Summary: Companion fic to Concentrate. Patton and Virgil rely on each other while they wait for Logan to wake up.
Warnings: discussion of surgery/illness, someone’s in a coma, anxiety, crying, little bit of swears
Pairings: Moxiety…romantic or platonic? Up to you.
Notes: Some hurt/comfort Moxiety for the soul. Also, Roman’s in this too, I guess. Enjoy!
Four Days Post-Op
“Virge? Honey? Please tell me you’ve haven’t been here all night. We have a meeting and you’re supposed to work later.”
Virgil stirred awake slowly and drew a giggle from Patton when he squeaked around in the hard plastic chair. Patton quickly shook the laughter from his face and fixed the trauma surgeon with his trademark Dad glare. He had to be serious; Virgil was on a crash course to a full breakdown if he kept this pace up. “You know I can’t lie, Pat. Now please tell me you have coffee somewhere in that lab coat.”
“There’s coffee at the meeting…Virge, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. Going directly from work to sitting here day in and day out; it’s not healthy. He’ll wake up.”
“You don’t know that,” Virgil snapped.
“Okay, you’re right, I don’t know that. But I have hope that he will. And I have faith in Roman and his team that they are doing everything they can for him. All you can do is trust the process, kiddo. And take care of yourself. Logan needs you strong right now, not in a hospital bed with him because you’re burnt out and sick.”
Virgil’s head dropped and he sighed shakily, trying to hide the growing wetness on his cheeks. “Do you know what the last thing I said to him was? ‘Are you using drugs?’ He’s been sober for years and I accused him of throwing all of that away when he was sick the whole time.”
Patton sighed and grabbed Virgil’s hand. “You can’t beat yourself up for that, hon. He has a history. And with the way you said he was acting, I would have thought the same thing.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t just ask him the one time. I grilled him about it because I didn’t believe him. And then he lost function of his hand and then Roman was scanning him and then he was in surgery having a freaking brain tumor removed and the whole time I was working. I never got the chance to say…how sorry I am.” Virgil looked up to meet Patton’s eyes, not even bothering to hide the tears freely flowing down his face. “Pat, he has to make it. I can’t let that be the last thing I said to him.”
“Ssh, come here, honey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” the fetal surgeon couldn’t stand watching his friend break apart for a second longer. He slid into Virgil’s lap and pulled the other doctor into his chest and let Virgil wrap his arms around Patton’s middle, holding on for dear life. “It’s okay that you’re hurting, love. It says that you care for him and that’s so incredible. I know you don’t feel like it right now but you are an incredible friend.“
"What if he never wakes up, Pat?”
“Don’t go there until we are there, Virge. I know it’s scary but like I said, try to have faith. And if you can’t, well, then I will have faith for both of us that you will have every chance to tell him how much you love him when he wakes up. You will have that chance, Virge, you will.”
“Let go of the buts, kiddo. Well…except for mine. If you let me go, then call me Fall Out Boy because I’m going down swinging on this hospital floor.”
Virgil had to laugh at that despite his tears. A Fall Out Boy pun? Patton was pulling out all of stops to try and cheer the sullen surgeon up. Fortunately, it was actually working. The young doctor sniffed and wiped his eyes, his crying finally ceasing. “I hope to God or whatever the hell is out there that you’re right…Patton?”
“Yes, love? What is it?”
“Can you, like, get off me? You’re sweet and all but you’re giving me varicose veins.” Virgil smirked. His eyes were still red and puffy but the release of tension brought some of the life back into him. Patton gasped and playfully swatted at the trauma surgeon’s shoulder. “Unbelievable! Fine, I wanted to get up anyway. You’re ripe; you need a shower.”
“Rude. Don’t insult my cologne. Eau de Hospital is hot these days.” Patton laughed heartily, grateful to see his Virgil recovering a bit. “But seriously…thanks, Pat. I needed to snap out of all…this. For a while, at least.”
“And you’re going home after the meeting, right? And eating something before you crash instead of sleeping on an empty stomach like you know I can’t stand-?”
“Ughhhh, yes, Dad, fine, fine, I hear you. I will do better. Promise.”
“That’s the spirit, kiddo. Go on ahead of me, I’ll meet you there.” Once Virgil left the room, Patton walked around to the edge of the hospital bed where a motionless cardiologist lay. He stared down at Logan, stroked his hair, and leaned into his space, whispering with unshed tears in his own eyes. “Logan Taylor. You come back to us, you hear me? That’s an order. Wake. Up!…please.” He quickly pressed his lips tight to keep his voice from cracking further, took a deep breath and left the room as silent as he entered it.
Ten Days Post-Op
Patton was on edge today. There was no way around it; no flowery way to describe how he felt, no hiding it behind a sunny mask. He just felt…bad. Despite his feelings, cursedly he was still a surgeon. He had patients to take care of, patients that needed him, other patients than the one that kept running through his mind. No, Patton couldn’t go there. He had to be a doctor today. He had to do surgery. His legs took him to the OR where he donned a mask and scrubbed, exactly four minutes. They then wandered him to where the chief calls “onstage” and for the first time today, Patton heard sound.
“Dr. Parker? Your surgical gown?”
Patton stared at the resident briefly before the words spoken to him registered. Myers. Great. The overenthusiastic resident with a propensity for overstepping his boundaries. Normally, Patton enjoyed working with the energetic, young surgeon as he was very invested in learning. But today Patton’s well of effervescent bubbliness was dried up, leaving him with very thin patience.
“I’m sorry, yes, go ahead, Myers,” Patton said tiredly, holding out his arms. “Are you ready? This is a very complicated surgery, I need everyone in this room to be prepared.”
“Dr. Parker, of course I’m prepared, how could you ask me that, I’m the bomb dot com!”
“Curb the enthusiasm, Myers, I need focus today.” Yikes, harsh, buddy. Patton really needed to chill.
“Yes, sir. Absolutely. Super focused.” Myers did a mock salute or at least attempted to. The wild swing of his arm collided with a tray of instruments, causing the whole thing to come crashing to the ground. The sound was unbearable and Patton just barely stopped himself from breaking scrub by bracing his hands on the OR table. “Damn it, Myers! This is an OR, not a jungle gym! Stop swinging your arms around like a monkey and get focused or get the hell out!”
It was as if someone had pressed pause in OR 3. No one moved or spoke while they attempted to process Patton’s heightened frustration boiling over, an emotion which he rarely ever showed. Finally, a scrub nurse spoke up and the video started to roll forward again.
“Dr. Parker? Are you all right?”
No, Patton thought, I’m not all right but he has no choice not to be. He had to be there for his patient, had to be strong for Virgil and Roman, had to be positive for Logan. So instead, he screwed on his best smile, apologized, and performed the most detached (but thankfully successful) surgery of his life. His legs then took him out of the OR and into the attendings’ lounge where his fingers paged Virgil. An eternity of staring at tile passed before he vaguely recognized the sound of a door opening and a weight pressing next to him, arms wrapped securely around his body. Patton felt so safe in these arms. Secure. Comforted. Finally and without words, he let go.
“Oh, Pat, I was wondering when this would happen. You’ve been so strong, so good. Let someone help you for once; it’s okay to need us.”
Patton remembered what it was to talk without yelling and sat up, wiping his eyes. “I know, Virge, I know, I just…I yelled at a resident today. Just screamed at him. I have never done that in my whole career.”
“Why, Pat? What happened?”
Patton scoffed. “It’s silly…he knocked over a tray of instruments and the sound made me think of when Logan dropped that clamp and…well, you know.”
Virgil nodded. “No, Pat, it’s not silly. That must have been scary to witness. It’s okay that you were scared.”
“You should have seen the look on his face, Virge, he was sheet white and terrified, I thought he was going to stroke out right there. And that sound…loudest sound I’ve ever heard.” Patton paused for a moment. “Virge…how long before his healthcare directive states his desire for life-saving care to be withdrawn?”
Virgil sighed heavily, his voice cracking while he spoke. They both knew the answer. “Fourteen days.” Patton let out another sob at that. “And before you ask…it’s day ten.”
“Oh my God.” There was silence for a long time before Patton spoke again. “I don’t want my last memory of him to be something scary, Virge. And I…I don’t k-know what’s going to happen but God, I hope we have a shot at some happier times than…this.”
Virgil squeezed his arms tighter around the fetal surgeon. “Faith, Pat, remember? We’re having faith.”
A door opened behind them and a blur of a white coat flew past. “Roman?”
The neurosurgeon turned around, tears streaming down his face. “Oh my God, I’m- I’m sorry. I thought…I thought I was alone.”
Both doctors stood up, anticipating horrifying news. It was Virgil who actually asked the question hanging in the air. “Roman…what is it?”
Roman’s mouth gaped like a fish, too overcome to speak. “It…it’s Logan.”
“Court, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me what happened to him, you’re gonna be the one who needs medical attention.” Virgil’s heart raced while Patton gripped his hand, squeezing it past the point of pain. Roman took another second to collect himself before finally delivering the news.