Work Text:
Dennis sits at the bus stop, staring at the park across from the ED entrance. Specifically, he stares at a group of teenagers, who are kicking around near the benches, swapping cigarettes and poorly disguised beers that they got from who-knows-where. He’s considering asking one of them if he can just have one puff, one drag of good old dependable nicotine, but he won’t. His career as a smoker lasted for three years and six months, almost his entire undergraduate degree. He quit when he got into med school; seemed hypocritical to keep it up.
His shift today ran over by an hour, which in the grand scheme of things is nothing at all. He might’ve gotten out on time, but one of the stroke team nurses collapsed on his way into work and it was all hands on deck. He was stable when Dennis left, which is a good thing. Young enough to recover from a spontaneous cardiac arrest, probably.
Dennis checks his watch. Still ten minutes to go. He’s yet to be able to afford a car. His three months worth of wages do make him feel better about his general situation, especially now that he can pay Trinity some long-owed rent, pitch in for groceries, things like that. Of course, his student loan takes a good amount of it, and he tries to send some money back to his parents as much as he can. He might be earning, but he’s still stretched kind of thin.
Anyway, he likes getting the bus. He likes sitting with his head tipped back against the glass, his eyes closed as he breathes in second hand smoke and exhaust fumes. It’s usually quiet this time of night, with little traffic to disturb the peace, and that gives him time to decompress. He thinks back on every patient he saw that day, what he did well, what he could’ve done better, what he’ll do next time. Little mini debriefs for every patient he’s encountered that day. What’s funny is that it’s still Robby’s voice he hears when he asks himself those questions.
The mere thought of Robby makes him smile, ducking his head to hide it so that he doesn’t look like a maniac. It’s the 3rd of October, which means Robby arrives back tomorrow; Dennis has had the date in his calendar for months.
Dennis has been privy to Robby’s trip across the States on his motorbike. Robby has sent terrible selfies and photos of anything mildly interesting that he finds along the way, photos that Dennis looks at more often than he maybe should. They’ve spoken on the phone a few times, at least once every week or so. Sometimes Robby calls from a quiet motel room, otherwise crowded bar. Dennis has to wonder — just quietly, just to himself — if he’s spent the night with anyone else whilst they’ve been apart. He has every right to, Dennis supposes. It’s not like they decided they were exclusive, or anything. They didn’t decide what they were at all, actually.
Doesn’t make Dennis any less pissy when he thinks about it, though.
He makes the effort to switch his train of thought — Robby, back tomorrow. Dinner at his place, at Robby’s request. That’s a good sign, right? Unless he’s spent the last three months reflecting and decided that entangling himself both physically and emotionally with his intern is a bad idea, and he’s going to break up with Dennis over a nice spaghetti dinner, which—
No. He’s not thinking about it. If only because somewhere out there, Trinity is picking up on his brain activity, his general aura, and is already writing him an angry text.
She has bore the brunt of the rollercoaster of anxiety and euphoria Dennis has experienced over the last week. He’s been wearing a hole in the living room carpet, pacing back and forth, so much so that Trinity broke and threw the tv remote at his head not two days ago. It didn’t break the skin, but it did bruise; he’s got a nice bluey-black blotch right above his right eyebrow.
Dennis doesn’t want to be crazy about it. He’s done everything in his power to not be crazy about Robby being gone for the last three months. He’s kept to his routine: gone out to the farm, helped out the Street Team, let Trinity drag him to bars and to sunbathe in the park and even once on a road trip to Erie so that she could go swimming and education him on taking Vogue-worthy photos for Instagram.
He’s had a good summer, that much he can’t deny. The farm work has kept him lean and lithe, and the time outdoors has made him a little less pallid than he usually is. His confidence hasn’t taken too much of a knock with the shift from MS4 to intern; in fact, Dennis actually feels pretty competent most days. Of course, he still has his moments — Trinity is not allowed to talk about The Incident, in which Dennis got puked on, peed on and bled on by the same patient in the space of five minutes before he could even take a history — but they don’t rock his self esteem like he might’ve assumed they would.
He hopes it shows. He hopes Robby can see it when they meet tomorrow. Look at me, I’ve been just fine without you! He doesn’t mean it in a horrible way. Just pride in himself, that’s all. That same old sin that seems to have replaced gluttony and greed and envy. Dennis doesn’t feel the same guilt weighing him down, though. If he’s made in God’s image, surely that means God is a little bit proud of himself too.
Dennis hears the revving of a motorbike engine, disturbing his reverie and making him frown. It’s late — who in their right mind is out driving around on a motorbike? He waits for it to pass, so he can slip back into thinking about Robby and dinner and what they might do after dinner, when the engine cuts out. Dennis lifts his head, eyes opening, taking a second to adjust—
“Need a ride?” Robby asks him, holding out a spare helmet to Dennis.
Dennis has to fight to keep his smile from growing too wide. “How many people have you made that offer to over the last three months?”
Robby smiles back at him, equally amused, still holding out the helmet. His eyes sparkle in a way Dennis isn’t sure he’s seen before. “If you must know, I went home to get it. Jack told me you only just left, so I came to see if you need a ride. I’m kind of starting to regret it.”
Dennis knows he doesn’t mean it. He steps forward, taking the helmet from Robby. “So you’ve been spying on me?”
“The whole time I’ve been gone.” Robby nods, as Dennis swings himself onto the back of the bike. He winds his arms around Robby’s waist, tucks himself in against his back, and contents himself with the familiar warmth of his body as Robby starts the bike up again.
~*~
“I thought you were coming back tomorrow,” Dennis says, his glass of white wine cradled carefully in his hand, terrified of dropping it on the sofa even though he knows it won’t stain. “What happened?”
Robby shrugs his shoulders. “Something was calling me back, I guess.”
Dennis hides his smile again by taking a drink. He can feel Robby watching him the entire time, can feel his fingertips where they brush Dennis’s arm. They’re sitting sideways on the couch, facing one another, an arm each draped over the back. Close, but barely touching. The invitation is there, though.
“Dana asking you when you’re coming back to work?” Dennis guesses, grinning when it makes Robby laugh.
“That too.” Robby nods. “I don’t know. I guess — halfway into the trip, I started wondering if it wouldn’t be nice to have someone to share it with.”
Dennis once again hides his smile behind his glass of wine, draining the dregs of it and nodding as he puts the glass back on the table. He doesn't ask who, but he thinks it's implied from the way Robby is looking at him. As he leans away from the sofa Robby’s hand tightens ever so slightly on his arm, relaxing when Dennis settles back into the same position as before.
“If you mean me then you’ll have to take the Honda next time,” Dennis informs him, shrugging his shoulders as nonchalantly as he can muster when Robby arches his eyebrows at him. “I thought ED doctors were smart enough not to ride bikes all over the country.”
“Not all of ‘em, apparently.” Robby chuckles. He raises his own glass to take a sip, and Dennis takes the chance to seize a gentle hold of his wrist where it sits on the back of the sofa, turning it over so that he can trace the veins in Robby’s arm with his fingertip.
“How’s it been going, anyway?” Robby asks. When Dennis flicks his gaze up for just a second he finds Robby watching him intently, as if he’s oblivious to the soft brush of Dennis’s skin on his. “First three months as an intern and you haven’t quit yet. That’s gotta be a good sign.”
“It’s been great.” Dennis nods. “I mean– terrifying. But great.” He tries to think of a cool case to tell Robby about, but work has been banished from his mind completely. All he can think about is that their legs are sort of tangled together, and that Robby still hasn’t moved his arm away, nor has he looked away from Dennis, even once. “It doesn’t — it doesn’t feel real sometimes, I guess. I just… can’t believe how fast it’s going. Three months into being a real doctor.”
Robby smiles gently, looking at Dennis with something like… not regret, no, but something maybe close? He wonders if Robby wishes he’d been there to see him through those first few months, a real baptism of fire. Dennis had wondered if it would’ve been better with Robby’s steady presence by his side or worse with the constant distraction of his gentle eyes and the threat of Robby’s hands grabbing at him at any given moment.
Dennis looks away, too warm under his gaze, blushing for some reason he can’t pinpoint. After a beat, Robby says, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”
At that Dennis looks up again, put at ease when he’s met with Robby’s amused smile. He’s mildly obsessed with the way the light dances in Robby’s eyes when he smiles like that, so full of warmth that it feels like standing directly in the sunlight. Still, Dennis’s brows knit together as he smiles wryly and says, “I don’t know if I’ve been having fun.”
He knows it isn’t true. It’s been rough, that goes without saying. Sleeping in a hospital bed, losing patients, grappling with residency applications before he even qualified, and then having to deal with his own caseload, with being civically and criminally liable for peoples' wellbeing. But there’s been fun along the way. Catching rats in the ER, having noughties sing-a-longs with Trinity in their living room after a long shift, drives to the beach and taxi rides to bars, and–
“I know for a fact that you’ve had some fun, at least in the last year.” Robby knocks back the last of his wine. When he goes to put the glass down, Dennis’s grip his wrist lightly, just as Robby had done to him before.
That much is true. They did have some fun before Robby left. Lots of it, in fact. And Dennis wants nothing more than to replicate some of that fun, to climb into Robby’s lap, or straddle his hips, or pin him to the sofa with both hands. Before Robby left, he would've just done it: pounced on him, quite literally, and got him into whatever position he liked. But it's been long enough that Dennis feels shy, almost. What if Robby doesn't want him quite that way anymore? What if it takes Dennis trying to initiate something to find out?
Stupid thought — Robby already told him he rode all the way home to pick up his second helmet for Dennis because one of his spies told him that Dennis was still at work. Why would Robby be asking about him if he didn’t care? Why would Robby have come back a day early, come home to get a spare helmet, and then gone to pick him up if he didn’t want him?
Before he can doubt himself for a millisecond longer Dennis shifts, settling into Robby’s lap with his hands on Robby’s shoulders and his legs straddling his thighs. Dennis leans down to kiss him, slower and sweeter than he had meant to, and he runs his hands up Robby’s neck to cradle his jaw. When he finally pulls back, lungs aching for air, he says, “Fun like this?”
“Exactly like that.” Robby agrees, putting his hand to the back of Dennis’s neck to pull him in for another kiss.
Dennis would be embarrassed to admit how many times he’d thought about his first night with Robby after his sabbatical. How many times he’d let his mind wander into fantasies and his hand wander into his pants. He had pictured it many different ways, but mostly he pictured it hurried and desperate, hands and lips everywhere, sweaty and hurried to sate the urge that he had been sure would take over them both as soon as they saw each other again.
But this is almost agonisingly slow. Dennis kisses Robby like he’s trying to savour it and Robby treats him the same way, his hands on Dennis’s hips, on his ribs, mapping out the span of his body again. He starts to feel a little drunk on it after a while, the kisses turning a little sloppier, one of Dennis’s hands snaking up under Robby’s shirt, curling in the waistband of his jeans.
When they finally part, lips swollen, panting for breath, Dennis buries his face in the crook of Robby’s neck. He breathes deeply, familiarising himself with the scent of him, the usual musk and shower gel and something uniquely Robby, now undercut with the smell of gasoline and motor oil. Robby kisses Dennis’s shoulder, one broad hand running up and down Dennis’s spine. He drags himself up to look at Robby, pleased at just how blown his pupils are when he asks, “Bedroom now?”
Robby’s hands run down Dennis’s body to his ass, squeezing lightly before slipping under his thighs. “If I can pull this off, you’ve got to tell me how impressed you are.”
He scoots to the edge of the sofa and then stands, taking Dennis with him; he’s smart enough to wrap his legs around Robby’s waist, clinging to him as he moves towards the stairs.
“I’m extremely impressed.” Dennis informs him, kissing him as they hit the bottom step. “I’m worried for your spine, but I’m impressed.”
“What’re you trying to say?” Robby asks, and Dennis feels the words rumble through his chest, making him shiver as he leans down to kiss him again.
Half way up the stairs they teeter a little too dangerously for Dennis’s liking, the semi in his underwear not enjoying the visions that come to him unbidden of the two of them in the hallway bleeding out of their skulls, and so he wriggles until Robby puts him down. He distracts him from any bruised ego by kissing him senseless, walking backwards, slowly and carefully, up the stairs and into Robby’s bedroom. Even after three months apart he knows how to find it, walking backwards and with his eyes closed. He knows exactly when to fumble his way out of his trousers – about the same time as Robby puts his hand down the front of them – and when to brace for landing on Robby’s firm mattress.
As soon as Dennis sprawls out on his back, Robby between his legs, it feels like no time at all has passed. He turns his head to see the alarm clock on the left bedside table, the stack of books on the right. He remembers standing over them one morning, tilting his head to read the spines: On Tyranny, We Solve Murders, The Body Keeps The Score. None of them have moved, which Dennis is not at all surprised about; in all the time he stayed the night, he never saw Robby reading one of them. Then again, maybe that was because Dennis was staying the night.
Robby’s hand finds the side of his face, cupping under his chin so that he can turn Dennis’s face towards him. As he always does, Dennis goes willingly, arching up into the kiss Robby pulls him into. When Robby kisses down his body, starting at his jaw, down his neck, across his collarbone and his chest, Dennis feels himself begin to melt into the comforter. The scratch of Robby’s beard against his skin makes him hum, his fingers carding through Robby’s hair to encourage him. He tugs lightly when Robby reaches his hipbone and sucks a mark into the skin there, making Dennis gasp; the idea that it’ll linger all through his shift tomorrow, their own little secret, makes his stomach swoop.
Robby taps Dennis’s hip with two fingers and Dennis obliges him, lifting his hips so that Robby can rid him of his underwear. He shivers with the new exposure, shuddering again when Robby licks a stripe up the shaft of his hard cock, his hand pushing against Dennis’s thigh when he reaches the tip and, without warning, takes him into his mouth.
Dennis’s back arches again, pleasure shooting up his spine. It’s a good job Robby’s hand is on his thigh, pinning him in place. Dennis inhales sharply, vision blurring. He’s known nothing but his own hand for the last three months, which doesn’t even remotely compare to Robby’s warm, wet mouth.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” Dennis gasps, more to the ceiling than to Robby, his head tipped back in pleasure.
When Robby laughs it reverberates up the length of Dennis’s cock, the sensation making his skin tingle in a way that feels embarrassingly close to him coming. He tries to steady himself, tries to slow his too-quick breathing. He’s more than happy for Robby to work as many orgasms out of him as he likes, but after a full shift, with another shift tomorrow, Dennis doesn’t know that he has the strength.
When he’s sure he can’t hold back for another minute, he tugs lightly at Robby’s hair. He wants to string some kind of coherent sentence together, but what comes out is a garbled please and fuck me and, “Now, Robby, please, fuck–”
It’s almost annoying how Robby still looks so put-together as he pulls away, even with his cheeks pink and his lips wet. He’s smirking at Dennis, who is suddenly filled with the urge to slap him, or kiss him, or maybe both if he doesn’t hurry up–
Robby reaches into the bedside table drawer, producing the bottle of lube and a condom. He throws them onto the bed beside Dennis, who waits impatiently as Robby slicks up his fingers. Dennis pulls him into another kiss as Robby’s finger presses into him, teeth digging into Robby’s lip at the stretch.
But Dennis really is impatient, his nerve endings so fried with want, such a build up of longing under his skin, that before Robby can even think about slipping a second finger into him, Dennis says, “I’m good. Fuck me, Robby–”
“You are not good,” Robby laughs into Dennis’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his clavicle.
“I am,” Dennis insists, aware that he’s whining and not caring in the slightest. “I’m good, Robby, so are you going to fuck me, or–”
Robby cuts him off with a kiss that devolves into several smaller, swifter kisses, as he pulls his hand away and finishes undressing. Dennis decides to take initiative, tearing open the condom wrapper and pouncing on Robby just as soon as he kneels on the bed again, rolling the condom down the length of his cock and stroking lightly, familiarising himself once more with the weight of it.
Robby groans softly, pushing Dennis back onto the bed and reaching for his thighs, hiking them up around his hips. “You sure you’re ready?” He asks, grabbing the lube again and coating his cock with it. Dennis props himself up on his elbows to watch, mesmerised and mouth watering, and looks up at Robby with a nod.
He is not ready. There’s a bite of pain to the pleasure that shoots up his spine as Robby presses into him. Dennis would be a liar if he said he hadn’t fucked himself with his fingers whilst thinking about Robby’s cock quite a few times over the last few months, but they don’t compare to the real thing. Even when Robby works him open diligently, it’s a stretch. Dennis is pretty sure he’s being split in half, his eyes watering as he clutches at Robby’s shoulder, too breathless to moan.
Robby isn’t, though. He moans long and low as he eases into Dennis, muttering a fuck as he bottoms out, their hips slotting together. Robby leans down, looking at Dennis for a long moment before he kisses him again, giving him time to adjust, Dennis thinks. “I missed you too.” Robby tells him, earning a wide-eyed look from Dennis before he begins to move his hips.
Dennis knows that Robby is usually methodical with it, finding a rhythm so steady you could set your watch to it until he eventually falls apart. But tonight he fucks Dennis like he’s possessed, like – maybe he wasn’t just saying it, and maybe he really did miss him. It’s exactly what Dennis needs; he meant it too. He’s really missed this.
Again it feels like the edge comes too fast, the heat pooling in his belly, the breath punching out of his lungs with every snap of Robby’s hips. Dennis keens, back arching off the bed when Robby’s cock hits his prostate, the angle only making him moan louder. Robby slides a hand under his hips, keeping him there as he fucks him brutally hard and brutally fast, his face buried in the crook of Dennis’s neck.
“I’m– fuck, Robby, I’m going to–” He can’t even finish the sentence; the words stick in his throat, the breathlessness and the spikes of pleasure combining to white his brain out. “Please–”
“Come for me, sweetheart.” Robby says into his neck, right by his ear. The words make Dennis melt, his eyes threatening to roll back in his head. “Come with me, that’s it, jesus fucking christ–”
Dennis can’t speak; he presses his hand to the back of Robby’s head, fingernails scratching his scalp as he comes, right at the moment that Robby’s hips still, cock pulsing inside of him. Robby bites down on his shoulder, pulling a soft whimper from Dennis as he gets his breath back.
He has no idea how long they lie there for, sweaty and panting, clinging to each other. Dennis closes his eyes, breathing deeply, letting his hand fall from Robby’s head to the back of his neck. He had spent a decent amount of time imagining this, and no, nothing he could’ve thought of compares to the real thing. When Robby finally pulls away Dennis forces his eyes open, taking in the sweat on Robby’s brow, the flush across his cheeks.
“Shower?” Robby suggests. It sounds like an excellent idea, except-
“I don’t think I can walk.” Dennis admits sheepishly.
What most people don’t know about Robby, something that Dennis has come to learn, is that he’s a vindictive bastard. “I told you you weren’t ready.” He smirks, pulling away from Dennis, leaving him feeling too empty and too cold.
“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” Dennis muses, staring at Robby’s ceiling as he waits for some of the feeling to return to his legs.
He hears the en suite light turn on, and then the shower start running. Robby returns, leaning over him, “What’s that from?”
“Matthew 26.” Dennis returns.
“Should’ve known.” Robby holds out a hand to him, and Dennis takes it.
He makes it to the shower and back into bed, dressed in a pair of sweatpants he had left at Robby’s place three months ago by complete and total accident. He feels mildly guilty as he pulls them on, remembering how he’d blamed Trinity for stealing them despite her vehement protestations.
It’s a lot easier to sleep when he’s tired down to his bones from work and from Robby, and when he wakes to his 4:30am alarm he feels like he’s slept for years. He collects his stuff as quietly as he can so as not to wake him, and only when he’s about to leave does he crouch by the side of the bed to press a gentle kiss to Robby’s temple.
Robby blinks, bleary-eyed and scruffy with sleep. He frowns at Dennis, saying, “Where’re you going?”
“Home.” Dennis replies. “I’ve got to get changed. Dana’ll know if I show up in the same shirt as yesterday.”
Robby huffs softly, knowing that Dennis is unfortunately very correct. He turns to look at the clock, frowning at it instead of Dennis as he says, “I can drive you over there, if you want?”
“It’s fine.” Dennis shakes his head, smiling gently. “It’s not far. I’ll text you when I get back.” Because he knows that’ll be Robby’s next request. “I’ll see you in there.”
Robby nods, watching Dennis go with the mildly bewildered expression of a bear just waking up from a winter’s hibernation. It makes Dennis laugh a little as he grabs his backpack and heads for the door, letting himself out with the spare key which he slips back under the mat before he leaves.
~*~
There is no way, he reasons, that Trinity will be up. It’s 5am; she doesn’t wake up until 6 on a good day. All summer she’s given Dennis stomach ulcers with how late she wakes up to take them into work. And yet this morning, as he creeps inside their apartment on his literal tip-toes, there she is, sitting at the kitchen table, smiling at him smugly.
“Egg and cheese bagel?” She offers. “Whore?”
“Are you the pot, or the kettle?” Dennis asks, dropping his backpack and heading to his room.
He changes hastily, bushes his teeth, and tries to do something with his hair before promptly giving up. He hopes Trin will have gotten the message and have slunk back to her room, but when he heads back into the communal part of the apartment she’s still there, sitting at the table and grinning.
Dennis takes a bagel, and starts searching for protein bars to fill his pockets with.
“C’mon, you’re not going to give me any details?” She goads him. “Our boss comes back from his three month mental health sabbatical–”
“No one said that’s what it was for–”
“Uh, everyone said that’s what it was for, and anyways, he cut it short by a whole day not to catch up on his laundry, but to see you.” She stares at him. Dennis isn’t looking at her, but he can feel her gaze boring holes into the back of his head. “You’ve got to tell me something.”
“He was always coming back yesterday.”
“Okay. But you told me dinner was tonight.”
“It was.” Dennis shrugs. “Now it’s not, I guess.”
“You’re being no fun, Huckleberry.” She sighs, getting to her feet. She starts packing up a few protein bars herself, throwing an apple in for good measure, and she nudges him with her shoulder. “Seriously, though. Was everything okay?”
Dennis sways a little on his feet, jostled by her gentle nudging. He allows himself a small smile. “It was good.” He allows. He doesn’t know why he was feeling so frosty about telling her anything; probably the five or so hours of sleep he’s running on.
Trinity grins, putting her hands on his shoulders and squeezing tightly. “That’s what I wanted to hear. I’m happy for you, you’re way more fun when you’re getting some.”
“Shut up.” Dennis laughs, shoving her lightly as he shrugs into his jacket. “C’mon, we gotta go.”
She rolls her eyes, but she grabs her coat and leads the way out the door. It’s still pitch black outside as they head into the ED, and will be dark again by the time they get out. If he’s lucky, Dennis might see the sun through the doors to the ambulance bay. The darkness doesn’t do anything for the fatigue that settles under his skin, however, making his limbs feel heavy as he drags himself to the Hub for handover.
“Oh, wow,” Samira’s eyebrows arch as she looks at Dennis, her mug of coffee halfway to her lips. “You look like you need this more than I do.”
She holds the cup out to him. Dennis stares at it for a second, very offended but kind of needing the caffeine. In the end, he caves; he takes the mug with a muttered, “Thanks, I guess.” He takes a sip, and then physically recoils. “How much sugar is in this?”
“Enough to get me to lunch, at least.” Samira smiles sunnily, turning her attention to the front of their little pack as Robby takes his spot in front of them.
There’s a spattering of cheers and random applause that makes Robby blush, which in turn makes Trinity stare at Dennis, which makes him blush. He buries his face in Samira’s syrupy-sweet coffee and pointedly ignores her.
“Alright, alright, that’s enough of that.” Robby holds up a hand. “We’ve already got a full waiting room outside, and there’re a lot of beds tied up in here, so if everyone can start their day by getting someone sent home, I would be eternally grateful. I don’t think we’ve got anyone we don’t know with us today, so – do what you always do. Work together, look out for each other, speak up if you need support. Let’s get to work.”
Dennis meets his eyes for a split second, giving him a tiny nod before he goes to find himself a patient.
They’ve only actually worked one shift together since they started… whatever it is that they’re doing. It had been Dennis’s first actual day as a doctor, so he’d been so anxious and so on edge that he had barely even thought about how he and Robby had been spending the last few weeks. For his part, Robby had been professional, courteous, teaching him what he needed to know and quizzing him on things he should know. There had still been the pull of Robby’s hand on his shoulder or the back of his neck about ten times over twelve hours, but Dennis was so used to that that it felt no different.
Now… well, he now has no idea how this shift is going to go.
~*~
It’s… weirdly fine.
Dennis spends the entire shift trying not to look at Robby unless he has to and he fails miserably. But every time he looks over, Robby is so busy with something else that he barely glances at Dennis. At 10am he steers him to one side and asks him if he’s doing okay, to which he says he is; Robby nods, squeezes his shoulder, and walks off. He’s about to do it again at 12:30pm, but Dana hollers for him and Robby crosses the department as fast as his long legs can get him there.
It isn’t until Dennis frantically catches some guy’s small intestine as it spools out of the wound of his stomach that he thinks things might change. Robby gives him a small, panicked glance, which Dennis meets, holding both his hands and his gaze steady. He has to accompany them up to theatre, still holding half a man’s guts in his gloved hands, and he sits in the elevator, de-gowned and de-gloved, for just a second when it comes to rest on the ground floor.
Dennis is going to get a drink. No — he’s going outside to bum a cigarette off one of the paramedics. No, better still, he’s going to go and fill the men’s room sink up with water and stick his whole head in it—
His body jerks like a marionette puppet as Robby pulls him to one side.
“Hey — how’re you doing?”
Dennis looks up into Robby’s dark, soulful eyes and resists the urge to ask him how he thinks he’s doing.
“Well… some guy’s small intestine just fell out right in front of me, and then I held it for fifteen straight minutes, so…” he shrugs. He's pretty sure his brain has yet to catch up. “My arms hurt.”
From across the hub, Dennis feels eyes on him. He assumes it’s Trinity, but he assumes wrong. Dana is watching them from over the rim of her glasses, though Robby has yet to notice.
“If you need a minute, there’s food in the lounge.” Robby tells him gently. “Go take five.”
Dennis considers it. It’s not even remotely the most traumatic thing that’s happened to him in the ER, it was just so completely unexpected, so horror movie-esque, that his brain is having trouble processing it.
“I’m fine.” He says after too long of a pause. Robby looks at him, disbelieving and disapproving. His hand slips from Dennis’s shoulder so he can fold his arms over his chest, but Dennis ignores the cold spot where Robby’s hand has been, pointing at the board instead. “Look — next patient is a 4 year old with a sore toe. I’ll manage.”
Robby looks at him for a beat, and Dennis knows what he’s doing, because he’s doing exactly the same thing: trying to remind himself that they’re at work. That he can’t just say what he wants to say, or bump Robby’s shoulder lightly with his own, or give his hand a gentle squeeze. It’s hard. Dennis has tasted blood from biting his tongue already today and they’re not even halfway through the shift.
“Okay.” Robby says finally. Dennis feels himself deflate, relieved. “Shout up if you change your mind. And good work back there — seriously, that was some quick thinking.”
Dennis nods, blushing as he always done when he receives praise of any kind from someone. He begins to walk off to North 4, only to realise Dana is still watching him. She smiles as he passes, warm as ever. But Dennis knows better than to underestimate her.
~*~
“Are you seeing anyone, Whitaker?”
Dana is looking at him curiously from her periphery as she stands by his side. Dennis tries not to choke on the power bar he’s attempting to eat in two bites; it’s a losing battle.
“Wha?” He manages, swallowing thickly.
“I’m curious, Whitaker, I feel like I don’t know anything about you. I like having the gossip on my work kids, c’mon.” The light dances in her eyes as she teases him, leaning in closer. “Anyone special you wanna–”
“Is that Robby?” Samira gasps. Dennis has truly never been so grateful for her presence. Dana leans back, brow furrowing, until she realises that Samira is looking at a picture Dana has taped up on the desk. With careful fingers, Samira liberates it from the counter, bringing it up close to her face. She looks at Dana with a smile so wide and so brightly that Dennis is quite sure it could light the whole room. “Is that you?”
Her gasps have brought round a few more bodies – Mel, Trinity, Jesse and a handful of nurses gather around. Dennis likes to think he’s wormed his way out of being involved in this, directing his attention back to his computer. It only lasts for a second, though, before he can no longer help himself; he doesn’t stand, but he does peer up at the commotion close by.
The photograph in Samira’s hand is well loved, one corner creased, the colours a little faded. But it absolutely is Robby and Dana, at least twenty years ago, standing smoking a cigarette each outside the doors to the ambulance bay. The lines around Robby’s eyes are far fainter than they are now, and half of Dana’s high ponytail is crimped to the point of looking out of focus, but it’s them.
“I found it stuck in the back of an old file full of junk.” Dana says, putting her glasses on to look at it better. “Look at us. Babies.”
“Robby was hot.” Samira observes this like it’s some kind of revelation, and Dennis feels uniquely annoyed, so much so that he has to turn away.
First of all: is it news to anyone that Robby, who in Dennis’s humble opinion is hot right now, was hot when he was younger? Dennis can’t point that out for reasons that make him flush slightly and other reasons, such as Trinity staring at him so hard that the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Still. Thanks Captain Obvious, Dennis thinks to himself.
Second: she isn’t the first person in the world to have this revelation, and Dennis hates that she has set the group away giggling over something that he knew months ago.
He had been in Robby’s bedroom, three or so weeks before his first proper shift, wearing sweatpants that hung so low on his hips so as to be almost illegal. He had been curious, looking at Robby’s bookshelves, running his fingers over the spines of medical textbooks and autobiographies and detective novels until he had come to a photograph. The frame was a little dusty; he had picked it up to wipe it away, and had similarly gasped himself.
It was another photo in a hospital – Dennis begins to wonder if Robby has any photos not posed in a medical setting, and then remembers all the photos he got from his roadtrip – but not a hospital Dennis recognised. The decor was old, the colours gaudy, and the computer on the desk was about big enough to live inside. Dennis didn’t need to ask when it was from – someone in the back was wearing those millenium novelty glasses, eyes hidden behind giant golden naughts. New Year’s Ever, 1999, Dennis assumed.
“Where was this?” Dennis had asked, turning around and holding the picture up.
Robby had smiled, soft and nostalgic. “Chicago.” He had answered, lying on his side in bed, sheets pooled around his waist. Dennis had managed to stop his eyes from drifting to Robby’s chest hair. “I did a trauma medicine fellowship out there for a couple of years before I came here.”
“Huh.” Dennis had murmured, looking at the photo again. Robby was smiling so brightly, his arm slung around a doctor Dennis didn’t know and never would, but who seemed to think of Robby as a friend. He seemed… lighter. Not yet weighed down under the strain of everything he would come to see and do.
Dennis had set the photo back down in its spot, smiling slightly as he turned, and said, “I wasn’t even two when that photo was taken.”
That fact had made Robby groan, throwing an arm over his eyes. Dennis had been forced to kiss his way under it, reminding Robby that he wasn’t even born when Robby had gone to medical school, and would’ve been four when Robby had made the move to Pittsburgh, on and on until Robby had finally caved, laughing as he let Dennis kiss him.
So, no – Samira is not the first one to think that Robby was hot when he was younger. Why does it matter? Why does he even care what she or any of the rest of them think?
Dennis turns his back to them and gets back to his charting.
~*~
Dana, thankfully, does not pick up her line of questioning again. She’s impossible to avoid (Dennis knows because he has tried and failed spectacularly), but she seems to have forgotten about it. The photograph of her and Robby remains taped to the desk until one morning Robby notices it, chuckling as he says, “Where did you dig this up from?”
“You can thank Gloria and her need to digitalise everything for that.” Dana answers with a snort. “Found it in an old file when I was clearing out.”
Robby looks at it for a long moment. Dennis pretends to focus on the boards.
“Y’know,” Dana says, bumping Robby with her shoulder gently. “Samira said you were hot.”
“Past tense?” Robby asks, sounding so genuinely offended that Dennis makes a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat. They both turn to look at him like they just realised he was there; Dennis fakes a cough, blushing a nice shade of crimson, and scurries off to speak to the ear foreign body in North 12.
Dennis doesn’t see Robby outside of work for another two days after that, spending the next day at the farm with Amy, Macy and the sheep. When he does finally make it to Robby’s house he pins him to the wall with his knee pressed between Robby’s long legs, biting his neck as he tells him that he’s just as hot as he ever was.
~*~
Dennis knows he doesn’t have a very good work-life balance. He lives with his co-worker and has fallen into some sort of best friend/sibling dynamic with her that makes working together simultaneously effortless and endlessly annoying. He’s fucking his boss, though that doesn’t even begin to cover it (not that they’ve talked about it, but still–). He spends a lot of his free time offering free medical care to people on the streets. But at least, he thinks, he has the farm. He might’ve met Amy in the ER, but their relationship is now so utterly separate from it that Dennis sometimes forgets that’s how they met in the first place.
Which is exactly why his stomach drops when he sees Amy sitting in chairs with little Macy on her lap.
“Uh–” Dennis pushes open the door, ignorant to the very long waiting list and the many people who have been here for hours as he calls, “Macy Miller!”
Amy looks up, her eyes landing on Dennis. She looks relieved, until Macy coughs and anxiety hunches her shoulders again. Grabbing her bag, she hurries through to triage.
“Hey, what’s–”
“It’s her breathing.” Amy says, following Dennis to an empty cubicle. “She’s had a cold for a couple of days, but this morning I noticed her chest–” She lifts Macy’s shirt up so Dennis can see the way her skin pulls taught around her ribs, stomach pulling up as she takes a breath. “She's drinking, but she's fussier than normal, and she keeps coughing—“
As if to prove her point, Macy makes a sickly coughing noise. Dennis looks at her grimly, realises what he’s doing, and tries to give Amy a reassuring smile. “She’ll be okay.” He says. “We’re going to figure this out.”
He’s doing a set of observations when the curtain twitches, and Trinity appears. She looks surprised to see them, which is maybe because Dennis has yet to block the cubicle off. “Oh! Uh— Dr. Santos—“ he looks at her, wide eyed and feeling very much like he just got caught doing something he shouldn’t. Which… he was. Cherry picking at its finest.
“Amy, right?” Trinity looks from Dennis to Amy and finally to the baby. “And this much be the kitchen baby.”
“Macy.” Amy supplies, still a little tearful.
“Right.” Trinity nods, smiles politely; she’s not one for babies. She turns to Dennis, pulling him aside and in a hushed whisper says, “Have you seen the boards? Robby’s gonna kick your ass.”
Dennis doesn’t reply to that, not because he thinks it isn’t true — it absolutely is true. Robby will kick his ass. Except that Dennis knows just how quickly Robby is pulled between cases, how long it sometimes takes him to get round to someone new. He has time to build up his case. He just needs to get moving.
By the time Robby walks past the cubicle, does a double take, and comes striding back, Dennis has done enough work to know that he’s not in trouble. Robby looks between the three of them, fixes Dennis with a look that says you are in big trouble, and then says to Amy, “Mrs. Miller — I’d say it’s nice to see you, but it’s never nice to see someone you know in here. What’s going on?”
Now he looks to Dennis.
A year ago, Dennis would’ve been reduced to a stammering, stuttering idiot under that gaze. It’s the look of expectation and disappointment. It’s the look that usually means you’re about to get some constructive feedback.
But now? Dennis has done his job. He's spent that time in which Robby was bouncing from case to case doing tests, taking readings, going over Macy's symptoms. Building a clinical picture, one clear enough that Robby won't be able to call him out. “Macy is 11 months old, has had coryzal prodrome for four days now, chest recession started this morning with a persistent cough and crackles on auscultation. These are her SATS,” he turns the monitor round so Robby can see the 92% that flashes in big red text. Dennis had already turned the alarm off so as not to worry Amy. “I’m about to put her on oxygen. She’d been sat in chairs for an hour and a half.”
There’s a strange sense of pride that washes over Dennis when Robby looks over at Macy, who coughs her tiny lungs out and then lies pitifully against her mother’s shoulder. He folds his arms over his chest, nodding before he says, “And your diagnosis?”
“Bronchiolitis. Her temperature’s not high enough for pneumonia.”
“And your treatment plan?”
Dennis tries not to feel like he's back in med school, standing next to a horrifying looking dummy as his examiner throws questions at him a the speed of light. “Oxygen until her SATS improve, then hourly monitoring for four hours. If it doesn’t stabilise, we’ll admit.” He looks to Amy, offering her a wan smile. “But she doesn’t have a fever, and she’s still eating and drinking well, so I don’t think it’ll come to that.”
Robby can’t chastise him for pulling a baby needing oxygen from chairs. Whether it was right or wrong… well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Dennis watches the gears turn in Robby’s head and wonders if he’ll pay for this later.
“Alright. Thank you, Dr. Whitaker.” He says. “I’ll be back to check on you guys.”
Robby gives him one long, lingering before he leaves again, no doubt off to put out another fire. Dennis takes a breath.
Turning to Amy, he says, “Let’s get this oxygen going for her and we’ll see if she improves.”
~*~
Robby returns just as Dennis is giving Amy her discharge advice.
“—anything like that, call an ambulance.” He sees Amy glance over his shoulder and he turns, smiling when he sees Robby. Right, he thinks, when he’s met with Robby’s steady gaze. I’m probably still in some kind of trouble. Just because he made his point doesn't mean he was right for doing it in the first place.
“Thank you.” Amy smiles, pulling him into a one-armed hug; he’s got Macy balanced on his hip. She’s still coughing, but her breathing looks better, and her oxygen isn’t low anymore. “I’m so glad you were here today.”
Between them, Macy gurgles, and then coughs. Dennis bounces her a few times, turning to Robby. “Her SATS look way better, so she’s good to go.”
Robby reaches out, catching one of Macy’s tiny hands. “I’m glad she’s doing better.” He says to Amy. “You two take care of yourselves. Dr. Whitaker, a word?”
Dennis hands Macy back to her mom and wishes them fairwell. This is it — this is the part where he finds out how much trouble he’s in. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Dennis knows Robby would’ve done the same thing in a heartbeat. Has done the same thing. The PittFest situation, Leah—
Dennis immediately decides not to go there.
Robby pulls him to one side. “Good catch there.” He says, “But do not do that again without asking me first.”
Maybe Dennis is worse at separating his work and social life than he thought, because the authority in Robby’s tone makes his knees feel kind of weak. He blinks, gulps, and nods. “Okay. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Robby puts a hand on his shoulder, sliding it along his back to the nape of his neck. “It was a good catch. But—“
He leads Dennis round to the boards with the hand on his neck, squeezing lightly when they come to a stop. Dennis tries to be normal about that, staring up at the display above them. “Just for that, you can have the sustained erection in North 10." Dennis audibly chokes; Robby smiles serenely. "He’s onto hour three now. He’s very pleased about it.”
Dennis clears his throat, and nods. “Okay.”
He knows when to admit defeat.
~*~
“So — it’s been, like, a week and a half.” Trinity stares at Dennis over a tray of deep fried pickles that she is definitely eating all of, despite the intention to share. They were free, so Dennis doesn’t care; how Trinity finds out about all these bar grand openings he’ll never know. “Have you and Robby talked?”
Dennis suddenly isn’t hungry anymore anyways. He picks at the batter on one of the pickles, watching the grease accumulate on his fingertips. “We don’t do a lot of talking when I’m over at his place, so—“
“If you’re trying to gross me out, it’s not going to work. I don’t think it’s gross — I think it’s beautiful. Actually, I think it’s a miracle. I’m Jesus, you’re the water, I turned you into wine and Robby can’t get enough.” She leans back in her seat, smiling smugly.
Dennis frowns at her, as hunched over as ever. “Did you just compare yourself to Jesus?”
“I’m just saying, it’s been months.”
“He was away for half of it!”
“And how many times did he text you?” Trinity looks at him pointedly. Dennis’s silence only proves her point, but he can’t bring himself to answer. The answer, of course, is a lot. Dennis has every selfie saved. He doesnt know why.
(He looked at them every day he didn’t get a text, which was rare, but still happened.)
“Look, if you just want to sleep with him and have it mean nothing, I’ll support you wholeheartedly.” She lays a hand on her heart to demonstrate, though it’s quickly moved in favour of grabbing another pickle. “But I don’t think you want that.”
Dennis rests his forehead on the table with a groan. “I don’t know what I want.”
He thinks he knows what Robby wants, though. Or what he doesn’t want. And doesn’t that kind of make what Dennis wants irrelevant?
“Well… think about it.” Trinity says. “You’re growing up, Huckleberry. You’ll be a big boy soon. Gotta man up.”
Dennis sighs into the tabletop. He hates it when she’s right.
~*~
If Dennis has learned one thing in his time at PTMC, it’s that nothing works. When the AC kicks in of its own accord, no one is surprised. It’s still not surprising when they can’t turn it off, making the ED even colder than it would otherwise be with the autumn chill.
Dennis sits at one of the desks, shivering as he tries to chart.
“Can I get some help over here!”
He looks up from his computer as two firemen traipse into the ER through the ambulance bay, one with his arm slung over the other’s shoulder, blood dribbling from his forehead. Dennis is up and out of his seat in an instant, leading them to an empty bay.
“What happened?” He asks. The injured firefighter is lowered to the bed, his friend hauling his legs on. He’s still half in his gear; soot and ash coat the guerny.
“Fucking idiot went back into the house after we told him not to.” The uninjured man huffs. “Beam collapsed and fell on his head, and his helmet came clean off.”
“What’s your name?” Dennis asks him, grabbing some gauze and pressing it to the wound to stem the bleeding.
“Elijah Henderson.” He hisses, bringing one calloused hand up to grip Dennis’s wrist. “Did you have to do that?”
“Unless you want to keep bleeding.” He says. “Did you inhale any smoke? Any burns anywhere?”
“No.” Elijah shakes his head, stopping when he winces. “My respirator was still on.”
“Okay.” Dennis nods. He reels through the cognitive questions quickly, which Elijah answers without any trouble. “We’re going to patch this up quickly and get you in for an urgent CT, alright?”
“CT?” Elijah stares at him. “But— I— I was going to go back to work. Like - now.”
“Not until we’ve made sure you’re not bleeding into your brain.” Dennis tells him.
Elijah seems to take a second to collect himself whilst the nurses take some observations and begin to dress the wound better than Dennis’s hasty gauze-and-tape. After a breath, he says, “See, this is why I don’t like coming to the ER.” Dennis looks at him out of the corner of his eye as he stands at the phone, waiting for radiology to pick up. “They always stick me with the cutest doctor, and then I can’t think straight, and then they order extra tests thinking I’m a head case.”
Dennis blushes so hard that he sees Perlah begin to panic about him collapsing, and it doesn’t help that Robby walks in right about the moment that Elijah says the word cute.
“… What do we have here?” Robby asks, pushing up the sleeves of his hoody. “Two of Pittsburgh’s finest?”
“You know it.” Elijah says, a little weaker than before. His friend gives Robby a taut smile. “Dr. Whitaker?”
“Elijah Henderson, 29 year old male, head injury from a wooden beam falling on him.” He says, both to the radiologist on the phone and to Robby. “Open wound to the right forehead, we need an urgent head CT for a query brain bleed. Wound’s been temporarily dressed.”
“I told him to stop the heroics.” Elijah’s friend — Andy, from the name printed on his tshirt — says to Robby.
“Radiology want him now.” Dennis says, just as Elijah begins to swing his legs out of bed.
“Woah!” Dennis pitches forward, one hand on Elijah’s chest and the other on his knee so he can roll him back to lying down. “We need you to stay on the bed so you don’t hurt yourself. I’ll take you round—“
“Perlah, Mateo, can you take our friend here to radiology?” Robby interrupts. Dennis looks between them, but they simply nod.
“We’ll see you soon.” Dennis says to Elijah, giving him one firm nod as they wheel him past.
When Dennis looks over at Robby, he thinks he’s looking at him funny. Dennis can’t place it, though. He’s not angry, except he clearly is. Annoyed, at the very least He isn’t showing that primal hunger that he does before he pounces on Dennis, but he sort of is?
“You can squeeze in another patient whilst he’s round there.” Robby instructs him, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Dennis nods, mildly confused; Robby has never stopped him from taking a patient round to CT before, even when the department is rammed. Gotta think of those patient satisfaction scores, after all. Continuity of carer goes a long way.
But he lets Perlah and Mateo unlock the wheels of the bed and begin to ferry Elijah off to radiology, assuring Andy that they won’t be long and he can’t just wait in the bay. Robby has already disappeared, off to tell someone else to hurry up their medical care, probably– no, that’s not fair, Dennis thinks to himself. He stares at the boards, though he doesn’t really see them. He can’t even imagine having to do Robby’s job, work which is mostly thankless and brings him no end of stress. Of course, it will be his job, one day.
Dennis isn’t going to dwell on that now.
He goes to Central 6 to see a child who’s shoved a crayon up her nose, and by the time he’s gotten the snotty crayola removed, Elijah’s come back. Dennis returns to the desk to read the report from the radiologists, shivering all the while.
A warm hand lands on his shoulder. “Cold?” Robby asks, making Dennis just about jump out of his skin.
“Same as everyone, I think.” The air conditioning still isn’t fixed, and there’s still no word on when anyone will come to fix it. Looking around for evidence of other people shivering, Dennis is surprised to find them all strangely prepared in long sleeves or jackets. Huh. Maybe he’s the only idiot who didn’t think to bring a change of clothes to the usually hotter-than-Hades ED.
“Here,” Robby is shrugging out of his hoody, his signature Robby hoody, the one he was wearing on Dennis's first day. Dennis blinks at it, and then at Robby, as he holds it out to him.
“You’ll get cold.” Dennis argues, but it’s half-hearted as best, not just because Robby is already pulling down the sleeves of his undershirt, but because he really fucking wants that hoody. Exodus rattles around in his head. You shall not covet. If Moses was being offered Robby's hoody, he'd probably covet too.
“You’re already cold.” Robby says simply. “And doctors who can’t stop shivering don’t look reassuring.”
Dennis takes the hoody. He slips it on and zips it up halfway, and the way Robby watches him feels almost perverse. It’s unbelievably warm, and it smells so much like Robby’s bedsheets (the same detergent Robby uses for all his laundry plus his own unique scent that Dennis has memorised by now, musk and sandalwood) that he almost has a Pavlovian response.
Managing a smile, soft and maybe too intimate for standing at the hub, Dennis says, “Thanks.”
Robby doesn’t reply, but his eyes crinkle as he smiles and that’s enough for Dennis.
Returning to Elijah’s bedside, he says, “So, the good news is that you don’t have any intracranial bleeding. You definitely have a concussion, but–”
“I get a lot of those.” Elijah chuckles. Beside him, Andy sighs.
“I’m going to clean out that wound and stitch it up, and then you’ll be good to go.” Dennis says. “But– you need to go home. Not back to work.”
“Aw, fuck.” Elijah mutters.
Andy sighs once again. “I’ll go call the Chief.” He hurries out of the ambulance bay, pulling his phone from his back pocket.
“I’ll be right back.” Dennis assures Elijah, going to grab his supplies. He walks past Trinity on his way to the cupboard, who stares at him like he’s grown a second head. Come to think of it, most people are staring at him that way. Dennis looks down, remembering the hoody, and hurries to the privacy of the closet.
He wastes no time getting back to the cubicle either, walking so quickly and keeping his head ducked so low that the way he slips on an errant spot of blood is practically inevitable.
“Woah–!” He almost falls flat on his face before he realises someone has caught him, a strong arm around his middle, hoisting him up. Dennis looks up into Elijah’s blood-stained face, and stammers, “I– I thought I told you to stay in bed.”
“Bet you’re glad I didn’t, or else you’d be in there with me.” Elijah grins. He sets Dennis on his feet, and Dennis is forced to tip his head back to look at him; he hadn’t realised how tall he is. “Not that I’d mind.”
Andy appears at Dennis’s shoulder, his phone still in his hand. “I’m sorry about him, he’s not usually like this—“
“A walking sexual harassment suit?” Trinity mutters from her desk. Dennis hopes no one else heard that.
“It’s fine. People with concussions often show, uh… inappropriate emotional responses.” He says sheepishly. He gestures for Elijah to take a seat again. “It’s normal.”
Trinity scoffs. Dennis pulls the privacy curtain along.
He sets about cleaning out the wound. It needs a few stitches, though thankfully not many, meaning it’ll be quick work. Dennis doesn’t mind being flirted with (it’s not like he’s seeing anyone… right?) but being flirted with at work, around colleagues who he would quite like to respect him, makes him wish he could crawl under a desk and not come back out.
With the wound stitched and bandaged, Dennis gives him one of their standard I have a concussion, please be gentle with me cards and tells him to be less heroic next time.
Elijah laughs, hopping down from the bed. He pulls the curtain back to leave, but he pauses, and asks, “Can I get your number? Yknow, in case my symptoms get worse, and I need some help—“
Dennis is acutely aware of everyone at the Hub looking busy whilst not actually doing anything. He smiles, a little tense, and says, “If your symptoms get worse you can call your usual doctor, or come back in here to be seen.”
“By you?”
From the corner of his eye, Dennis sees Robby stand a little straighter, arms folded over his chest. Dana swats at him; Dennis does his best to ignore them. “If you’re lucky.” He says finally, managing a smile in response to the way Elijah grins at him.
When he turns around, at least ten people are looking at him. Dennis looks at the boards.
“I’ll take South 5.” He says, glaring at Trinity when he catches her smirk. Robby goes to take a step but is collared by Mel, who holds up an iPad for him to look at.
Dennis leaves, having a feeling he’s made a lucky escape.
~*~
He doesn’t realise he never took Robby’s hoody off until he gets home, flopping face first into bed, and the hood envelopes him. Dennis is thankful for the darkness it brings but he also realises, shit: Robby’s hoody.
He texts him, tells him he’s sorry and he’ll bring it in tomorrow. Three little dots flash as Robby texts, disappearing once, twice, three times before finally he gets a reply:
Don’t worry about it. See you tomorrow. :)
Dennis falls asleep like that, face down, still in Robby’s hoody. And when he wakes, sure he’s just had a small nap and he can go and brush his teeth and get ready for bed, he realises that it’s 6:15.
“Fuck.” He mutters, scrambling to get up, hopping out of his bedroom as he puts on his shoe.
Trinity stands in the hallway, a cup of coffee in hand. “I was just coming in to dump this on you.” She pauses, her eyes narrowing. “Are those yesterday’s clothes?”
Dennis finishes pulling his shoe on and steals the mug right out of her hand, knocking back half of the coffee to the sound of her indignant cries. “I had a long day.”
“We all had a long day, I still managed to change my underwear.”
“I’ll be one minute.” He promises her, booking it back into his room, heading for the en suite. “Gotta brush my teeth.”
“Change your briefs, dude!” She calls from the hallway, before muttering into her coffee.
Dennis performs a quick change that belongs in a magic act; he’s changed all of his clothes and brushed his teeth in record time, appearing in the hallway in what has to be under a minute.
“Ready.” He tells Trinity, out of breath and kind of sweaty. She wrinkles her nose at him but for once decides not to comment, pulling the front door open and gesturing for him to go first. Only once he gets to the hospital does he realise that Robby’s hoody is lying at the foot of his bed.
“Fuck.” Dennis mutters, looking at a distinctly hoody-less Robby as he and Trinity walk up to the boards. Robby eyes him, looking him up and down for a second, and Dennis does his best to look as apologetic as possible. He’ll apologise later, he thinks, listening to hand over and taking his first patient without saying a single word to Robby.
It’s hours before he sees Robby again; he feels the familiar pressure of Robby’s hand on his shoulder, his arm stretched along Dennis’s back, as he wheels him away from the Hub and towards the empty staff lounge. Dennis is confused as all hell, but he follows along the way he always does.
When the door clicks shut he opens his mouth to speak, about to apologise for the hoody situation, until Robby asks in a low voice, “Are you coming over tonight?”
Dennis balks. They’re talking about this – at work? Sure the staff room is empty, but anyone could walk in, and…
And Dennis looks up at Robby, the gentle, curious expression on his face. It’s been a few days since Dennis was round at his place, work and the farm and the Street Team complicating his schedule. Does Robby want to see him that much, that he’s asking at work?
Dennis’s stomach does a somersault. He smiles softly, shoulders shrugging lightly. “If you want me to.”
“Do you want to?” Robby asks him. His tone doesn’t change, but the question feels weirdly weighted.
Dennis, still paranoid, turns and looks over his shoulder. No one is standing there with their ear to the door, no one is about to barge in. He turns back to Robby, tipping his head back to look at him. “I always want to.”
Robby smiles in the way that makes Dennis’s chest feel tight. “I’ll give you a ride, if you can wait ten minutes for me to hand over to Jack.”
Ten minutes. Doesn’t Robby know that he’d wait for hours, days– that he had waited, for three entire months, for a night of his attention? Getting in the car together feels risky in a good way; easy to explain away if someone were to see, but far easier if they don’t.
“Sure.” Dennis smiles. There’s a beat, a moment where they’re just looking at each other, where Robby’s eyes falls to Dennis’s lips and he has to look away, reminding himself of where they are.
It takes until he’s halfway through resetting a dislocated knee for him to realise that he once again forgot about the fucking hoody.
Dennis waits at the entrance to the staff car park for Robby, leaning against a bollard. When he sees him he scrambles to his feet, ignoring Robby’s polite greeting and saying, “I left your hoody at my place– I can get the bus back there and then meet you at yours?”
Robby stares at him for a second. “Or I could just take you over there now?”
That doesn’t compute for a second. Robby, driving him to his place. Robby in his place? Well, it would be rude to leave him in the car. Dennis feels like he’s fucked up. He gives a strangled, “Sure.”
Robby puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly as he takes him over to the car.
~*~
He invites Robby up because it’s polite. Trinity isn’t home anyways, lured away by a tinder hookup, which does make things slightly less awkward. Robby stands in the hallway, looking around. “This place is pretty nice.”
“Yeah.” Dennis breathes. He closes the door behind them. “I owe Trinity a fair amount of back-rent.”
Robby smiles softly, looking almost – fond? Fond of Trinity? Dennis knows that he also has (working) relationships with their other coworkers, but it does throw him off. He slips past Robby and heads for his room. Robby goes to follow him, and Dennis stiffens, saying, “It’s, uh – it’s normally not this messy. I was in a rush this morning. So.”
His bed is unmade, clothes strewn about the floor, door to the en suite ajar. Dennis blushes bright red as he heads in, grabs the hoody, and turns around. Robby is looking around with the expression of someone visiting an animal at the zoo that they don’t really care about seeing but are intrigued by nonetheless. Dennis plants his hands on Robby’s chest, hoody laying over his arm, and pushes him gently back into the hall.
“Okay, we can– where are you going?”
Robby is wandering down the hallway, poking his head into the kitchen, and then the living room. He pauses, turning to Dennis. “Santos isn’t home?”
“She’s on a date.” Dennis explains.
“Uh huh.” Robby says slowly. He’s eyeing the couch with a look that Dennis knows all too well.
He shakes his head, even though Robby isn’t looking at him. “She’ll murder me if we so much as make out over there, so–”
Robby turns, amusement in his eyes. “Back to my place, then.”
Dennis breathes a sigh of relief. “Yes please.”
Robby keeps it under the speed limit, but only just.
~*~
Dennis is still in Robby’s hoody, having put it back on in the car when he had gotten cold and he hasn't taken it off since. Robby doesn’t seem to mind. Every so often he’ll pull it tighter around Dennis, or grab it by the joined-up zipper and use it to pull him forward, into another crushing, bruising kiss.
Robby seems extra handsy — not that he isn’t normally, but Dennis is the one who usually feels a little insane, like he’s pawing at Robby like a crazed animal. But tonight it’s Robby who can’t seem to stop, running his hands up and down Dennis’s thigh, over his hips, ducking under the hem of his shirt to flatten his fingers against the bare skin of Dennis’s stomach. They sit on the couch, having not made it much farther than the living room before Robby had pulled him closer and kissed him to the point of Dennis being sure he was about to pass out.
Now Robby is leaning back against the arm rest, Dennis half perched on his lap and between his legs, draped along Robby’s long body. Robby nips at his lower lip as he pulls back for air, kissing along Dennis’s neck and sucking a hickey right by his clavicle.
Dennis thinks about his conversation with Trinity, the memory coming back to him against his will. It’s not a good time to ask. Robby slips his hand under Dennis’s shirt, hand skimming his stomach as it slips round to the small of his back, where Robby can press their hips together and make him moan softly. It’s not at all a good time to ask, but it's lingering in the back of his mind, the question on the back of his tongue: what are we doing here?
Well — he doesn’t quite mean that question. He knows what they’re doing here and now. Or he really hopes he does. He’s usually pretty good at telling where this is going.
He knows he’s right when Robby undoes his pants at the front, licks a stripe across his palm, and wraps his slick hand around Dennis’s cock. Dennis moans softly, head dropping to lean against Robby’s as he offers muttered prayers to the man upstairs and muttered curses to the man downstairs, which only get louder as Robby undoes his own trousers and strokes them both at the same time. His fingers just manage to wrap around them both together, the slow drag of his hand up and down their cocks slicked by the precum that beads and mingles together. Dennis thinks the image of it alone, never mind the sensation of Robby’s calloused hand on his cock, would be enough to make him come.
When he does finally come, after what feels like an age and no time at all, he does it with his tongue in Robby’s mouth and his hand in his hair, Dennis’s arm curled around Robby’s face. Robby arches his back up against Dennis at the same time as Dennis grinds down against him, and Robby’s thumb flicking over his slick shaft sends him toppling over the edge. He groans into Robby’s mouth, pulling back to pant against the side of his face, kissing along his jawline and enjoying the scratch of Robby’s beard against his skin as he waits for Robby to join him.
But his hand slows, falters like he doesn’t know whether to let go; Dennis is overstimulated, sure. Robby’s hand feels like far too much as he comes down from the high, but Dennis shakes his head, nose still pressed to Robby’s cheek as he urges him, “Keep going. I wanna see you.” He nips at Robby’s neck, sucking a mark into the spot into his adam’s apple, always careful not to take it too far; it’ll fade in a few hours, but Dennis will remember its exact spot even when it’s gone. “Please, Robby. For me.”
“Fuck.” Robby mutters under his breath, breathing ragged as his hand starts to move again.
It’s so much, so soon. Dennis whimpers, kissing lazily and sloppily at Robby’s neck as he strokes them in tandem once more. He lets his own hand drift down, thumb brushing the head of Robby’s cock just so he can hear him groan. It makes Dennis shudder so he does it again, again and again until finally Robby comes, back arching off the sofa, Dennis’s lips at the pulse point in his neck.
They make it to the bedroom after that, changed and cleaned up. Robby’s hoody doesn’t have a mark on it. It’s a miracle, Dennis thinks. He rubs the cuff of one sleeve between thumb and forefinger after he hangs it up on the back of the door. Robby is in the bathroom; he has a second. When he presses his nose to the soft, worn fabric, he notices that it smells like him now, too.
He falls asleep with Robby’s arms around him, as he normally does, but it takes him longer than usual to fall asleep. When he does it’s fitful, plagued by drug orders he had forgotten to complete, patients he needed to follow up with, charts he sworn he had gotten to. He wakes in the middle of the night to find that he and Robby have drifted apart; not unusual. Dennis knows he’s a wriggler. He’s flat on his back, and when he turns his head, he finds Robby has his back to him.
Dennis has mapped the freckles across Robby’s back before, with fingertip and tongue alike, but in the darkness of the bedroom he can’t really see them. He shifts as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake him, and wraps his arm around Robby’s waist, shuffling until he can press his face between his shoulderblades.
There is nothing in the bible that can help him now, no handy proverb or psalm or verse that comes to him unbidden, pissing him off and providing wisdom in the same breath. What he has with Robby– he doesn’t know what it is. He knows that he likes it. He likes that they can both get on with their jobs, work as a team, and then come home and be this. He likes that no one knows, so there are no funny looks, no playful but annoying jabs, no comments about their private lives. He likes Robby, the way he looks at him, the way he touches him, the way he respects him as a doctor.
Dennis has spent so much time wondering what they’re doing here, but does it matter? Does he even really care? He squeezes his eyes shut, presses his hand to Robby’s chest so he can feel the gentle thudding of his heart. Whatever they’re doing here, it’s good. It feels right. That’s enough for Dennis, he thinks.
He falls asleep to the steady rhythm of Robby’s heart, lips pressed to his spine.
~*~
Before Dennis knows it, Halloween is on top of them. Trinity has already made big plans since they’re both on a day shift that day, and has bought all the elements for Dennis’s costume before she even tells him what it is. Only two days before before does she hold out a plastic rapier to him with a grin, and says, “Try not to hurt yourself with that, Huckleberry.”
“Why do I have this?”
“Because,” She says, handing him a flowy white shirt, a waistcoat, and a pair of questionable boots. “You are going to be Will Turner, and I,” She holds up a white dress, a red waistcoat, and a trihorn hat. “Am going to be pirate baddie Elizabeth Swann.”
“Aren’t they like–” Dennis narrows his eyes. “Married?”
“Who gives a fuck? We’re going to look hot. Go try it on so I can see if I need to get anything else tomorrow.”
Dennis begrudgingly does as he’s told, and once again he’s annoyed by Trinity’s eye for clothes that flatter him. He shouldn’t like how he looks as a pirate. And yet…
When he returns to the living room, she grins. “Fuck yes, Huckleberry! Never doubt my vision.” She jabs a finger at him. “Now take it off and give it back to me, I don’t trust you not to lose the sash.”
Dennis sighs, gives her a mock salute, and goes to get changed again.
~*~
Their Halloween shift is as eventful as Dennis had assumed it would be. He treats a skeleton with a broken leg, an Eeyore whose tail has been nail-gunned to his ass cheek, and a ghost who can’t stop throwing up weird luminous gloop (turns out they’d accidentally eaten a bowl of glow-in-the-dark slime thinking it was pudding). At the end of their shift, Robby thanks them for their work, and Abbot reminds any of them going out tonight not to end in the ER.
Trinity does not heed the speed limit as she drives them home, but she does immediately pour them each a shot of tequila upon getting in the door, which they slam before going to get changed. Dennis thankfully escaped without needing any makeup, but that just means he’s on duty pouring shots until their uber arrives.
He only vaguely knows where they’re going — it’s some new bar they haven’t been to before that’s throwing a giant Halloween party, complete with themed drinks and a costume contest. Trinity had managed to get them the tickets, which means it’s Dennis’s turn to buy the first round. By the time they manage to get there the place is heaving with bodies, and the bar is stowed out. Dennis fights his way through the crowds to get them a Zombie each, returning without having spilled a drop.
It’s no surprise to Dennis that Trinity can hold her liquor but it is a surprise that he can too. Their nights out usually last well into the next morning, because it takes them that long to wear themselves out. Dennis sends Trinity the bar for their second drink, and returns for the third round himself, though after the bartender sets down a Witches Brew in front of him and goes to make Trinity’s black margarita, he feels a hand in his arm.
“Hey!” Some guy yells, holding up a phone. “I think you dropped this. I almost stepped on it.”
It’s Dennis’s; he takes it back, a little wide eyed, feeling like an idiot. He really should stop just shoving it in his back pocket. “Thanks!” He calls back above the music. When he turns again, the bar tender pushes both drinks towards him. Dennis gives the guy a nod again in thanks, and scurries away.
He’s definitely getting better at dancing, which is very much thanks to Trinity and her insistence on going out. Practice makes perfect, after all. But halfway through some sped up club remix of the Monster Mash Dennis’s head begins to spin, and he stumbles, arms flying out to get his balance. Trinity grabs them, pulling him forwards by his wrists.
“You okay?” She shouts above the bassline.
Dennis doesn’t know. His head is starting to hurt, and the room is still spinning. When he goes to speak, his voice is quiet, like he can’t bring himself to raise it. “I think I—“
He pitches to the side again, almost falling before Trinity catches him. She holds him tightly, sliding her arm around his back so he can lean on her. “Let’s get some air, come on.”
It’s cold outside the bar, and Dennis can still hear the music thumping through the brickwork. He leans back against it, sliding down onto his ass, ignorant to the broken glass and cigarette butts on the floor. Trinity crouches in front of him, taking careful hold of his chin as she makes him look up.
“My head hurts.” Dennis grimaces. It feels like there’s a tiny little man inside his skull, hitting it with a hammer.
“Woah. Dude, your pupils are huge.”
“Wha?” Dennis squints at her, the street lamps hurting his eyes.
“Did you take anything?” Trinity asks, pressing two fingers to the pulse point in his neck.
“Like what?” Dennis wants to close his eyes now. He wants to sleep. He groans softly when she tilts his head up again.
“I don’t know. MDMA, coke, speed—“
“Fuck. No.” Dennis groans.
Trinity stands, pulling her phone out of her bag. She’d managed to thrift an absolutely ancient looking handbag to match her Elizabeth Swann ensemble, so it takes her a second to fish it out.
“We’re going to the hospital.”
“I just need to go to bed.” Dennis mutters, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“I think you’ve been spiked, Dennis.” She says, and in any other circumstances, that’s how he’d know she was serious, and that he was in trouble. As it stands, he can barely hear her for the blood rushing in his ears. “We need to go in so they can give you fluids and a blood test.”
He doesn’t know how much time passes like that, with him sitting on the floor and her standing over him, checking his pulse every now and again. He begins to feel nauseous, but he swallows the feeling down. He vaguely registers a car pulling up, and Trinity forcing him to his feet.
“Trinity?” The uber driver asks, peering through the window at him. “PTMC?”
“Yeah,” She grunts, bundling Dennis into the back of the car. His limbs have turned to jello; weird. He tries to collect them enough to be able to sit upright and put his seatbelt on, and then realises Trinity is already doing it for him. Double weird. “Right to the ambulance bay. And uh– if you can get us there in under 10 minutes you will get a 5-star rating.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The uber driver nods, before promptly hitting the gas.
Dennis feels like he’s on one of those haunted house rides, being driven round in the dark with the occasional flash of colour or startling loud noise. He knows where they’re going – his brain can loosely hold the thread that Trinity is weaving into a full story – but he can’t tell if it’s been ten seconds or ten minutes by the time the car pulls up in the ambulance bay. One of the paramedics yells something at them, but he can’t hear it, nor can he see more than a blur in a navy blue uniform as Trinity hauls him out of the car and into the ER.
It’s so bright inside that Dennis has to close his eyes, muttering an oh fuck as Trinity half-leads half-drags him inside. It’s noisy too, noisy in a way that makes Dennis’s ears ring, and he gasps against the sudden onslaught of stimuli as he hears Lena say, “You can’t come– Santos?"
“I think he’s been fucking roofied or something.” Trinity says, swaying with the effort of keeping Dennis on his feet. He tries his best to smile at Lena, but he can’t actually see her. Or, no - he’s seeing two of her. Occasionally three. He directs his gaze at the floor again. “I brought him straight here.”
“North 12.” Lena says, and Dennis thinks I know where that is!, except his feet won’t let him go. He takes a step and stumbles, glaring at his own two feet for a second as the toes of his boots scuff the linoleum, squeaking loud enough to make his ears ring.
Trinity helps him onto the bed, and as soon as Dennis is semi-recumbant his eyes begin to close again. Thank god for Trinity, who rubs his sternum with her knuckles so hard that Dennis thinks she might actually be trying to break it.
“Ow.” He says pointedly, opening his eyes to look at her.
“Stay awake if you don’t like it, Huckleberry.” She helps Lena put a pressure cuff and a pulse ox on him, glaring at him every time he tries to be helpful (which mostly means getting in their way).
“I’ll fetch one of the residents.” Lena says, already yelling for someone as she draws the curtain closed behind her.
Dennis looks balefully at Trinity as the cuff deflates. He tries to read the screen above his bed but the numbers blur together. From the noises it’s making he thinks it might be high. Or low? He doesn’t know. His headache is starting to get worse, that much he does know.
Trinity is rattling around in the supply trolley in the corner, grabbing a tray, some vacuum bottles and a needle. Dennis can see that much, and he says, “You are not coming near me with that.”
“They’ll need a blood sample to see what shit’s floating around in there.” Trinity reminds him. Dennis can’t decide if she sounds annoyed or not. Is she annoyed at him? He hopes not. She’s scary when she’s mad. “The sooner we do it, the sooner we–”
“Well who do we have here? Couple of pirates come to plunder us for medical supplies?”
Dennis looks at the two versions of Dr. Langdon that are standing at the end of the bed. Normally Dennis doesn’t really pay him much attention, as they’re very rarely on shift together, but now his head hurts and he’s nauseous and Langdon’s smile is not helping, nor is the way Trinity’s teeth are visibly set on edge. In a show of solidarity, Dennis glares at him.
“I think his drink has been spiked.” Trinity says, ignoring the comment. “We barely had anything to drink and now he can’t stand up straight, his head hurts, his pupils are huge." Langdon is looking at her skeptically. "He's my best friend. I know what he's like after three drinks. It's not this."
“Alright.” Langdon holds his hands up, palms forward, pacifying. “Let’s get some fluids running and get a blood sample and we’ll take it from there.”
Dennis barely registers anything that’s happening to him. Trinity hovers by his side as one of the night shift nurses puts a cannula in his arm, taking a sample before hooking up the bag of fluids. She pulls the curtain round them once they’re all gone, watching the monitor that beeps gently behind the bed.
After a moment of silence that Dennis can’t measure, she asks, “Should I call Robby?”
Dennis’s eyes open at the mere suggestion of it. Call Robby? It’s the middle of the night. He’s working in the morning. He needs to sleep. And would Robby care? They still haven’t talked, nearly a month after Robby got home, so obviously he’s in no rush to define anything, which surely means he doesn’t want anything from Dennis except for extremely hot sex.
Dennis gulps. “I’m going to throw up.”
She grabs him a cardboard tray to puke in, grimacing as she holds it under his face.
Dennis curls up on his side in bed, grunting softly when Trinity forces him to hold his arm straight so he doesn’t occlude the IV line. He wants to sleep. He wants to sleep for the next week, at least.
She pinches him, hard. “Hey.” She says. “Whitaker. Dennis. Should I call Robby?”
He turns his face into the bed. More than anything, he wants Robby. He’s tired and his head hurts and the room is spinning, he’s nauseous again and more than anything, he’s scared. He’s never felt this way in his whole life, and the idea that someone might’ve done this to him makes him feel so afraid that he wants to cry.
But what he absolutely cannot face is someone calling Robby and him not coming. Dennis doesn’t think he would do that, but how does he know? He can’t know that Robby will come. So he squeezes his eyes tight shut, and says, “No.”
He’s glad he doesn’t have to look at Trinity. He’s glad she doesn’t speak. She pulls a chair up beside his bed, he knows by the way the legs squeak against the linoleum. He feels her fingertips at his temple, pushing his hair back from his forehead, and he finally breathes.
Dennis has no idea how much time passes, but the curtain being pulled back a bit rouses him. Langdon stands at the end of his bed, looking a lot more sober than he had before. Something’s killed his good mood, evidently.
“We got your blood results back.” He says, “Positive for rohypnol.”
“Jesus, fuck—“ Trinity mutters. Dennis watches her knuckles go white on the frame of the bed.
“We’re going to keep the fluids running, and we’re going to do a blood pressure every half hour in case it tanks.” Langdon explains. "We'll keep an eye on you, Whitaker." With a nod, he turns around and leaves.
Trinity goes back to petting Dennis’s hair, which is now stuck to his head thanks to the sweat beading on his forehead. She starts to speak, words that Dennis can’t really hear, when the curtain twitches again.
“Hey,” Dr. Abbot says, pulling the curtain shut behind himself. “Heard we had one of our own in here. How’re you feeling?”
“Like shit.” Dennis answers succinctly. Despite the worry in her eyes, Trinity snorts.
“Yeah, I heard what happened. It’ll do that to you.” Abbot gives him a small smile. “Do you want me to call Robby?”
Dennis suddenly feels wide awake. He looks at Trinity, who looks back at him just as panicked. The two of them look to Abbot like spooked deer.
“I’ve known the guy for 20 years.” Abbot shrugs. “We tell each other things.”
Can you tell me what he’s been saying about me then? Dennis thinks, squeezing his eyes shut again. He shakes his head slightly, a small movement. “Not— not yet.”
“Okay.” Abbot murmurs. “We’ll keep checking in on you.”
Dennis is glad when he hears the curtain open and then close again.
~*~
He sleeps on and off, feeling slightly better every time he wakes. A few times he finds Trinity slumped over the bed, dozing, and he does his best not to wake her. At 4:30 in the morning, Dennis’s headache is mostly gone and he feels less fuzzy, though his stomach still roils and he’s dizzy every time he moves. Abbot returns, finding Dennis awake, and Trinity fast asleep.
“Her neck’ll be sore in the morning.” Abbot observes.
“She’ll live.” Dennis shrugs. “I don’t wanna wake her. She should sleep.”
“Okay.” Abbot nods. “You seem better. Blood pressure’s looking good.”
“I feel better.” Dennis agrees. Not 100%, but much better than even a few hours ago.
“You want me to call him?” Abbot asks. He doesn’t need to say who he’s talking about.
Dennis’s head feels a little clearer now, but it doesn’t make him feel any better about what happened. He’s not as scared, but thinking about Robby is enough to calm him down, so maybe… maybe he should just go for it. If he doesn’t come, then fine. Dennis can take that as an answer to the question he’s never quite managed to ask.
“Yes, please.” He says quietly.
“Well, thank god for that.” Abbot says. “I called him half an hour ago. He should be here soon.”
“Oh, shit.” Dennis sits up too quickly, launching Trinity back into her seat.
“What the fu—“
Abbot smiles. “I’ll bring him round when he’s here.”
Trinity blinks the sleep out of her eyes, squinting at him. “Robby’s coming?”
Dennis nods mutely. Now he knows, he doesn’t know if it was a good idea after all. But— he’s coming. Abbot called him, and he’s coming to the hospital. Admittedly, that does make him feel better.
Trinity is standing by the time Abbot looks around the curtain. Her costume is even more wrinkled than it’s meant to be — Dennis dreads to think how he looks — and her hat has been abandoned in the corner somewhere. She looks about as good as anyone can expect someone to look after the way their night has gone, but somehow, as Robby and Abbot head inside, she looks like a professional again. Dr. Santos, not Trinity.
Dennis doesn’t take her hand, but he thinks about it.
“Hey.” Robby says, rounding the bed in three strides and crouching by Dennis’s head. “How’re you feeling?”
“Better.” Dennis says quietly. He does feel better for having Robby there; he’d known that he would. Robby doesn’t always have that effect on him, but he usually does.
“I’ll, um, be back in a bit.” Trinity says, disappearing out of the room with Abbot.
Only then does Robby take his hand, his thumb brushing back and forth over Dennis’s skin. He looks at the monitor over his head, and then at Dennis’s pale face, obviously conducting some sort of assessment. There’s a sadness in his eyes that Dennis wants to kiss away.
“You could’ve called me from the bar.” Robby says after a moment. “I would’ve come and picked you both up.”
Dennis hadn’t even considered it; he hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. Of course Trinity wouldn’t think of it — why would she? She had been hyper focused, and had found a fitting solution to her problem. “I was kind of out of it.” Dennis admits.
That makes Robby look even more sad, which makes Dennis feel awful, even though he knows it’s not really his fault. He squeezes Robby’s hand gently, trying to be reassuring, but he knows it doesn’t work. He can tell by the way Robby’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the lingering sadness in them.
“Why didn’t you want Jack to call me?”
The warmth fades from Dennis’s chest, his entire body feeling cold. He should’ve known that Abbot would be honest with Robby (he doesn’t seem like the type to spare anyone’s feelings, after all), and he should’ve known that Robby would bring it up, but he had kind of been hoping that they would both take pity on him and leave him be.
Dennis doesn’t want to lie, and he doesn’t want to skirt around the truth. One who walks in integrity walks securely, but one who perverts his ways will be found out. His mother had loved that one, had used it time and time again when a vase was smashed or a gate was left unlatched and Dennis and his brothers tried to pass the blame. She had stitched it in minute crosses, the first half at least, Proverbs 10:9 stitched underneath.
“I didn’t want to wake you.” Dennis says, because it’s true. And because it’s better than what he says next, “And I– I was worried you might not come.”
It would’ve been less painful had he reached over to the supply trolley, grabbed a 10 blade, and stabbed Robby with it. The way his expression crumples, brows furrowing, eyes seeming so sad and lost. Dennis thinks about stabbing himself with a 10-blade for doing that to him. Robby nods slowly, ducking his head after a moment. Dennis can’t take his eyes off of him, willing Robby to look up; when he finally does, it doesn’t make him feel any better.
“I will always be here for you if you need me.” Robby says, his tone gentle, his words firm. His hands squeeze tighter around Dennis’s, and he believes it. How could he not? How could he have doubted Robby?
He knows how. He knows why. Desperately, feeling like he might not like the answer, Dennis murmurs, “We never – we never did talk about what we’re doing here. And that’s fine. I don’t… I don’t think we need to define it, or anything,” He’s rambling. He should wrap it up, he knows, but his brain is still sort of fuzzy. It’s hard to find the words. He suspects it would’ve been hard regardless. “I don’t want to define it." And he realises he means it. He doesn't want to label what he has with Robby when it's already so good. "But is it – are we – exclusive? I guess is… what I’m asking.”
Robby smiles softly, pursing his lips together like he wants to laugh. He reaches up to push the hair away from Dennis’s forehead, now flattened and stuck to his skin. “I really fucking hope so.” Robby says, his hand falling away from Dennis’s face. He returns it to its original position, clutching Dennis’s hand, which he raises now so he can press his lips to his knuckles. “Unless you’ve got something you want to tell me, in which case–”
“No!” It comes out too loud; Dennis blushes as Robby snickers beside him, eyes sparkling where they look at Dennis from over their joined hands. “No, I don’t. I haven’t– you get it.”
“I get it.” Robby agrees, placing Dennis’s hand gently back onto the bed. He stands, hands curling around the bed rail, and looms over Dennis like he’s about to kiss him. Selfishly, Dennis is about to let him. But…
“I’m kind of gross right now.” Dennis admits, looking up at Robby, whose gentle, amused smile is still lingering. “So you don’t have to–”
Robby leans down, pressing his lips to Dennis’s in a kiss so chaste it makes him feel like a teenager again, when even the thought of holding hands with someone had made butterflies batter at his chest. Robby pulls back, just far enough for Dennis to be able to meet his gaze. “You weren’t kidding.” He teases, laughing when Dennis shakes his head.
There’s a knock at the door, and the curtain twitches. Dennis can tell it’s Trinity by her chipped nail polish, though she doesn’t poke her head in. “Langdon’s coming in to discharge you in like, thirty seconds.”
“Thanks.” Dennis says. “You, uh – you can come in, if you want to.”
By the way her hand lingers he figures she doesn’t want to, but when she does finally side step in, Robby has already moved a respectable distance away. He stands with his back to the wall, arms folded over his chest, giving her a nod as she stands by Dennis’s bedside.
“Let me guess,” He says, eyes narrowing as he looks between the two of them. “Pirates of the Caribbean?”
“I told you people would get it.” Trinity mutters, punching Dennis’s arm lightly as the door to the cubicle swings open.
“Alright, Captain Morgan,” Langdon is midway through wrapping his stethoscope around his neck as he reaches the end of Dennis’s bed, remarkably chipper for someone at the end of a night shift. Dennis is starting to think he’s always like that. “How’re you feeling?”
He pauses for a moment, eyes flicking to the side as he notes that it’s not just the three of them in there. “Oh,” He says, the wind apparently knocked out of his sails. “Hey, Robby.”
Robby gives him a nod and the ghost of a smile, and says absolutely nothing. After a beat, Langdon looks back to him. Dennis shrugs, and says, “A lot better. Thanks.”
“Gotta look out for our own, right? I mean, I think Santos did the bulk of it by getting you here, but,” he shrugs, grabbing a pair of gloves and a wad of gauze. “Team effort, and all that.”
He takes the cannula out of Dennis’s arm once he’s disconnected the fluids and turns off the blood pressure monitor. Dennis’s arm feels grossly sweaty from where the cuff has sat for the last however many hours, but he tries not to think about it too hard.
“So long as your knight in thigh-high boots here can keep an eye on you, you’re good to go home.” Langdon says. “Any symptoms at all, come straight back. Clear?”
“Crystal.” Trinity replies on his behalf. Langdon gives a nod, looks once more at Robby, and then disappears. “C’mon.”
“I’ll give you two a ride home.” Robby says, pushing up from the wall as Trinity guards Dennis, making sure he does fall flat on his face when he stands up. He actually feels remarkably steady, though. He knows for a fact he looks a lot better than Trinity does, who hasn’t had any sleep and probably has a tiny, baby hangover.
Even with that, though, she looks up at Robby startled. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, we can get an Uber–”
“Let’s just get in the car.” Dennis says to her, nudging her with his elbow as they begin to walk out of the department.
It’s a silent ride back to their apartment, Dennis in the front with Robby, Trinity in the back. She keeps her gaze fixed pointedly out of the window, allowing Dennis to hold Robby’s free hand as they drive. The journey has never quite felt so short; they arrive far before Dennis expects them to, and he feels reluctant to get out, lingering in the passenger seat as Trinity thanks Robby for the ride and begins to decamp.
“Go, go on. Get some rest.” Robby says, nodding for Dennis to go.
But he lingers, looking at Robby for a moment as Trinity lingers in the doorway of their building, buttery yellow light spilling out onto the sidewalk. Dennis leans forward, kissing Robby just as chastely as he had kissed him in the hospital, and says, “Have a good shift. I’ll see you after?”
Robby gives a single nod, smiling faintly like he thought Dennis wouldn’t ask. He considers one more kiss, but he knows that if he takes much longer, Trinity is going to leave him outside in the cold like an abandoned kitten. So Dennis clambers out of the car, pausing in the doorway to give Robby a wave goodbye whilst Trinity ascends the stairs ahead of him.
Dennis makes it to his bedroom with just enough energy to take off his boots and swap his costume for a pair of sweatpants, before passes out for the next twelve hours.
~*~
He wakes to a knock at the front door. His room is right by it, which probably means he’ll die first if there’s ever an intruder, but intruders generally don’t knock, so he decides not to worry. He lies on his side, facing the door, listening to the muted voices. There’s a low conversation, and the sound of the front door closing, before there’s a gentle knock at his bedroom door.
Robby opens the door an inch or so, sees that Dennis is awake, and opens it further. “Mind if I come in?”
Dennis shakes his head, sitting up a little in bed. He gets a glimpse of Trinity, standing behind Robby, craning her neck to look at him as the door swings shut. He hopes she was just checking on him and not trying to convey some super important message via body language or blinking morse code, because she’s gone in a second as the door shuts with a click.
Robby sits down on the bed, looking Dennis over like he’s conducting an ABCDE assessment. “How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.” Dennis says. “Good, actually. I haven’t had this much sleep in a while.”
Robby chuckles softly, taking hold of Dennis’s hand and turning it over, the inky blue veins on the inside of his wrist exposed. He presses two fingertips to them, feeling his pulse jump. “Santos says she’s been checking your pulse every few hours.”
“She was in my room?” Dennis murmurs, brow furrowing at the thought. “Whilst I was sleeping?”
“She’s a good friend.” Robby says pointedly. Dennis supposes he’s right; and like Dennis wouldn’t have done the same thing, if their roles were reversed.
There’s a moment of silence. Dennis’s room is mostly dark, lit only by the dim bedside table lamp, which casts long shadows behind his paltry belongings. He knows it isn’t much, not half as nice as Robby’s place, but to Dennis it might as well be paradise. He watches Robby as he takes it in, wondering what he’s thinking – his face is mostly blank, only a vague curiosity in his eyes, deepening as they land on the only photograph Dennis has in his room. He doesn’t pick it up, so it’s hard to see from where they are. Maybe Dennis will show him later on, the photograph of himself and his mom when he was just thirteen years old, hefting his pet calf in his skinny arms. It was the only photograph his mother could bear to part with when Dennis had left for school.
“Do you want to go to my place?” Robby asks, looking at Dennis again. “Or…?”
He knows it’s the default, especially when Trinity’s here; they both try to be good about not having company round when the other is trying to sleep, though Dennis has considered ear plugs in the past. But his bed is warm and comfortable, and Robby looks warm and comfortable too, silhouetted as he is in the lamplight. He’s looking at Dennis like he wants to stay. And oh, Dennis wants him to.
“We could– stay here?” He suggests, heart skipping a beat or two when Robby’s shoulders relax.
“Santos won’t kill you?”
“Oh, she’s still on guard dog mode.” Dennis says wryly. He had learned a while ago that she’s like a Doberman when it comes to people she trusts: loyal and fierce and willing to bite any transgressors. “Once she’s sure I’m fine she might, but she’ll be fine for now.”
“Well thank god for that.” Robby breathes a sigh of relief, kicking off his shoes and shifting to lie down next to Dennis, draping an arm over his ribs and tucking his face into Dennis’s neck. “‘Cause I’m ready to pass out.”
“Long shift?” Dennis scratches Robby’s scalp with his fingertips, smiling at the way it makes him hum.
“Yeah, well, I was down my two very good residents. Not my best, but still good.”
Dennis laughs at that, pulling the covers up over them both, even though Robby’s still mostly dressed and neither one of them is really that comfortable. It’s enough to be pressed together, Dennis thinks.
“Shit, wait–” Robby gets up, perching on the end of the bed again and reaching into his bag. Dennis has no idea what he’s going for, until he produces a small envelope, Dennis’s name written in Dana’s neat handwriting on the back. “I’ve got to give this to you.”
He opens it carefully, like it might explode if he moves too suddenly. Inside is a get well soon card from the hospital’s gift shop, the words written in rainbow bubble letters, adorned with stars and glitter and hearts. It looks like it’s straight out of the nineties or something, but Dennis can appreciate how cute it is. When he opens it up he thinks for a second that someone’s defaced it, scribbled all over the inside of the card with a black pen, but as he peers closer he realises it’s messages. So many tiny little messages, smiley faces and kisses and well wishes signed by more people than Dennis can count. For a second it makes his eyes sting, tears threatening to pool in them before he blinks them away.
“I didn’t tell them, for the record,” Robby says, looking over Dennis’s shoulder. “Dana’s omnipotent. One of her kids is in the ER, she knows about it. Don’t ask me how.”
That makes Dennis feel even more like crying. He closes the card, blinking furiously for a second, and then puts it on his nightstand. “Thank you.” He says, voice thicker than he would like it to be.
Robby smiles gently, the type of smile that always sets Dennis at ease, and he lures him back into lying down. Once they’ve situated themselves, tucked against one another as much as is physically possible, Robby says, “Want to hear what the med students did today?”
“Always.” Dennis smiles. It’s nice to hear someone making a mistake when it isn’t him, and it’s nice to hear Robby recount his day, too. Dennis settles into his side, watching the light dance in Robby’s eyes as he speaks, and thinks he really should have Robby around more often.