Chapter Text
+1
There was a break in his life on the day of the Pittfest. In perspective, it's a clean line dividing it into two. His past: full of what-ifs. Heather, Janey, the ED, Dr Adamson, Jake and his girlfriend, and his loneliness. And the aftermath, his present and future. Of grabbing what little he has in life. Mainly Dennis. But there are also the friendships he has taken for granted with Dana and Jack.
It’s a slow night on his second day off after three shifts; he finally submitted all the paperwork for HR, getting a laugh when Gloria gave him the stink eye and avoided him the rest of her afternoon. There is no way she wouldn’t retaliate on his next shift, but that’s the way they handle their working relationship. And considering Santos did catch him on his last shift before leaving to threaten him if he dared to jeopardize Dennis’ career or heart (her repertoire is broad and explicit enough to make him fear her just a bit), it felt fair to come clean to his friends.
So, here he stands, roasting potatoes and braising a chicken in the oven, his glasses slipping a bit on his nose as he watches once again the recipe for the side dish Dennis sent him on Instagram, some fancy sauteed asparagus, and bechamel sauce. He should have accepted Dennis' offer of help, Robby winces, playing the video again, tempted to throw the whole pan into the garbage can outside. But he didn’t want to put extra pressure on his friends with Dennis there when he spilled the truth; he wanted them to react honestly, to chew him out if they felt like it, and to avoid Dennis’ puppy eyes when inevitably Jack went abrasive, or Dana berated him.
They did compromise, though, Dennis would arrive later, after the storm passed, when they take the fancy whisky bottle out, and Dana lit her cigarette hanging on his bow window.
Now he only has to survive cooking.
—
“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, brother,” Jack says, pushing his plate away, patting his belly after the hearty meal, “But you are tense as fuck, and I feel like you are going to say you are breaking up with us or something.”
Dana snorts across from him, pulling her glass of wine closer and taking a sip, the red staining her lips. “So dramatic, Jack.”
“Well, there is something I wanted to talk with you about.” Robby can feel the heat spreading on his ears, trying to breathe calmly as both friends pierce him with a look.
“Are you taking another sabbatical?” Dana asks, shuddering in remembrance of the mess the last time Robby tried to take time off.
“Are you leaving us?” Jack interrupted, sitting straight in his chair, the joking mood vanishing from his face.
“No, no, guys, relax. It’s nothing bad.” Robby tries to pacify them, gulping his wine down before blurting, “I’m in a relationship.”
The room deflates, before Jack laughs, kicking at where Dana’s feet are across from him, “See, he was breaking up with us!”
“Oh, Robby, but there’s nothing wrong with that,” she says, leaning over the table to grip one of his hands, patting him, “Who is the lucky woman?”
“Mmm— it’s not a woman.” Blushing madly, Robby hides behind his hands when Jack crows, pitching forward to punch his arm hard.
“Congrats, bro! Look at you, diversifying your dating pool in your fifties.”
“Who is the lucky lad, then?” Dana cuts Jack, kicking him back to get him to tone it down.
Robby mumbles something unintelligible behind his palms, wincing when Dana pinches one of the hands covering his face.
“It’s Dennis. Whitaker,” he adds unnecessarily when both friends fall quiet, as the music coming from the radio back in the kitchen continues around them.
“The intern? The fuck?” Jack whispers, looking at him with wide eyes, “he is like half your age?”
“How long?” Dana pulls a cigarette out of her purse, daring him to tell her something about lightning inside.
“Started after he began his internship with us, had a few dates before that, but nothing while he was a student.” Robby can see the cogs turning in her brain and knows what is going to come out—
“It was you! Fuck Robby, you left that poor boy bruised like a punching bag?”
There.
“Believe me, I was as horrified as you the first time, but he bruises easily!” Robby raises his palms, ducking when Dana throws a napkin at his head. “I've already made him take a full blood test to check for anything, but he insists that he has always been like that.”
“Oh, for fucks’ sake, Robby, as if you couldn’t control yourself!” Dana cries, pinching her nose.
“I mean—” Robby blushes, remembering the first time he mauled Dennis, “Everything has been consensual, and I’m taking steps to avoid bruising him so much!”
“You take the ‘old bull eats green grass’ to the extreme, Robby,” Jack says, leaving the table and going right to his alcohol stash, bringing back glasses and the whisky. “Like, literally chewing him out.”
“You haven’t even seen the bruises! You can’t say anything,” Robby tries to defend himself.
“Brother, are you stupid?” Jack pours the glasses to the brim before shoving them closer to each of them. “There is a betting pool on where the bruises on Whitaker will be next. No need to chew on the kid. Or us. Pun intended.”
There are pictures.
“What?”
Jack fiddles with his phone before showing him a chat group —where Robby is not added— and a betting pool run by Ahmed. He doesn't let him see who is in there, but goes to the pictures sent and– fuck. All of them are candids, taken as Dennis works in the ED. There is one that makes his heart beat harder and blood rush south, where Dennis is leaning over Dana's counter, scrub clearly a size too small for him, the shirt riding up. There are a couple of marks visible in the strip of skin, harsh enough you could probably get a copy of his fingerprint, or one with him bending to grab a chart and giving a glimpse of his chest, a hickey looming on the edge of the scrub, or another one with Dennis on his tiptoes to hang a saline bag his shirt riding up and a clear bite on his hip bone.
It's like a gallery of his depravity.
“People are taking these pictures and sharing them in a secret group?” Oh, he is Pissed, and it shows, as Jack flinches and nods. “I'm gonna give you just one chance to make everyone delete absolutely every fucking picture and message, and eliminate that chat, or I'm going to happily get HR involved and put a definitive stop to this.”
“Ok, brother,” Jack placates him, fighting the grip Robby has and getting his phone back. “You know this is people joking, right? I mean, I was added by mistake, but there is no attempt at harassing the boy.”
“All I know is that those pictures fall clearly into an HR violation,” Robby bites back, taking a drink of his whisky, letting the burn pass him through, “so don't fight me on it.”
Jack nods, putting his reading glasses on and texting quickly on the chat. Dana's phone doesn't ping, so that makes two of them who didn't know what was going on. He doubts Santos knows either, or she would have said something yesterday.
“You'd be willing to involve HR in all of this?” Dana points with the stub of her cigarette before dropping it into an empty glass. “I mean, considering the kind of relationship you just told us you have?”
“Of course I would.” Crossing his arms, he looks at his friends, “I already disclosed my relationship with Dennis to HR and Gloria.”
“Shit.” Jack drops his phone by accident, mouth open, and looking at Robby as if he had talked gibberish.
“Oh, Robby,” Dana gets to her feet and goes around the table to give him a hug, “you are really invested in this relationship, huh?” Her arms press him close to her chest, petting his head a couple of times when Robby hugs her back, before going back to her seat and lighting another cigarette, ignoring Robby’s sigh at the smoke slowly permeating the room.
“You should be more careful with the guy if you are going to be so easily jealous.”
Robby barks a laugh at Jack, pointing his glass at him and drinking to it.
“Brother, I'm not exaggerating, he bruises way too easily.” Except for when Robby is rough with him. But that's on purpose, like half the time! Not always.
“Nah, man, I've seen you pulling the guy around, he's your chew toy!”
“Jack is right,” Dana chimes, drinking too, “I do work with you both, so now I’m gonna be watching you, Doctor, you better keep it out of working hours.”
“Look, I invited him over if everything went right, he will be here at any time, and then he will tell you!”
“Oh, Robinavitch, he has you by the balls,” Jack laughs, cracking up even more when Dana throws another napkin at his face, hitting him squarely.
“So crude, Jack!”
That's how Dennis finds them, laughing hard, halfway drunk.
“Sweetheart!” Robby calls, getting to his feet and pulling him under his arm, pressing a quick kiss into his lips, ignoring Jack’s catcalls, and Dana’s coo at the term of endearment.
“These are Jack Abbot and Dana Evans, my friends.” Dennis giggles at the earnest face on Robby, but playing along, letting Robby hold his weight for a moment, glad to see them in good spirits.
“Hey, guys!” Before he could go and pull a chair closer to Robby, the older man manhandles him into his lap, burying half of his face into the crook of Dennis’ neck, feeling the blush burn on the fair skin.
The rest of the evening goes smoothly, Dennis squirming away from Robby to get on a chair next to him, Jack asking a few invasive questions that Robby shuts down quickly. And Dana tells Dennis to tattle on Robby if he steps out of line. Robby switches to water after going to the living room, pulling Dennis closer, almost sitting him on his lap again, much to Jack's boos.
The guys leave not much later, promising to do it again as soon as all their shifts align, and Robby pulls Dennis to his room as soon as the door closes, still a bit drunk, but groping him and kissing him everywhere.
Dennis laughs when Robby pushes him through the bedroom door, trying to get his button-down shirt off, appreciating Dennis's effort to look nice for his friends, but grumbling at the many small buttons getting in the way.
They stumble around, playfighting, Dennis's erection rubbing against his belly, and Robby realizes he may have to look for a blue pill to help him along, blaming that last glass of whisky he accepted.
Pushing Dennis into the bed, Dennis kicks back with a squeak, not expecting the shove, his bony knee hitting Robby’s face square on when Robby leans down to follow him on the bed, folding to the floor in pain, a muffled groan leaving him as he hits the floor.
“Oh, shit, shit, shit!” Dennis throws himself across the mattress to light up the lamp on the bedside table, kneeling next to Robby when the orange glow lets him see him perched next to the bed.
“Fuck,” groans Robby, clutching his face and wincing at the sudden light, the alcohol and the pain not mixing well with his eyes.
“Oh, God, Robby, let me see,” Dennis grabs his hands and pulls them down, watching the face he has spent hours memorizing grimace at his touch. The skin is getting swollen at the edge of his left brow, no skin broken, but the blood is clearly pooling underneath, the inflammation rising fast on the thin skin. “This is gonna be black by tomorrow,” Dennis groans, “Does anything else hurt?” He slowly puts pressure on the bones, thanking God he didn’t catch him lower in the zygomatic bone or his nose.
“No, it's just my brow.”
“There doesn't seem to be anything broken, but… do you wanna go to the ED anyway? Get a CT?”
“Fuck, no,” Robby huffs, pushing on the bed to get to his feet, swaying a bit, murmuring ‘thanks’ when Dennis grips him by his waist, walking close to him to the ensuite bathroom. “It's not the first time I've gotten hit, but I've gotta be honest,” Robby says, peering at his face in the mirror, trying to cringe, but the swollen skin doesn't budge, his eyelid is also inflamed too, “No one had hit me while trying to have sex, not like this.” Robby snorts, groaning in pain when his muscles pull on the inflamed skin.
“I’m so sorry, Robby,” Dennis chokes, before bending over in laughter, hiccuping and crying, the stress leaving him when the older man chuckles, trying not to move his face that much. “Let me get you an ice pack and some ibuprofen. Do you have any Voltaren?”
“No Voltaren, but I did buy a box of arnica for you, so I’m stocked on that.” Robby laughs, wincing once more, walking to bed half blind, hearing Dennis rummage in his kitchen and then in the first aid kit in the main bathroom.
Knowing there is no way they are going to get in the mood again, he quickly changes into a soft shirt and his boxers, slipping into the bed and resting against the headboard, closing his eyes just for a moment, trying to ignore the pulsing pressure radiating to his cheek and forehead.
“Here,” Dennis whispers, kneeling on the bed and giving him a pill and a glass of water, waiting for him to drink it all before taking the glass back. “Now lean back and let me put the arnica, maybe we'll avoid this getting any worse.”
That is a long shot, because there was a bruise already forming when he walked out of the bathroom.
Dennis lets his fingers softly touch the skin, feather light pressure as he spreads the cream over his brow, letting the hairs lying flat on his skin, and circumventing the corner of his eye, avoiding getting too close to the eyelid, the coolness of the salve a relief on the hurt skin.
“Now, lie down,” Dennis orders, leaving his side to change quickly, getting rid of the half-open shirt, and crawling in next to him, pulling him into his chest, letting the hurt side face the ceiling, a soft warning when he presses the cloth-covered ice pack.
Robby relaxes as Dennis free hand threads on his hair, scratching his scalp.
“If you look like a boxer come morning, I’m taking a picture and framing it for memory's sake,” Dennis rumbles, fondness dripping from his words.
“You wouldn't dare,” Robby slurs before falling asleep to a kiss on his crown.
“Yes, I would.”
—
Come Monday morning, and Robby slinks into the ED, sunglasses still perched on his nose, getting a look from Dana and Jack, both standing in the nurse's bay.
“Morning,” Robby mutters, braving the day and taking off his glasses, inhaling and praying for patience at the choked laugh from them.
“What the fuck happened to your face?” Jack does a double-take, walking closer and peering at his eye. His eyebrow is still somewhat swollen, making his left eye look smaller than the right, and his lower eyelid is a stark purple.
If he had any hope of delaying the inevitable, that chance is shot as everyone in hearing distance turns around to gawk at him, whispers spreading fast among the mix of night and day shift personnel.
“Did you want people to start betting on your bruises now? Because I'm sure they are not scared enough of you to stop themselves if this becomes a recurring theme.” Dana adds, looking at where a group of nurses is talking and looking at them in the most suspicious way known to mankind.
Robby sighs, rubbing his neck, uncomfortable, and pointing upwards to Jack before turning around, ignoring the stares, and rolling his eyes at Dennis, who has just stepped through the doors with Trinity at his heels, closing his eyes in resignation when the R2 doctor laughs at him, pulling Dennis along her toward the breakroom, not before Dennis gives him a sheepish smile.
“So on a scale from 1 to 10, how embarrassing was getting that black eye?”
Robby snorts.
“You don't want to know.”
+2
There is noise coming from the ambulance bay. Dennis has taken point of the incoming, walking close to the EMT, giving a quick rundown of the case.
“Young male, mid-20s, found drunk on the road, breathalyzer 0.33, fell on the street, and hit his head. Nose fracture, and he might have been in a fight before, because there are other bruises, a swollen shut left eye, possible orbital fracture, and a missing tooth.”
“Dana, I'm taking South 15. Princess, come with me,” Dennis says, walking the gurney into one of the free rooms. The guy is awake, but drowsy, blabbering about a girl and slurs that would make his mom blush.
“Guy is kind of a jerk,” the second EMT says, helping with the transfer. “We couldn't find an ID on him; phone is dead.”
“It's all that slut fault,” the guy sneers, making Dennis look at Princess and roll his eyes.
“Thank you, guys, we'll take it from here.”
“Good luck, doc.” The EMTs get out of the room, and Dennis turns to look at the drunk man.
“Hello, what's your name? Do you know where you are?”
The guy just sneers at them, fixing his eyes on Dennis, trying to look at him but going cross-eyed.
Ignoring the lack of an answer, Dennis starts a list of things to do. “OK, let's get a BAC, order a CT for his head, chest, and abdominal x-ray to check if his tooth is somewhere inside him. Could you administer an IV and fluids to him? I'll call to get him seen soon.” Walking to the guy, Dennis tries to engage in a slow, non-threatening way. “Do you have an emergency contact number we could use? We can charge your phone if you don't remember any number.”
“What— Do you want to call that cheating slut too?”
Dennis isn't expecting the guy to sit up on the gurney and lunge for him, not considering how drunk he is, getting a fist square on his nose, pain and blood blooming from his face and radiating everywhere, only the railing stopping the guy from following after him.
There is a ringing in his ears as he stumbles into the wall, barely holding up, Princess shouting for help, and hurried footsteps outside of the room, the guy still shouting about cheaters and whores.
“Dennis,” hands grab him, and pull him upright, the smell of Robby’s cologne calming his frantic heart. “Let me see,” Robby orders, pulling on his wrists to look at the damage, blood dripping from his palms. “Oh, sweetheart,” Robby whispers, pulling on his neck forward to let the blood splatter on the floor and not his scrubs.
There is some more ruckus as Ahmed, Princess and Donnie try to put soft restraints on the drunk. Robby ignores the wide-eyed look Princess gives him, focusing on pinching Dennis’ nose to try and stop the bleeding.
“I wasn’t expecting him to have enough coordination to get me like this,” Dennis mumbles, voice nasal, his brow furrowed in pain.
“Let’s get you into a room and check you over. You will have to get a CT, and that’s an order.” Robby grips him by the waist, leading him away, letting the guys finish their job, hand holding tight.
Princess waits for a bit, peering to make sure both doctors are out of sight, to whisper to Ahmed,
“Do you wanna make a bet?”