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Dr. Abbot is no stranger to therapy. It's also not out of character for him to be found on the roof after tough cases that hit too close to home, or just a way for the vet to decompress. The frequency of those roof visits, however, has both Dana and Lena on edge. To be clear, the entire PTMC ED has been on edge lately, even more so than usual. Dr. Robby, at this point, would've tried his best to redirect the staff's attention, maybe saying something like: “Focus on your patients!” or “Please talk to Kiara, Caleb, or me, if you ever feel like it's too much. We're just a phone call away!”
Regrettably, he isn't here to give such pep talks anymore.
Two months into the Chief's sabbatical, during his stay in a motel at Alberta, he gave one last, long, heartfelt message to Dr. Abbot and Dana, then consumed a whole bottle of Tylenol, and had already died of acetaminophen overdose by the time he was found. Afterwards, the two had taken a leave of absence, mercifully granted by Gloria, and later returned with a look that made them seem like they had aged a decade in the few days that they were gone.
In the immediate aftermath of his death, Dr. Al-Hashimi had to prolong her contract at PTMC so that administration could have the time to scramble for Robby's (permanent) replacement, before eventually returning to her previous workplace.
Internal investigations concluded that the unaddressed PTSD from COVID and Pittfest, the stress of working as Chief of the ED and “the absolute minefield of his fucked up brain” as Dr. Abbot had so eloquently put it, compounded by issues from his personal life, eventually led to the tragic suicide of Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Administration worked even harder than before to push counselling on not just the staff of the emergency department but the other departments of PTMC, too.
Back to Dr. Abbot, the poor man.
After his first mandatory counseling, Abbot found himself speed walking to the elevator, up to the roof. It wasn't just to catch his breath after he had almost cried in that session, or to tempt death again (contrary to popular belief, as much as he wants to see his best friend again and maybe kick his ass for leaving everyone behind, he would never allow his own death to be on anyone's conscious at the most horrible moment). He merely needed to get the hell away from that place in which every corner became a reminder of what they, he, had lost. That didn't stop Dana from worrying anyway.
The night shift had just started trickling in after most of the day shift had clocked out (not without briefly pausing at the little board of memorial Perlah and Princess made for Robby), so Dana, who had already clocked out herself, made her way up to the roof after a quick handover to Lena. After a quick scan of the roof, she found with immediate relief that Abbot was on the right side of the railing. The sight of Abbot's knuckle, on his right hand, white as a sheet as it clenched tightly on the railing, did not escape her. His left hand was balled to a fist.
“Hey.” She greeted him, as gently as she could.
“Hey.” He responded back. With a slight crack to his voice. Had he been crying? With his back turned, it was hard for Dana to tell. His whole posture loosened overall as Dana leaned her body to him when she joined him to his right.
They stood there, looking at Pittsburgh's skyline. Neither of them looked down. Neither of them looked at each other. Neither of them wanted to be alone right now.
“I keep thinking about what I could've said differently.” Abbot spoke softly.
“...I keep thinking about what I shouldn't have said.” Dana replied.
She mentioned her and Robby's arguments with the therapist. She didn't mention the way she wept bitterly as Benji held her when she realised, with horrifying clarity, how Robby might've perceived it when she told him that “It'll survive without you”. Unknowingly, she had given Robby the greenlight to die. Her therapist, or the one administration made all the ED staff have a talk to, Dr. Caleb Jefferson, told her that Robby's depression had twisted Dana's words into something sinister, even when she was just trying to assure him that he can take a break without worrying about the ED collapsing without him. Benji had told her something similar. It angered her, somehow, that nobody condemned her for what she said. She felt like she had to bear this cross, that the blame was hers to carry. Not even Abbot seemed mad when she confessed to what she said, during a late night phone call they both agreed on a schedule, as proof of life. Perhaps he himself had already decided the fault lies in him. That he wasn't enough for his best friend to stay.
Abbot knows better than to think about what-ifs. Years of therapy taught him that. Still.
“I shouldn't have let him go. I should've dragged his ass home and locked him in the storeroom. I should've 302'd him!” The longer he listed the “should've” or “shouldn't”, the more agitated he became. Dana let him be. Better to let him explode now, than unload his grief on the night shift.
“I knew! The moment he bought that stupid donor-cycle, I knew! The moment he suggested the sabbatical, I knew! And I just- I went along with it! Fuck!” His left hand smashed the railing.
Wordlessly, Dana laid her hand on his shoulders as he squeezed his eyes shut, his body hunched over the railing. Her eyes caught a glisten of light in Abbot's left hand, a golden chain. It was Robby's Magen David he had been clutching. The motel Robby died at had returned his necklace to him (Robby had taken it off and left it on the desk besides the letters). He kept it with him ever since.
“Oh, Jack… You of all people tried the hardest to talk some sense into him-”
“Not enough.” Abbot cut her off through gritted teeth. His voice was low and trembling.
“And I tried, too! We both did. That fool played along with our request, texted us, sent us pictures, even mailed us souvenirs. But, but…!”
“He never intended on coming back.” Abbot took a shuddering breath, then continued: “I know, no more “ifs”, but if I had known that it would've ended this way, I would've just- just told that him that I-” his voice broke, the tears that could no longer be contained begin to spill from his red-rimmed eyes. His vocal chords sounded the symphony of his grief, its composer old and familiar, its audience the weary charge nurse standing beside. Strings of apologies and gratitude left his mouth as he accepted the tissues Dana offered him. Dana felt tears on her own cheek, so she dabbed them away with her own.
There was nothing Dana could think of, to say anything that could mend the pieces of Abbot's soul. The unspoken words left hanging in the air, floating away. Maybe it would've been easier if he was just another person she had comforted through decades of her work as a nurse, but how could she console him when she herself had her heart torn to pieces the day she had gotten that phone call? It didn't matter how many losses the two had gone through, it doesn't make it easier, it doesn't make it hurt less. It just adds to the pile of grief they're already carrying. But this particular loss hit them like no other. It was the worst case scenario they tried for months to prevent. It was a living nightmare.
Abbot gradually calmed down, and started fiddling with the ring on his finger when he said: “I gave his favourite hoodie to Jake.”
“Oh?” That shocked Dana out of her stupor.
Jake was perhaps the most inconsolable. Robby had apparently attempted one last phone call to Jake, in which the latter didn't pick up. It wasn't because Jake was still angry at him, no. The boy's anger had lastly simmered down to embers, with only regret and guilt left in its wake. It was around 10pm, when the boy happened to be in the shower. By the time Jake tried calling him back, it was already too late.
They never got to properly reconcile. The world the boy lived in wasn't a reality in which they'll get to play basketball again on the weekends like they used to. Someday, he'll be older than his father ever was. That was what Robby was to him: his dad. Jake wanted so desperately to tell him that much.
Who knows what Robby was thinking when he hit the call button, when Jake hadn't called back. It was Jake he dared to call, but not Abbot or Dana. Perhaps he knew they would've been able to stop him.
“His bike is with Duke, right?”
“Yes.”
“The plants?”
“Turns out, it all died by the time Whittaker got in there.”
“Whittaker?”
“Robby left his house keys to him. To housesit. I got the keys back from him yesterday, said he “didn't want to stay in his dead boss’ apartment”.”
“Oh right, Santos did mentioned something about that 2 months ago...What will you do with it then?”
Abbot shrugged. “Haven't decided yet.”
They fell into another moment of silence afterwards. Robby would've apologised for having to leave the delegation of his belongings to Abbot, even when he had done most of it himself, before he went for his sabbatical, before he even officially told the staff. Right now, the keys to his house sat heavily on Abbot's desk drawer at home. He had come home and threw it into the drawer, then slammed it shut in a sudden spike of anger. “I told you to fucking call me!” He had yelled, to no one in particular. His late wife would've chastised him for shouting, was what his brain had so helpfully supplemented, before he sank onto his bed and buried his head into his hands. He was already all out of tears that day.
Dana glanced at her watch, and realised they've been up here for a little bit too long. Somehow, Abbot hadn't been paged yet. She patted his shoulder. “Come on, you ready to face the music?”
Another shrug.
The two turned around and made their way to the elevator, back down towards the Pitt. They stopped to look at Adamson's portrait, like Robby once did.
“He would be so mad.”
Dana could only hum in agreement. “Mad” was an understatement. Dr. Adamson once lost a colleague to suicide many decades ago. He, like Robby, often pushed counselling for his staff. If he had retired like he intended to, and had gotten wind of what happened to Robby, or rather, what he did to himself, he would've been utterly devastated and furious. He would've fought with admin to provide more mental health support for his staff. He would've cried the hardest.
Dr. Ellis, who was nearby, took one look at Abbot and said: “You ok, boss?”
Dr. Abbot nodded at her. “Round up the others.”
She gave him a mock salute and left to do exactly that. Dana gave his shoulders a reassuring squeeze and said: “You'll call, right?”
“Of course.” And after everything that happened, he felt obligated to add: "I promise."
She smiled. “Good.” Then, she left.
Tomorrow, they'll do the same song and dance, their role in this play a sad one. They'll look after their colleagues, they'll attend mandatory counselling. They'll add one more picture on the memorial board. They'll keep staring at the last few texts from Robby. Eventually, they'll decide what to do with Robby's house.
Tomorrow is another day.