𝑨𝒓𝒊𝒛𝒐𝒏𝒂 𝑹𝒐𝒃𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒔 - 𝑷𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒄 𝑨𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌
Skye was in the middle of reviewing a chart when her pager buzzed.
PEDIATRIC TRAUMA—CONSULT NEEDED
She exhaled sharply, pushing aside her exhaustion, and headed toward the emergency room. Arizona Robbins rarely paged her directly—whatever this was, it had to be big.
By the time she reached the ER, the room was a flurry of movement. A young girl, no older than eight, lay on the gurney. She was pale, barely conscious, her tiny body dwarfed by the medical equipment surrounding her. A deep gash ran along her forehead, bruising already blooming around her ribs and abdomen.
Arizona was already there, her expression grim. “Skye, we need you on this. Her name is Lila. Blunt force trauma to the abdomen, suspected internal bleeding. Head laceration, possible skull fracture. CT scan is pending, but I don’t like the way her vitals are dropping.”
Skye nodded, immediately shifting into trauma mode. “What happened?”
“She fell down the stairs while running,” the father said. His voice was firm, controlled. “We told her not to, but kids never listen, right?”
Skye’s eyes flickered up at the parents standing near the door. The father—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a firm grip on his wife’s arm—spoke for both of them. The mother, smaller, fragile-looking, nodded in agreement but didn’t make eye contact with anyone.
The mother nodded. “It was an accident.”
Lila flinched when her father reached to adjust her blanket.
Skye saw it.
She wasn’t sure if Arizona saw it, but Skye saw it.
She swallowed hard and turned to Lila, crouching slightly so they were at eye level. “Hey, kiddo,” she said, keeping her tone light. “That must’ve been scary. Can you tell me what happened?”
Lila hesitated. She glanced at her father.
His expression didn’t change, but Skye caught the way his fingers curled against his wife’s hip. Just enough pressure to be a warning.
Lila’s lips parted. She was about to speak—then she closed her mouth and shook her head.
“My fault,” she mumbled. “I was clumsy.”
It was too familiar.
She forced herself to breathe and to keep her hands steady as she examined the girl’s injuries.
The femur fracture was bad—angulated, with significant swelling. If they didn’t get her to surgery soon, she’d risk compartment syndrome. But the real danger was her abdomen. The bruising across her right side, the way she winced when Skye palpated her ribs—liver injury, maybe spleen.
Arizona caught her eye. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yeah,” Skye said. “We need to get her to the OR.”
Arizona nodded. “We’re doing an exploratory laparotomy. I need you on this.”
“I’m in.”
They prepped for surgery, moving fast and efficiently. It was a big case—pediatric trauma was always delicate, and the severity of the injuries meant two lead surgeons were necessary.
But no matter how much Skye tried to focus, she couldn’t shake the feeling in her gut.
The girl wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Every time her father spoke, she tensed.
The mother—her hands trembled when she signed the consent forms. She never looked up. Never spoke unless prompted.
It’s not your problem, Skye. Focus on treating her.
But she knew this pattern.
She knew it too damn well.
✦✦✦✦
The next thing she knew, she wasn’t in the hospital anymore.
She was somewhere else. A child’s room, full of toys and dolls.
Her chest was tight, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The walls felt like they were closing in; the voices around her muffled, distant.
Her knees buckled.
No. No, she couldn’t—
A voice broke through the fog.
“Skye?”
She barely registered the hand on her arm, steady, grounding.
“Skye, hey, look at me.”
She gasped, choking on air, and suddenly—she was back.
Arizona was in front of her, concern etched deep into her face.
Skye was on the floor. She didn’t remember falling. Her scrubs were damp with sweat, her hands trembling violently against her thighs.
Arizona knelt beside her, her voice softer now. “You’re having a panic attack.”
Skye tried to shake her head. She couldn’t. She couldn’t move.
“It’s okay, we’re in the on-call room,” Arizona said gently. “Sweetheart, I need you to breathe with me, alright?”
Skye squeezed her eyes shut.
“In—” Arizona took an exaggerated breath. “—and out.”
Skye’s lungs burned, her body trembling, but she tried. She focused on Arizona’s voice and the weight of her hand on her shoulder.
In. Out.
Arizona’s voice was steady, a tether pulling her back. “That’s it, sweetheart, you’re doing great. Keep going.”
She wasn’t trapped.
She wasn’t there.
After what felt like an eternity, the suffocating pressure in her chest started to ease.
Arizona watched her carefully. “You with me?”
Skye swallowed hard, still shaking. “Yeah,” she rasped.
Arizona didn’t push. She just gave her a moment.
“The girl. Lila.”
Arizona nodded, waiting.
Skye forced herself to say it. “I think she’s being abused.”
Arizona stilled. “You think?”
Skye exhaled shakily. “I—I know there is. The way she flinched. The way her mom wouldn’t make eye contact. The dad—he controls the whole room; he controls them.” Her voice cracked. “It’s a pattern. I’ve seen it before.”
Her hands curled into fists. “We have to protect her.”
Honestly, Skye wasn’t sure who she was trying to save—the little girl on the table or the ghost of the child she used to be.
Arizona reached out, gripping her wrist gently. “We’ll report it, Skye. We’ll do everything we can.”
Skye inhaled sharply. Her lungs still felt too tight, and her pulse was still too fast.
Arizona gave her wrist a squeeze. “But let’s go back to the OR and focus on the surgery first,” Arizona added, quiet but firm. “We’ll call Social Services after.”
Skye inhaled sharply.
“Okay, let’s go.”
But before Skye could go, Arizona gripped her wrist softly. “You sure you okay?”
Skye kept silent for a moment. “Not really, but I’ll be when I know Lila is safe and healthy.”
“Can we talk about this later?” The blonde asks. “About you, I mean.” She clarified, not wanting Skye to get it wrong.
“Me?”
“The panic attack.”
“Zona, I’m fine.”
Arizona gave her a look. The kind that made it clear she didn’t buy the lie but wasn’t going to push—yet.
“Okay,” Arizona said, though it was obvious she wasn’t done with this conversation. “You don’t have to explain it right now. But when this is over, when we know Lila is safe, I want you to talk to me about it.”
Skye swallowed hard. “Arizona—”
“I’m not asking for a full therapy session,” Arizona cut in, her voice calm but firm. “Just talk to me.”
Skye wanted to argue, but she didn’t have the energy. She also knows Arizona Robbins wasn’t the type to let things go, especially when it came to someone she cared about.
“…Okay,” Skye finally said.
Arizona gave a small nod. “Good. Now, let’s go save that little girl.”
And Skye followed her back into the OR, pushing aside everything else.
✦✦✦✦
By the time their shift ended, the weight on Skye’s chest had lessened, but it hadn’t disappeared completely.
Lila had made it through surgery. It had been rough—her liver was lacerated, requiring extensive repair, and her femur had needed external fixation. But she was stable, resting in the PICU.
CPS had been called. The mother had agreed to talk. She hadn’t said much, just enough to let them know she was ready to fight. Enough for CPS to intervene.
Enough for Lila to be safe.
That should’ve been enough for Skye to breathe easily.
It wasn’t.
Arizona found her sitting on the bench outside the hospital, still in her scrubs, her hands clasped between her knees.
“You hungry?” Arizona asked, sitting beside her.
Skye huffed out a laugh. “I think I forgot what hunger feels like.”
Arizona didn’t push her to eat. Instead, she leaned back against the bench, looking up at the dark sky. “We did good today.”
“Yeah.”
A pause. Then: “So, you wanna talk about what happened earlier?”
Skye exhaled slowly. “Not really.”
“Too bad.” Arizona tilted her head, waiting. “Was it the case? Or was it something else?”
Skye rubbed at her temples. “It was the case,” she admitted. “But also… something else.”
Arizona didn’t look surprised. “You recognized something in them, didn’t you? The way Lila acted. The way the father—”
Skye nodded before she could finish. “Yeah.” Her voice was rough. “I recognized all of it.”
Arizona didn’t ask for details. She didn’t push. She just let Skye sit with it.
“I was fine,” Skye murmured after a moment. “I was doing my job. And then I wasn’t. It was like my body just shut down. It was like I was somewhere else. Like I couldn’t get out.”
Arizona studied her carefully. “You had a panic attack.”
“I know.” Skye let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t get them often. But sometimes, cases like this..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
“It triggered you.” Arizona continues for Skye.
Skye let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “No kidding.”
Arizona didn’t smile. She just waited.
Skye hesitated, then sighed. “I knew it the second I saw them. The way she flinched. The way her mom was too careful, too quiet. The way he controlled everything. It was—it was a pattern I know too well.”
Arizona didn’t interrupt. She just listened.
“I couldn’t focus. My brain kept trying to push it away, but then I was just…gone. Like I wasn’t even in the hospital anymore.” Skye’s fingers tightened around the coffee cup. “I felt like I was going to die.”
Arizona nodded slowly. “Panic attacks do that. They trick your brain into thinking you’re in danger. Even when you’re safe.”
Safe.
The word felt foreign.
Skye looked away. “I recognized the signs in that little girl. Because I used to be her.”
The words hung heavy between them.
Arizona didn’t react with shock or pity—just quiet understanding. “Your dad?”
Skye gave a small nod. “It wasn’t… It wasn’t always bad. But when it was, it was bad.” She swallowed hard, staring at the table. “I learned how to read a room before I could even do math. How to know when to stay quiet. How to make myself small. How to just endure, rather than fighting back.”
Arizona didn’t speak; she just let Skye say what she needed to.
“I got out. Eventually.” Skye let out a breath. “But it never really leaves you.”
Arizona nodded, her voice soft. “No, it doesn’t.”
Skye finally looked up at her. “But we got her out too, right?”
Arizona smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze Skye’s hand briefly. “Yeah. We did.”
Skye let out a breath, some of the weight in her chest easing.
The older doctor shifted slightly, turning toward Skye more. “Is this the first time it’s happened?”
Skye was silent for a long moment before nodding. “Not often. Just… certain cases.” She exhaled sharply. “Usually, I can push them down and keep them locked away. But today…”
Arizona was quiet for a moment, then said, “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
Skye glanced at her.
Arizona met her gaze, serious but kind. “You don’t have to bury it. You don’t have to deal with it alone.”
Skye looked away, her throat tight. “Yeah, Addie, Mer, and my therapist is trying to make me see that.”
Arizona smiled softly at that. “Smart people.”
Skye let out a quiet huff, shaking her head. “Yeah. Annoying, persistent people.”
“That’s usually the best kind.” Arizona nudged her gently. “And, that just means they care.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment, the weight of the day settling over them both.
“I just—” Skye started, then stopped, exhaling slowly. “It doesn’t go away, you know? I can have all the therapy in the world, all the support, and then one case like this comes in, and suddenly, I’m right back there.”
Arizona’s expression softened. “That’s how trauma works, Skye. It doesn’t mean you’re not strong. It doesn’t mean you’re not healing.”
Skye nodded, but Arizona is not sure whether the younger woman actually accept that.
“I have another question. Are you listening to them—Mer and Addie—to talk to a therapist?” Arizona asks.
Skye hesitated. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, I go. I sit there. I talk. But sometimes, it feels like I’m just saying things to fill the silence.”
Arizona studied her for a moment. “And do you ever actually let yourself feel it?”
Skye exhaled sharply, her fingers twitching against her scrubs. “Feeling it is the problem, Zona.” Her voice was quieter now, raw. “If I let myself feel all of it, I don’t know if I’d be able to keep going.”
Arizona was silent for a beat. Then, gently, she said, “You’re still going, though. Even when it’s hard.”
Skye let that settle, staring out at the dark sky. She was still going. Some days, she didn’t know how, but she was.
“I hate that cases like this hit me so hard,” she admitted. “I should be able to separate it.”
“You’re human, Skye. And you care.” Arizona’s voice was steady. “That’s not a weakness.”
Skye swallowed, blinking against the burn behind her eyes. “Feels like one.”
“Well, it’s not.” Arizona squeezed her wrist gently. “You fought for Lila today. And she’s safe because of you.”
Skye nodded, her throat tight. “Yeah.”
Arizona studied her for a long moment. “You gonna tell Addie and Mer about today?”
Skye groaned, running a hand over her face. “Do I have to?”
Arizona smirked. “I mean, I could tell them for you.”
Skye shot her a glare. “I’ll do it.”
Arizona grinned. “Good. I like my face intact.”
A small silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Then Arizona added, “You know, you don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
Skye let out a breath. “I know.”
“But if you ever want to talk—really talk—I’m here.”
Skye glanced at her, a small, tired smile pulling at her lips. “Thanks.”