking around for his mop of dusty blonde hair.
He watches Abbot leave the bar with two of the men later that night.
A fling or a few memorable but never lasting dates, Whitaker thinks he can manage that.
-
It’s another two weeks before Whitaker feels restless again. He hasn’t managed to interact with Abbot much during shift change at all, normal patient handover and end of shift debriefing notwithstanding. Also he never realised just how much Robby likes to end his shift by hogging Abbot until now. The two of them are always chatting up a storm somewhere in the department. There was that one time Abbot talked him through a central venous catheterization on a patient from a construction accident, where afterwards, Abbot patted him on the shoulder twice. But that was very typical Abbot to junior staff interaction. Though he recognises that other staff members have gossiped over less.
He sits on the bench in the locker room, mindlessly scrolling through his phone at the end of his shift. His backpack ready to go by his side and his hoodie waiting for him in his locker.
“Hey, Whitaker. How was your day?” The cold air still clings to his jacket as Abbot walks past Whitaker to his locker, pulling his earbuds out as he keys in the code.
“Okay, nothing special. Just tired.” Whitaker shrugs and looks back down at his phone.
“I bet.”
A year in bars and drunken trivia nights is all Whitaker needed to know that most people are hurting for a pretty farm boy like him. His brain might be slow to react to that fact, but his body has grown comfortable with it with the way he has started to carry himself. The constant Yes/No feedback loop from Trinity every time he steps out of his room with his outfit of the day, has refined his fashion sense to more than the clothes that’s been sitting in his closest from since before he started medical school. Dana and McKay add on a softer, more encouraging maternal touch to his growth that has started to settle the anxious twitch in his hands, and smooths out the uneasy furrow of his brow whenever tensions are high and the attention is all on him.
Whitaker stands up to put on his hoodie and closes his locker. He turns to his left to see Abbot almost ready for his shift ahead.
He takes one step forward.
Abbot looks at him and closes his locker slowly.
Abbot’s lips turn downward naturally. Whitaker noticed it after the third time he overheard the night nurses talk about seeing Abbot out on a date with a bombshell brunette. Someone from peds’ god mother’s babysitter’s older sister, who’s VP at a well known law firm and apparently used to be engaged to some influential lobbyist in DC.
His short stubble is light grey and Whitaker has never seen anyone wear them so well in his life. Does he shave before or after he sleeps? What is the first thing he does when he wakes up? Did those other people get the answer to those questions?
Whitaker takes half a step further and into Abbot’s space. He places his hand at the back of Abbot’s neck and slowly moves up, passes through the short hairs and right into the grey curls. Abbot doesn’t move an inch, but he doesn’t step back either.
Whitaker places the gentlest of pressure on the pads on his index and fore finger and opens his mouth.
Abbot follows his direction easily. The scent of fresh pine and cedarwood fills his lungs as Abbot presses his lips against Whitaker’s. Adrenaline flushes Whitaker’s body and his other hand clutches tighter around Abbot’s scrubs. There’s a hunger in him that he hasn’t realised until he’s got a real taste of what it feels to hold Abbot’s sole attention. To know that Abbot feels attraction towards him.
He thought he would be nervous, he thought his hands would shake, his jaw would ache with tension. But as the kiss slows down to laps at Abbot’s mouth, his stubble grazing his skin, Whitaker feels calm. He can feel his own heartbeat in his chest, loud and faster paced than usual. But Abbot gives off a mollifying presence that Whitaker’s subconscious is picking up on.
Abbot’s hand is gentle on his cheek, one two slow strokes of his thumb. He pulls back slightly to look at Whitaker, who’s a little short of breath. There’s warm amusement in his eyes when he tilts his head to signal a ‘You good?’
This is what’s got everybody in a frenzy. Whitaker understands. He smiles at Abbot and nods his head twice.
“Have a good shift, Dr Abbot.” Whitaker grabs his backpack off the bench and gives Abbot a nod before pushing himself through the heavy wooden doors.
-
He knows Abbot is trying to get his attention.
It’s a huge ego boost for Dr Abbot’s eyes to be trained on you for about an hour every day. He is damn subtle about it though, so Whitaker isn’t sure if other people have picked up on it yet.
Whitaker’s grandmother had once told them to always leave a man wanting more. Although in retrospect, perhaps Whitaker got the perspective on that the other way around, because why would grandma Eleanor give that as dating advice to four boys. Maybe she didn’t word it exactly like that either. But little Whitaker had always interpreted that as direct advice.
Either way, Whitaker is an insatiable learner who’s very busy caring for patients and doing handovers at the end of his shifts. He’s also busy helping Dr Langdon brainstorm the birthday party he’s determined to throw for Mel, because he accidentally forgot about it last year. All he’s come up with so far is that Mel likes helping people, likes her sister, and likes animals. God help that man.
Not to mention the load-bearing task of helping Trinity run the ER betting pool on when Dr Robby and Dr Collins will get back together. It is not the only bet available in the market, just the one most likely to happen within the next three months. There’s one for Dr Abbot and Dr Robby, and another for Dr Abbot and Samira. Both of which he’s personally put 20 dollars against, each. There’s a small chance he might lose the Dr Robby one, but god forbid if he loses the Samira one. Nothing against Samira, she is beautiful and competent. But them young ones against each other? He thinks he’s got a fighting chance.
Noticeably none for Whitaker and Dr Abbot. Whitaker has registered a formal complaint via official channels (a fridge magnet note with ‘Betting pool option: Whitaker + Dr Abbot??’, with Abbot underlined 3 times). Trinity says options with negative odds are not allowed.
There’s a Dr Robby and Whitaker one which Whitaker himself is not allowed to bet against, because that would ‘go against the spirit of betting’.
“He’s like a father figure to me! He’s warm and nice and, and vulnerable. Thinking about him like that feels…sinful, wrong.”
“Oh and Abbot, who has just as big of a problematic age gap with you, is also a senior attending, is also like the dad of the department, is not a father figure?” Trinity gestures wildly with her hands.
“No.” Whitaker points, pointedly, “Dr Abbot, at a, at a stretch, a very high tensile strength stretch, is an Uncle Figure.”
“Uncle Figure,” Trinity flings an arm out in frustration, “do you even hear yourself?”
“You and Dr Abbot?” Both Whitaker and Trinity jump at the sudden voice behind them. Mel taps her chin with a pen while both residents wait for her verdict. The thought rolls around her head like a gumball looking for an exit.
“I can see it.” She allows brightly.
“Thank you!” Whitaker throws his hands up like an important decision has been made. Behind him, Trinity makes a cutting motion around her neck at Mel.
There’s one for Trinity herself and Dr Ellis, which Trinity has put 100 dollars on because she runs the pool and that’s not going against the spirit of betting.
She takes 15% off the betting money. There are around twenty betting options. Never say Trinity is not an entrepreneurial woman.
Whitaker wonders if Abbot knows about the pool, if he’s placed any bets himself. Trinity refuses to divulge out of professionalism.
-
Today is the one day of the month that Abbot’s schedule lines up to join the street team. They’re meeting up at Second Avenue Commons at 8:30am, and Whitaker has got a dirty chai latte with McKay’s name written on it.
“Mornin’.” McKay’s hair is messy but beautiful as ever.
“Heyy.” Whitaker hands her the takeaway cup and readjusts his backpack strap. “Late night?”
“Not really, I dropped Harrison off at my dad’s last night. I just definitely overslept this morning.” She rolls her eyes and bobs her head a little.
Whitaker chuckles. “Good sleep though?”
“Oh, yeah. Needed that.” She toasts her coffee at Whitaker and takes a big sip.
“Can I - maybe, switch partners with you today?”
“Oh yeah, who you got?”
“Dr Ansari.” A cheerful and talkative attending from dermatology.
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” McKay nods without even checking who she’s supposed to be paired up with today.
Everyone’s mingling around the folding table waiting for the morning brief when Abbot saunters up with his camo backpack and half permanent down jacket.
Whitaker saw him from a mile away.
“We’re partnered up today.” He smiles up at the older doctor, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Are we now.” Abbot returns the smile, just as Kiara claps twice to get everyone’s attention.
They spend most of the day sitting at a wooden desk that’s seen better days in the shelter. Abbot typing away at the hospital-provided laptop with diagnosis, care plan, and referrals. He listens intently to every patient and asks questions gently. There’s a plastic box of medication sitting between them behind the table, some for substance abuse, some blood pressure medication, antibiotics, you name it.
Whitaker focuses very hard on his side of the table, mostly lacerations, lesions, minor burns, parasitic infestations. Abbot is not making the task easy wearing those black rimmed glasses that rides low on the bridge of his nose.
Let no one ever accuse Dr Abbot of not having great bedside manners. His light and understanding tone, coaxes medical histories from patients. His easy humour lets people talk about their issues, talk about themselves without fear of judgement.
Whitaker tries to emulate him by making small talk with his patients. He’s sure he doesn’t achieve even 20% of what Abbot does, but his boyish Midwestern charm carries him through most of it.
If their table is one of the last to finish up, it’s not because Dr Abbot loves a chat, their patients just have interesting lives.
When they walk out the building, there’s still enough sun at 3:45pm. They had some ham and cheese sandwiches that Kiara prepared for the volunteers at noon, but Whitaker is absolutely starving.
“You wanna grab something and eat at the park?” Whitaker squints upward, eyes still adjusting to the sunlight.
Abbot looks at him for a second and nods, “Can do.”
They found a Polish food truck nearby and ordered two Grilled Kielbasa with toasted Italian bread and one serving of pierogies to share. Settling themselves down on a park bench nearby, Whitaker went to town on the food.
Their spot is up on the south side overlooking downtown and Monongahela River. It’s always great to breathe in the fresh air when the sun’s still out. 12 hour shifts really aren’t for the weak, especially in the winter when the days are short and the skies are grey. The farm boy in him wanes in the harsh hospital lights and sterile walls.
Whitaker is finishing the last of the pierogies, his hunger is satiated and his body is working on digesting the food, keeping him warm in the autumn breeze. He turns to see that Abbot is watching him, his water bottle dangling loosely off his fingers, sandwich long finished.
He is just about to ask what’s the matter when Abbot leans into his space. He stops just a second, then licks a bit of sauce off the corner of Whitaker’s mouth and goes further in for a kiss.
When Whitaker was nine, he followed one of his brothers to the barn to go look at the newly hatched chicks. Being the youngest child and born shorter than all his brothers, his parents did not want him anywhere near farm work. Austin was twelve and loved him and his doe eyes to bits. He was always the gentlest with him. And even though he didn’t quite have the strength to push back against their older brothers at the time, he would stand up to his bullies at school.
He couldn’t handle Whitaker running into their shared bedroom and sitting on his bed blinking back tears at being left out of yet another family activity. He had learnt early on that no amount of screaming or whining could compete with his three older brothers, nor did anyone have time to slow down and entertain a tantrum in a working farm.
Austin sneaked Whitaker out from the back of the house and into the disrepaired bran. While his brother cleaned out the bottom of the chicken brooder, Whitaker was sent to the second floor to refill the drinker and chick starter. He had finished changing out the water and was playing with the chicks when a hen suddenly charged at him, pecking at his legs with its sharp beak, wings flapping and squawking loudly. He yelped and backed away, only for another hen to trip him from the back. He fell backwards and stepped right onto air.
He is reminded of the way his heart leapt to his throat in that moment, his chest seizing up so tight he couldn’t make a sound.
-
Whitaker is walking down a familiar road to take the bus back to his flat from work when he catches the familiar silhouette of Jack Abbot from the corner of his eye, sitting at the window seat of a cafe. Opposite him is a well built man, his well defined muscles can easily be observed through his dark navy polo, even from across the street. He looks to be taller than Abbot, blonde hair like Whitaker, though much thicker, likely volume increasing hair gel. Quite the looker, and he’s agitated? Distressed? As he speaks to Abbot.
Whitaker’s legs are already moving across the street and into the cafe before his brain has a chance to catch up with that decision. He pretends to stand in line and strains his ears to hear what is being said.
It’s honestly very difficult to hear. They’re sitting two tables away from Whitaker’s vantage point and other patrons aren’t exactly quiet. But he can make out a breakup conversation regardless. Trinity would be thrilled to the bones if she managed to eavesdrop on an attending physician’s breakup in a random cafe.
Abbot is clearly the one who’s breaking things off and the man is not happy about it, he’s holding onto Abbot’s hand in a tight grip, and the physician is having difficulty removing his hand without causing too much of a scene.
Whitaker feels an adrenaline rush as he approaches the table.
“Jack, what is this?” He demands, pointing at the other man. “Are you fucking around on me again? I told you our break was over two weeks ago. We’re supposed to go visit my family for thanksgiving this year, for fuck’s sake.”
Abbot’s face goes from shock to shame immediately. “Darling…” he stands up awkwardly and tries to touch his arm, which Whitaker bats away with force. “It’s not what you think. I tried to break things off after we got back together…but he just won’t accept it.” Men when properly chastised and shamed, really can look like kicked puppies.
Whitaker turns to face the man who apparently likes the taste of Abbot a little too much, which is something he can definitely source anger and jealousy from. He musters all the venom and resentment he can fake and glares at him. “Like stealing other people’s men, do we?”
The man’s face has turned beet red during their confrontation, Abbot’s hand has been freed almost the moment Whitaker started talking. “Sorry, I didn’t know.” He picks up his things and scrambles out of the cafe.
Once they’re sure the man has left, Abbot sits back into his chair and laughs into his loose fist. “Whitaker, you’re something else, man.” He chuckles some more, looking at Whitaker consideringly. “Do people at the hospital know you’re a wildcard like that?”
Whitaker sits down opposite him and smiles. “This level of wildcard…probably just Trinity.”
Abbot nods, clearly still impressed. Then he groans suddenly, seemingly having just remembered something. “Now everyone in the tennis club is going to hear about this,” he shakes his head, “It’s okay, not having any more blind dates from there is probably a good thing in the long run.”
Abbot tells him about the man. The son of a New York financier who’s got all the brash confidence in the world, asked him out in front of everyone at the tennis club. Abbot felt pressured with everyone saying he should give it a shot in that moment, given he’s single and they both have shared interest in tennis and all. Shared interest my ass, Abbot mutters.
After the first date, Abbot knew it was a total lost cause. He felt zero attraction, but the man must have learnt that persistence is key from his father. He coaxed a second date out of Abbot, saying to give him one more chance to prove they can be something together. Abbot thought being a little more direct about his rejection would do the trick this time around, but the man’s been texting him non-stop since, pestering him so much that he’s stopped going to the tennis club at all.
Today was Abbot trying to be an adult once again and tell him to stop face to face. Whitaker’s impromptu lie was actually spot on, the second date was just about two weeks ago.
“If you hadn’t shown up, I’d probably just have to block him and find a new tennis club, which would be a hassle since the one I go to now is a perfect distance between the hospital and my house.” Abbot drinks the rest of his now cold tea and shrugs. “People are gonna talk, but as long as I get my cardio in, I’m good.”
Whitaker’s got his cheek on his palm, an entertained smile on his lips as he listens to Abbot tell his story. He doesn’t like that man very much for making Abbot suffer even the slightest inconvenience. But publicly humiliating him and being Abbot’s knight in shining armour for just two minutes fills Whitaker with triumphant joy.
“People in here probably think I’m quite the forgiving boyfriend.” Whitaker jokes.
“The most forgiving.” Abbot winks at him.
A few days later during shift change, when nobody is close enough to hear them, Abbot tells him that word at the tennis club is that he’s a cheating, cradle robbing pervert who’s dating a college student. Whitaker’s eyes widen in indignation, for Abbot and for himself. He’s turning thirty next year, his back hurts sometimes when he sits at home all day watching TV and he doesn’t recover from hangovers like he used to.
Abbot refuses to tell him the address of the place and when he is next going there for tennis practice, so Whitaker can loudly detail his birthday plans and discuss with bystanders what a loyal gentleman Abbot is.
Abbot laughs at Whitaker’s reaction and pats his shoulder placatingly. “People love a good gossip. Next week they’ll be on to something else, I promise.”
Whitaker goes to grab his hand, but Abbot is already walking away to check the board before he can make contact.
He wonders how the older man can handle things with such maturity. He can’t see himself ever letting a rumour like that roll off his back like it’s nothing, to believe it truly has no impact on him and how he lives his life. That kind of strong sense of self and being so comfortable in one’s skin.
And he can’t be further away from a pervert. Having looked almost ten years younger than his actual age all his life, Whitaker knows the type of inappropriate passes some people can make at him. He’s learnt to not internalise a lot of it, as well as protect himself against certain people and situations. He recognises the pauses Abbot gives before every touch, the hands that stay where they’re supposed to, and the space he gives that requires Whitaker to cross himself.
He wishes Abbot had relented to his request. A couple hours of public intimacy, where everyone expects them to kiss and hold hands. Where Whitaker can cross that boundary that Abbot leaves for him over and over again without looking a bit too keen. Won’t that be something?
-
They have spent the last 45 minutes on this young girl and eventually, even Whitaker has to admit defeat and call time of death.
Dad went to pick up his daughter after a dinner at her friend’s house, drove there and back drunk. Crossed the white line and got clipped hard by a car going fast from the other direction, the car lost control and crashed right into oncoming traffic. Miraculously, the father only got a broken leg and cuts of varying degrees across his body, but the same could not be said about the daughter.
Whitaker has done at most a handful of these since starting in the emergency department, and he just really, really cannot get the hang of it.
“She was still conscious afterwards! She talked to me!” The dad screamed at Whitaker’s face.
“I understand, sir. We really tried our best-”
“Bullshit! How many bags of blood did you give her before you gave up? Was it less than you’d give to other people because she’s just a child?”
“That’s absolutely not how that works, sir.” Whitaker cringes at how that came out of his mouth.
“Fuck you! You think I’m stupid?”
“No, I’m sorry, sir. Is there someone we could call? Your wife?”
“Fuck off! Do NOT call her! Do NOT, CALL HER!”
“I’m sorry, sir. But we really need to-”
Whitaker feels pain against the bridge of his nose and where his cheek muscles are sandwiched between the man’s fist and his skull. He feels one of the staff catch him before he falls backwards onto the ground.
So this is Type 2 violence in a healthcare setting, his brain supplies out of nowhere. He swears he didn’t even see the guy take a swing.
Robby appears out of thin air between Whitaker and the man. “Sir! You need to calm down right now. I understand this is a horrible situation, but we do not allow violence against our staff-”
He doesn’t get to hear the rest of it because Abbot has his arm across his back and is dragging him into one of the empty rooms.
Abbot settles him on the bed and closes the cubicle curtain enough to block the view from the door. He pulls the metal trolley beside the bed towards himself and places the patch up kit he’s brought in on top of it.
He hands Whitaker a few cotton pads and sits beside him. “I’m going to feel around your face, okay?”
Whitaker puts the pads against his bleeding nose and nods.
He stares at a single point on the wall for an unknown amount of time, his mind blank yet loud at the same time when Abbot speaks again. “Nothing structural. We’re lucky the guy couldn’t put his full weight into that punch because of his broken leg.”
Whitaker nods absentmindedly.
“Hey, look at me.” Abbot places a hand on Whitaker’s shoulder.
Whitaker’s eyes shift as told.
“This is not your fault.”
“I know.” He answers automatically.
“This is not your fault.” Abbot shakes his shoulder a little for emphasis.
“I know.”
Abbot presses his lips together. He puts his arms around Whitaker and pulls him in. Whitaker’s head falls against his shoulder without resistance.
“You don’t know, not yet, and that’s okay.” Abbot rubs his back up and down, up and down. “You did good. I couldn’t have asked more from you.”
Whitaker really did think he knew, but something in his chest loosens and he takes a deep breath that actually reaches the depth of his lungs. When he lets the air out, his breath sounds shaky. He continues to breathe through his mouth and into Abbot’s scrubs, mentally counting to four for each breath in and each breath out, the way Mel taught him when he almost had a panic attack the day before he took his Step 3 exam last year.
He nestles further into Abbot’s neck. At some point, he realises his nose is too blocked and bloody to tell how Abbot smells.
He gets up from Abbot’s arms and goes in for a kiss.
“Woah, easy, tiger.” Abbot leans back and laughs. “We don’t want your heart rate up again with a fresh nosebleed.”
“Presumptuous much?” Whitaker lets out a small laugh.
When they leave the room, both Trinity and Mel are standing on the other side of the central bay. Mel gives him a double thumbs up, and Trinity points at Abbot then at her own shoulder.
Whitaker touches his nostril gently and sees that the blood hasn’t completely dried.