Chapter Text
Robby didn’t really know how he ended up at a karaoke bar playing never have I ever with his horde of 20-something coworkers. Actually, yes, he did, and his name was Jack Abbot. He called in an IOU tonight. He says it’s paying him back for emotional damages. Normally, that means covering a swing shift or buying the six pack for after-shift beers. Tonight, it meant, on their very rare, shared night off, that he was holed up in a booth in the corner of a very loud, very neon karaoke bar listening to a less-than stellar rendition of “No Scrubs” sung by a drunk Princess and Mel King.
At the table, Santos, Whitaker, Javadi, Abbot, and Mohan are all playing never have I ever. Robby is debating how quickly he can leave without getting shit from Jack when he hears Whitaker say “Never have I ever slept in someone else’s bed.” Which, may seem pretty innocent, but Robby has been watching Dennis all night. Never have I ever with the Pitt crew gets raunchy fast. By this time in the night, they’ve run the gambit of all manner of scenarios, mostly sexual and Dennis has not taken a single shot.
Robby knows it’s a little creepy paying this much attention to what his 27-year-old resident has and hasn’t done, but listen, he’s already given up most of his vices. He didn’t go on his “spirit quest”, instead, he spent three months going to therapy twice a week and a support group on the weekends. He hasn’t been on the other side of the rail on the roof in almost six months. He even bought a helmet for riding his motorcycle and wore it today. So, if he’s a little extra attentive to his church mouse of a resident, then so what? He needs something.
So, when Robby notices that said church mouse is basically sober after three hours of never have I ever, he is intrigued. Has he never had a partner? A one-night stand? An unadvisable fling with a coworker (not that Robby would know anything about that)? Did he take a vow of celibacy when he started his theology degree and just never broke it? He knows it’s none of his business, but also, what gives? The thought of him being so fresh and practically untouched has Robby chomping at the bit.
He doesn’t even really think about it when he follows Dennis towards the bathroom. He just gets up about 45 seconds after him and his feet take him to the hall with the bathrooms. He debates going to the bar and getting another whiskey, to avoid looking like he’s following the kid, but he really was trying to leave soon and that’s probably not a good idea. So, he paces. Up and down the hallway trying to figure out what he will say when Whitaker comes out of the bathroom. Why is he here? What is he even doing here? It’s like Dennis is a lantern in the night and Robby is a lost moth; he’s just following instinct and trusting its leading him in the right direction.
Dennis walks out of the bathroom at the same time Robby is walking past. He comes to a quick stop as soon as the door opens.
“Oh…Dr. Robby. Hi.” Dennis put his hands up to stop himself from running into Robby as he pummeled out the door.
Bringing an arm up to rub the back of his neck to avoid reaching out and steadying Dennis, Robby stutters “Hey, kid. How ya feelin? That game was getting pretty rowdy,”
“Y’know, pretty good. Not the first time things have gotten pretty heated at karaoke night. I’m just glad Princess is occupied with singing. She always ramps things up even more.”
Robby chuckles, “Yeah, I can imagine. Princess is kind of a shit-stirrer” He sobered “I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t taking very many shots. I guess life in Nebraska is pretty quiet, huh?”
Dennis blushes and shakes his head, looking at the ground “It is when you’re the only gay kid for 100 miles…At least I’m pretty sure, not like anybody was actually out.”
Robby stills, I guess there was some explanation, “Oh, well I suppose that explains it. Huh, I thought you were seeing that farm wife, Amy?”
Dennis looks up, surprised, “Amy?! Uh no, we’re just friends. I like helping her out around the farm. Helps with the homesickness sometimes. But uh we’re not together. She’s not really my type if you know what I mean?”
Robby can’t lie, he feels like he just won the lottery. Dennis Whitaker, his quiet, competent, extremely cute resident was not, in fact, dating a cornfed widow with a toddler, but was gay and seemingly single. Suddenly, he no longer hates the idea of Whitaker helping Amy out on the farm. Robby feels like he’s walking on air.
Robby tries to play it cool and not give off his glee, “Huh, well, I guess its good that you have a way to connect to home. So, no boyfriend then either? If you weren’t taking shots.”
Those big round eyes staring up at him get even bigger, “um, no. Don’t really have the time with my residency and everything. Haven’t really…ever… had the time” Whitaker looks around, blushing, “Um, Dr. Robby, we should probably get back to the table. Trin is probably looking for me”
Robby sees the panic blooming in Dennis’ face. He’s starting to feel bad for following the kid back here. Bombarding him with questions is probably not helping. He’s not even really sure what his aim is here, so he is genuinely surprised when he hears himself say “I can help. With the not having time part. And the no shots part. Change some of the nevers to evers.”
Dennis stutters and his blush deepens to a scarlet. Robby wonders how far down that blush goes. “uh, maybe, gotta go Dr. Robby. See you tomorrow!” He scurries away, heading back towards the bar.
What. The. Fuck??? Did he just proposition him? Dennis Whitaker?? He knew he was a little unhinged since not taking the bike trip, but this? This is taking it to a new level. Jesus Christ, Robby, what the fuck?
Robby shakes his head, at himself or Dennis, he’s not sure and makes his way back out to the bar. He rejoins the group, but things have died down since his little rendezvous in the hallway. Whitaker is whispering with Santos, heads bent together, and Dennis keeps sneaking glances at Robby. Trinity looks like she is about to either burst out laughing or strangle someone. A strange look for someone whose standard expression is careful indifference. Robby can only imagine what Dennis is telling her. It’s probably time for him to head out.
“All right, everyone, it’s time for this old man to get home.” Robby rubs his hands together and starts getting up, “As the token oldie, I feel it’s my duty to remind you all that you all have to work in 12-24 hours so don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That’s rich coming from the idiot who didn’t wear a helmet on his bike until like 4 days ago.” Abbott moans from the booth below him, smirking, with his arm slung around Samira’s shoulder.
“Well, I guess, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, unless its on a motorcycle. See everyone tomorrow.”
He receives a chorus of goodbyes from everyone, but the only one he cares to hear is absent. Instead, he gets a shaky nod, and wide eyes from the church mouse.
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Later, when he’s lying in bed waiting for exhaustion to take over, he replays the night in his mind. He’s really not sure what came over him. He knows that over the last four months he’s been a little unstable. Working through years of trauma and grief will do that to you, but offering to basically be a sex teacher? …mentor? …attending? To his 27-year-old subordinate? That is a level of unstable he would have previously thought unattainable. Maybe he should start seeing his therapist three times a week.
Its not like he can hope that Dennis was too drunk to remember in the morning. That’s kinda the whole reason he’s in this mess. Their shift tomorrow is going to be a nightmare. He can already imagine the hoops the kid will jump through to avoid being near him. What a shitty attending he was. He couldn’t just take up pickleball like all the men his age?
Before he lets sleep take him into peaceful oblivion, he reaches for his phone and sends a text to Dennis. Maybe he can get ahead of this before it spirals and he can salvage whatever respect Dennis still has for him.