Chapter Text
“I’m literally a grown-up.”
“No, you’re quite literally not.”
Jake sighs dramatically. “This is such bullshit—
“Language, Jake.”
“Y’know none of my friends have babysitters, right?”
Robby hums. “I highly doubt that.”
“I’m serious! Joshua’s parents went out of town for an entire weekend. His sister visited like, twice to pick things up, but other than that? They totally trusted him.”
“And if I called Joshua’s parents they’d corroborate that story?”
Jake grumbles under his breath, slouching back in his bar stool. In the one beside him, his school bag is sat, half unzipped and getting a little beaten up. Robby wonders if it’s worth getting him a new one or if it’s better to wait until the school year ends.
“I don’t get it, I thought you liked this guy?”
Jake shrugs in the moody way teenagers tend to do. “He’s alright, I guess. He grew up religious or something, so I think Mom just trusts him.”
Robby slants his head to the side, eyebrows quirked up. “I wouldn’t count a religious upbringing as an assurance for someone being a good person.”
“Nah, he’s not like that. He’s chill, actually, it’s just,” Jake lets out a chesty groan, “why can’t you just trust me?”
Threads of guilt pull over Robby’s chest. It’s not often he covers the night shift, and never has he had to do so when Jake is staying over, but Jack had called out with the flu and Robby didn’t have either of the buffering day shifts, so it was easy enough to agree to the favour. Or, it would’ve been, if he didn’t have his quasi stepson turning up on his doorstep mere hours before the said night shift started.
“I do trust you, bud. I care about you, and it’s for that reason that I’d just feel better if there was someone else here to hang out with you while I’m working overnight.” Robby bumps the fridge door closed with his hip. “Your mom said you like this kid.”
She’d also passed along the phone number with the note that this babysitter kid is a college student, and students weren’t overly enthusiastic to give up their Friday nights last minute to watch a moody teen play CoD. A promise of double the pay worked like a charm.
“He’s fine,” Jake remarks. “Quiet, I guess. He usually studies when he’s over at Mom’s.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s not super into gaming, which means he’s a total newb and easy as hell to beat.”
“Jake.”
“Oh c’mon,” his stepson half-whines. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
“Just because you didn’t mean it to be rude, that doesn’t mean it was nice.”
Jake grumbles under his breath and slides off the stool to follow Robby into the living area of the open-plan apartment. He’s holding a half empty bottle of the weird brightly-colored energy drink kids these days are into, and Robby has to hold his tongue at the urge telling him to pour it down the sink. He doesn’t even think it’s the doctor within him saying that — no one should be regularly consuming liquids that glow in the dark. But part of the reason Jake had warmed up to him when Robby was dating his Mom was that Robby had made a real effort into being someone Jake could be open with. From the strange internet challenges and figuring out how to talk to girls, all the way round to trying his first sip of alcohol.
(He’d let him sip at his whiskey neat after dinner one evening, and taken great amusement in the tight pinch thirteen year old Jake hadn’t been able to hide behind lofty teen bravado.)
Dennis Babysitter: just down the block, be there in 2 mins 🙂
“He’s almost here,” Robby announces, shrugging on his jacket and adjusting the hood. “What are you going to do?”
Jake sighs again. “Behave.”
“And how are you going to do that?”
“Clean up after myself and don’t hurt anyone. God, Robby, I’m not ten.”
“No, you are not. Which is why I know you won’t be partaking in ten year old behaviour.” Robby bends to grab his TV remote and flicks it on, leaving on the mildly-inappropriate adult cartoons he knows Jake enjoys but isn’t allowed to watch too often at Janey’s place. “Want me to grab you anything on my way back for breakfast?”
“Uh, do you have waffles in?”
Robby nods. “I will in the morning. I’ll stop for syrup too.”
The buzzer by the door goes, and Robby jogs over to answer it. His doorman is on the other end telling him about a guest. “Yeah, he’s expected. Send him up.”
He checks his bag before crouching down to tie the laces of his shoes while the background noise of Jake laughing at something on the TV spreads through the air. It’s frustrating, knowing that he’s about to spend at least twelve hours away from Jake, who has actively chosen Robby’s house as his base for the night, but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles sometimes. He’d told Jake about his night shift when he’d arrived, and gotten a loose grin, a shrug, and a “cool” in reply. He took that as the go-ahead sign.
Knock knock-knock-knock knock.
Robby calls out to Jake to let him know the babysitter is here and answers the shave-and-a-haircut knocking.
On his doormat stands a young man, a college junior or senior Robby would guess, with wind-spun dark blond hair and a pale, almost pallid complexion. There’s a pair of battered headphones hanging from his neck with a strip of tape wrapped around a section of it. If Robby had thought Jake’s bag had seen better days, it was nothing compared to the backpack slung over the thin shoulder of this kid. Threadbare, not through neglect or mishandling (it looked a hell of a lot cleaner than most kids treated their bags, Robby could tell), but the telltale worn patches and warping that came from heavy books and dedicated studies. Robby could admire that.
He could also admire, he notices idly, the brilliant blue of otherwise sad-looking eyes.
“Hi,” the young man says blankly, holding Robby’s gaze unnervingly.
Robby doesn’t reply straight away. He’s a twitchy one, he thinks idly, before holding his hand out to shake. Luckily, the kid has a solid grip. His fingers are freezing though. He needs to warm up his circulation. “Evening.”
“You’re, uh,” the kid checks the back of his left hand, and Robby feels a warm fondness for the smudge of ink scribbled across wiry tendons. And he thought he was old-fashioned. “Michael Robinavitch? Jake’s step-sort-of-dad?”
“Call me Robby. And you’re—”
“Dennis,” Dennis chirps, giving Robby an answer he already had on hand. “Dennis Whitaker.”
“Right, Janey told me.” Robby steps away from the door and motions the younger man over the threshold. He does so cautiously, and begins taking in Robby’s home with less-than-subtle eyeing. It’s endearing, to a point. “She said you’ve been watching Jake for a year or so?”
“Here and there, yeah,” Dennis agrees. “He’s great, it’s more just hanging out with a friend.”
“So he says.”
The weight in Dennis’ shoulders lifts momentarily with his tiny smile. He seems to be glad to hear about Jake’s remark, and that, more than anything, puts him in Robby’s good books. He can’t stand the freshly twenty-somethings that act like teenagers are so far beneath them when the only difference between them is the ‘teen’ in their age and the ability to buy a six pack of shitty beers legally.
Dennis toes off his converse sneakers, taking a silent cue from the shoe rack by the door and earning another half-point in Robby’s mind, and follows Robby through to the living room. Jake jumps up when he catches sight of Dennis. They do a slap-clap handshake that Dennis doesn’t look one-hundred percent confident at, and Robby holds his amused tongue. “So,” he starts. “You two going to be okay for the night?”
Jake nods. “Totally.” He turns back to Dennis. “I got a bunch of Spiderverse Fortnite skins, you wanna play? Robby got me some v-bucks for my birthday last month.”
Robby has no clue what ‘vee-bucks’ are, and doesn’t think he’s in the target range of people who need to know. He’d just bought the giftcard Dana pointed him towards, and watched Jake’s face light up on receipt.
Dennis agrees easily. “But maybe later? I’ve got a test on Monday I need to study for.”
“For real? But you have the whole weekend.”
“I’m working, y’now. At my real job?” Dennis freezes suddenly, and snaps his head to Robby, one hand out, his slightly morose but otherwise sweet face wide. “Not that this isn’t real, I take this super seriously —”
“Relax,” Robby shakes his head. “I get it. Now, if you two are all good to go? Jake, can you show Dennis around, let him know where the sheets and towels and everything are?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Great.” Robby grabs his bag by the strap. “Tupperwear in the fridge with the blue lid is lasagne. If you guys want it, just throw it in the oven at three-fifty for fortyish minutes, and help yourselves to whatever else you’re after from the fridge. Not the beer, though — I’ll know.”
“Okay,” Jake sighs, as he starts the Playstation that Robby only keeps for him. From beside him, Dennis nods intently. At least he’s listening to the instructions.
Robby shakes his head fondly and tugs the zip of his jacket up. “See you two in the morning.”
Jake throws a low ‘see you later’ over his shoulder, but Dennis, to Robby’s surprise, follows him out of the main space and into the small foyer when he’s dropped his sagging rucksack to the ground. Robby hopes he does take a least a little time away from the books to play Fort of Night or whatever Jake is into. He’s been in this guy’s shoes before, and it’s all too easy for students to get so tunnelvisioned by their studies they forget that life exists beyond the papers sometimes.
“Have a good shift,” Dennis says with a simple wave as Robby steps through his front door, helmet in hand. He’s hit with the domesticity of it, and it's an insane enough thought to make him laugh, were he a less controlled man. He’s known this kid for literal minutes, but the image of a sweet-faced guy wishing him well as he leaves for work is… well.
“Thanks,” Robby says shortly, and tugs the door firmly shut.
What a stupid thought. These damn nights have never agreed with him.
No wonder Abbot ends his shifts on the roof too. Robby is no stranger to the sheer exertion of a twelve hour shift, he’s been in the Pitt for over a decade, but the night shift is a totally different beast to the day shift. There’s a reason they say that the crazies come out at night.
“Hello?” he calls out, low into the dim entryway. Jake will sleep till noon if he’s left to his own devices, but he doesn’t want to disturb this Dennis guy if he’s a light sleeper.
He hangs his jacket on the hook beside his keys and leaves his helmet by the old shoe rack. His spine twinges as he bends down to untie the laces of his boots, and he grunts. Goddamned back.
Robby is expecting to see the babysitter on his couch, sleeping with the pillows and blankets he keeps in the guest closet (if Jake has done the hospitable thing and not left the kid to fend for himself), but the living room is empty as ever when he enters it. The old backpack is there, but unzipped to expose the tombs and notebooks and a laptop so old Robby thinks he might’ve had it when he was doing his residency.
B.D Chaurasia.
Guyton and Hall
Susan E Skochelak
He’s a medical student. Or pre-med, Robby thinks, if he’s still an undergraduate. The eye bags and appearance of permanent exhaustion suddenly makes a lot more sense.
That doesn’t explain where the doctor-in-training is right now though. Robby only has one guest room — unofficially it’s Jake’s, but he lets Jack crash in there when he stays the night — so there’s not a lot of places the kid could be. He might be sharing with Jake, Robby realises. He’d had a friend or two over before, and there's a spare cot tucked away for that very reason. Robby has never used it himself (and God help his poor body if he ever has to) but it’s probably comfier than his old leather couch to spend the night on.
Robby leaves the takeout bag of styrofoam from the nearest diner on his kitchen island and clicks his neck as he moves towards his bedroom. He’ll wake the boys up after he washes the stink of antiseptic off and changes into comfier clothes. Except, when he enters his room, he finds —
Oh.
Dennis — kicked puppy eyes, polite young man, Jake’s babysitter — is asleep atop of Robby’s bed. Literally, on top. He hasn’t tucked himself under the comforter. Instead, the fluffy blanket Robby keeps in the closet is wrapped around his limp body, and one of the cushions he usually just throws to the nearby armchair when he’s in bed is slipped underneath his smooshed cheek. His hair is riotous, but from sleep this time instead of a battle with the evening breeze.
The unexpected sight has Robby freezing in his own bedroom. What is he meant to do here? What can he do here that won’t look like he’s creeping on a college kid? He shakes his head at the ridiculous thought. This is his damn house. And he’s not going to be weird, he just needs to change. Then he’ll wake Jake up, who he’ll tell to wake Dennis up, and no one needs to have any odd notions about pretty young things taking up space in on Robby’s bed.
It’d be a sound plan, until he’s tugging on a pair of grey sweatpants and hears a croaky ‘wuh?’ in the air.
Blue eyes blink sleepily at him. Robby is very aware of his lack of shirt all of a sudden, and subconsciously sucks his stomach in. “Morning,” he greets plainly.
Dennis stares back. “G’morning,” he mumbles, rubs at his left eye and takes in the room that’s lit with the slatted morning sunlight bleeding in through the half-opened blinds. His body suddenly jolts. “Oh, no. Sorry, I didn’t think — um. Jake told me to sleep here. I’m so sorry, I thought I set my alarm earlier.”
Robby watches the kid throw the cover off his body and slide off the bed. He’s in a plain navy t-shirt with a hole at the collar and little gray shorts. His socked feet stumble a little as he backs away from the bed like he’s been caught doing something unseemly that’ll get him chastised. “Relax, I don’t mind,” Robby tells him. I… don’t? He questions himself internally. “You slept comfortably?”
“Uh,” Dennis gapes a little. “Is this a trick question?”
“What? No.” When Dennis’ eyes drop over his torso, Robby turns to grab a shirt to cover himself with. The attention doesn’t mean when he pulls it on though. “Glad you… had a good night's sleep. I remember how rare those can be in school.”
Dennis lets out a small noise of agreement. “Sorry, though. I really did mean to wake up before you got back.”
Robby waves him off and turns to leave the room. “Really, it’s fine. That couch is a little old, so it was probably better for you to be in my bed.” He almost trips. “The bed, I mean. A bed.”
He swears he hears a small choking sound as he makes his way to Jake’s room, but brushes it off as a trick of the aircon. It’s overdue for a maintenance check after all.
Jake takes a rough shake to wake up, and even then he reluctantly buries his head in his sheets until the word ‘waffles’ hits his ears. It doesn’t exactly bring him to the form of a fully-functioning human boy, but it makes him sit up at the very least, and the rest Robby knows can be summoned by the smell of sticky sweet syrup and baked pastry.
He throws the two baked waffles he picked up on his way home into the microwave for a short blast to bring the heat back, and serves them with a squirt of cream on two of the plates Janey got him in a set as a house-warming gift years ago. They’re moss green and very nice — too nice for his sensibilities, really — but he would never complain. He tends to attract things nicer than he deserves.
“‘H’nk you,” Jake says, laughably sincere as he takes an oversized bite.
Robby chuckles. “You’re welcome,” he replies over the rim of his coffee cup. Decaf, though. He’s ready to pass the hell out for a few hours.
Clunk, clatter!
A hissed Jesus Christ sounds from around the corner alongside the calamity of something falling. Jake and Robby turn to see Dennis hopping into view, one foot clutched in his hands, muttering an odd choice of quasi-curse world under his breath.
“You okay, man?” Jake asks.
Dennis lowers his foot, shakes in once, and takes an uneven, hurried walk into the room. “Yeah, sorry, just stubbed my toe.” He looks at Robby with a guilty face. “I accidentally kicked your helmet, but I put it back. I think it’s okay.”
Robby nods. “It’s built to be beaten around a little.”
“You’re leaving already?” Jake asks when Dennis starts digging through his bag, shoving the makeshift pajamas and a small cotton baggy to the bottom. He’s redressed in his daywear from before.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m about to be late for work, I’ve really got to get a move on.”
“Aw. I wanted to show you the trailer for that new Russo brothers thing I told you about.”
Dennis winces apologetically. It actually looks sincere, which surprises Robby. “Sorry. If I’m late again they’ll reprimand me,” he explains. “But you could text it to me? Or show me next time.”
With Jake mollified, Dennis frantically tugs on his sweater (a slightly discolored Penn Medicine pullover that confirms Robby’s earlier findings) and zips his bag shut.
“Wait, hold on,” Robby says suddenly, pushing the warm waffles into Dennis’ sightline. “Time for breakfast?”
Dennis looks between Robby and the pastry. “For me?” he asks, pointing a limp finger back at himself.
Robby nods. “It’s nothing special, but they’re good.”
“So good,” Jake confirms around his own mouthful.
Dennis blinks a few times and swallows, then checks his phone and winces. “I really can’t. I’m sorry, I’d love to — you have no clue — but I can’t stay any longer.” Under his layers, his angular shoulders slump a little. Robby doesn’t like the way he’s fighting himself over something as simple as breakfast.
“Okay,” Robby shrugs, puts his mug on the counter, and turns to dig through a drawer. That’s when he sees the clean dishes slotted into place in his drying rack. Two bowls, cutlery, a few mugs, and the tupperware he’d kept the leftover lasagne in for the boys. They’re all perfectly clean and even to a slightly neurotic degree. Definitely not Jake’s doing, Robby knows.
He forces himself back to the task at hand, and finds another glass tupperware box, smaller this time with a green lid. He takes the plated waffle and carefully packs it into the box, clicking it shut and getting a clean fork from the drawer.
“Here,” Robby says, holding it out for the student to take. It’s not as pretty post-transfer, cream smeared and syrup pooling shallowly at the bottom, but no one declines breakfast waffles because of a messy appearance. “Take it with you.”
Dennis’ chest rises and falls a few times as he stares at Robby. Not the food he’s being offered — at Robby. It’s unsettling. Then, “are you sure?”
Robby nods his head, and holds it out further. Dennis pulls his lower lips into his mouth and takes the fork and container hesitantly. He’s the least student-like student Robby has ever met. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I really appreciate this.”
The sincerity is a little much, but Robby lets it go as a quirk. “No problem, kid. It’d be a waste otherwise.”
Dennis carries the box in the bend of his arm as Robby follows him out to the foyer. He’s slipping on his sneakers when Robby suddenly remembers. “Oh, shit. Wait here.”
He’s exactly as Robby left him when he returns, envelope in hand. “Here.”
The undercurrent of confusion he sees in Dennis’ expression is out of place, before his face snaps into openness. “Oh,” he says quietly and takes the paper. He pulls the flap back momentarily, then frowns. “This is,” he starts, but falters.
“... Not enough?” Robby questions.
“Too much,” Dennis contradicts with a small shake of his head. He offers it back.
“Hey, no,” Robby swerves. “I promised you double.”
“This is more than that.”
“I’m a generous tipper — sue me.”
Pink lips purses, Dennis’ brows furrows. Robby can practically see the cogs working behind those big eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks finally.
Robby nods. “More than. I’d give you more if I had the cash on me —”
“Don’t,” Dennis cuts him off. “Don’t you dare.”
Hands up mockingly, Robby almost laughs. It’s kind of fun to tease this guy. “Whatever you say.”
He watches Dennis tug the backpack from its sling over his shoulder and shove the envelope deep in the main compartment, before righting it again and standing up straight. “Uh. Thanks, I guess.”
“No, thank you.” Robby holds the door open. “You really pulled through for me. I don’t like leaving Jake alone overnight.”
“He’s a really good kid,” Dennis says insistently.
Robby’s chest swells with pride a little. He may not be Jake’s primary parental figure, but he’s done more than his part in shaping who the kid is becoming. “He is,” he agrees. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”
Dennis nods understandingly as he steps into the hall.
“Well,” Robby shrugs. “Apart from you. Clearly”
The subtle rose flush that floods Dennis’ cheeks, starting from the point of his ears, is painfully wholesome. Robby’s fingers twitch against the doorframe.
“Thanks,” Dennis repeats again, this time slowly like he isn’t sure if that’s the right thing to say.
Robby brushes it off. “Have a good day at work.”
“You too,” Dennis says, half turns, then twists back. “I mean, not you too. Not that I don’t want you to have a good day. Geez, that’d be rude of me. I just mean, you just got back from work so. You’ve already had that day. I hope. And I hope you have a good sleep. During the day. Your night?”
Idly, Robby ponders on how long this guy could keep rambling if Robby just lets him keep going until he runs out of steam. He’s not that cruel, though, and stops the kid with a simple wave. “Bye, Dennis.”
Dennis clears his throat. “Bye, sir.”
And if Robby watches Dennis Whitaker walk down the hall through a crack between his door and the frame, that’s between Robby, the elderly neighbor that’s always peeking through her peep hole, and no one else.
Dennis Babysitter: when can i return the box to you?
Robby: Keep it.
Dennis Babysitter: no its okay. i dont mind dropping it off, just let me know when
Robby: I’m serious, it’s just tupperware. You can’t tell me college kids these days use anything better than old takeout boxes to keep their leftovers in. Get some use out of it.
Dennis Babysitter: if you’re sure. thanks sir
Robby: You don’t need to call me that.
Dennis Babysitter: okay sir 🙂
“How many more of his buddies are invited to this?” Robby asks from the corner of his mouth, only semi-rhetorical.
Janey elbows him in the rib as the group of high schoolers crow out in delight as another one joins their pack. “Hush,” she hisses. Robby can almost hear a smirk in her voice.
“I’m just saying,” he reasons. “This place is big but it isn’t that big.”
Jake had decided, for his sixteenth birthday, that he wanted to have one large party that meshed his friends with his more immediate family. Robby had offered to cover a laser tag party or maybe a camping trip out east with his friends, but the kid had insisted. Hadn’t accepted a dime from Robby for a venue either, instead deciding that the large property in Squirrel Hill Janey had just finished flipping would be perfect.
Janey had been less than happy with that decision.
“It’ll be fine. There’s a few from his baseball team on their way, and my parents are about twenty minutes out.”
“Hm,” Robby hums. “Cozy.”
That gets him another hit.
With the weather finally heating up, it’s not a bad day to have a party. The glass veranda opens out, giving free space for the kids to go between playing nonsensical games outdoors and taking turns in front of the large TV and gaming console setup (the only thing Robby was allowed to supply, packing them into his old 2000 chevy silverado at the ass crack of dawn to get them over here). Various people from different vines of Jake and Janey’s families have trickled in, taking solace between deck chairs and the barbeque. Jake hasn’t been spending as much time with them as he has with his friends, but Robby’s spotted him darting over to say hello and making an effort, which is good enough for now.
Robby sips at one of the fancy coffees Janey has been making anyone looking too bleary-eyed in the middle of the afternoon. Jack said he’d try to stop by for a few hours before his shift. He’d apparently gotten Jake a gift, and Robby hadn’t been sure if he liked the twinkle in his eye when he said it.
The table of food — a smorgasbord of appetizers and junk — is half destroyed by savage fingers of the permanently hungry teenagers when the side gates creak open. Robby is the only one close enough to hear the hinges, debating stepping out for a cigarette if he can get away with it. He sees a slow, hesitant body slip in, and feels bad at being so surprised at the sight of Jake’s babysitter.
“Hey there,” he says.
Dennis jumps from his skin. Maybe Robby should’ve made some noise ahead of the hello. “Oh,” Dennis lets out a little gasp. “Hi.”
He looks pretty much the same as he had the last and only time Robby saw him, which isn’t saying much. Still visibly tired, but this time without the heaving backpack over his shoulder. He’s wearing a different hoodie, sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. It’s subtle, but there’s muscle under the twisting skin.
“I didn’t know you do group sitting,” Robby jokes.
Dennis’ shoulders loosen incrementally. “What can I say, I’m an opportunist," he hums, lips quirking nicely. He’s boyish and cute in a scrappy way. Like a little dog. Then he gets semi-serious. “That was a joke,” he says, head lowering.
“That’s a shame,” Robby shrugs. Then, before Dennis can ask whatever’s clearly popped into his head if the squint is anything to go by, he nods his head towards the larger crowd. “Jake didn’t mention you were coming.”
Dennis’ lips flatten for a moment. “I wasn’t sure I could make it. He invited me but I didn’t want to promise anything.”
Robby nods, understanding. “But here you are.”
“Here I am,” he agrees, hands spread. Over one arm in the loop of a paper bag. Not a gift bag, but the kind you get to go from a cafe or a mom ‘n’ pop diner.
“There’s a gift table inside,” he says, nodding to the bag.
“Oh.” Dennis looks at it, as if he’d somehow forgotten its presence and gotten used to the tugging weight. “This isn’t — I mean, it is. It’s just some baked goods from work I thought Jake would like. Cookies, pastries, y’know.”
Robby lifts his brows. A medical student who has a job and babysits? No wonder his eyebags look permanent. “Thoughtful.”
Dennis shakes his head. “Nah, they would’ve been tossed. I have this, like,” he does a strange wobble with his mouth, “thing about wasting food. It seemed like a good idea to bring them.”
Humming, Robby agrees and sips at the end of his drink. Then he reaches a hand to his mouth, pointer finger and thumb slotting against his lips to blow out two sharp, unmissable whistles. Dennis cringes beside him (whoops) but it gets the teenagers’ attention. “Jake!” he yells. “Dennis is here, he brought you some snacks.”
Jake and a few of his friends immediately start lumbering over, faces bright in anticipation like they haven’t been shovelling down pizza bites. Youthful appetites, Robby thinks. The metabolism of professional athletes.
“Hey, you made it!” Jake’s smile is wide as he gets close, and he drags Dennis into a one-armed hug.
Dennis nods. “Yeah. I can’t stay long.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Jake takes the bag Dennis holds out and immediately opens it further to show the two boys that followed him. “Oh, fuck yeah —”
“Language,” Robby reprimands, unheard.
“You pulled through. This is sick, dude.”
The other two boys, one with a shaggy blond surfer mop and the other looking like the human equivalent of a head of broccoli, both reach in. They pull out the largest, softest looking cookies Robby has ever seen. His teeth ache just looking at them.
“Put them on the snack table, share them fairly,” Robby calls out as the teenagers go back to their little clique. Beside him, Jake wraps an arm around Dennis’ shoulders (or, tries too. Dennis may not be a tall guy, but Jake is a sixteen year old that hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet, so it leaves the medical student hunching a little) and pulls him further into the garden where the other kids are.
Dennis twists his neck to look back at Robby, eyes even wider than usual. It makes Robby laugh. The guy might be Jake’s babysitter, but there has to be a daunting difference between hanging out with the kid for a few hours, and getting sucked into the beast of the storm that is a group of high schoolers hopped up on sugar and Monster energy drinks.
Robby lifts his empty mug at Dennis, and feels a twinge of fondness at the eyeroll he gets in reply.
“Can I borrow a light?”
This time it’s Robby who jumps at the sudden voice. He’s tucked himself around the front of the house, where no one at the party can see him but he’s in full view of scowling neighbours. He doesn’t give a damn, he doesn’t live here, and it satisfies the inner rebel in him to earn tuts from a lady with a curly bouffant.
“Jesus Christ," he mutters. “Wear a bell or something.”
Dennis huffs air through his nose and says a small apology. It’s getting dark out, a navy hue settling over the pretty picture neighborhood. Standing on the front lawn, Robby feels a little like he’s stepped into another timeline. A different him may have this life — throwing birthday parties for his kid at a three bed, two bath in a literal white picket fence. A dog, maybe. A cat is more likely. He’s not sure what other choices he would’ve had to make to be there. Be somewhere other than emergency medicine? Will himself to commit to a form of consistent therapy in his twenties and thirties?
He doesn’t think the what-ifs are going to do him any good at this point in his life.
“You shouldn’t be smoking that,” Robby says through a smoky exhale, motioning to Dennis’ cigarette with his own. “It’ll ruin your lungs.”
“I know,” Dennis replies as he comes to a stop at Robby’s side.
He looks good in the low light, Robby notices. The dusk flattens any harsh shadows made by protruding collarbones or ducked heads. He’s less coyed, Robby thinks, though it could just be the beer he saw him sipping.
His lighter sparks when he flips it open and flicks the wheel once, twice, three times. No dice. That’s not rare, he doesn't smoke often enough to notice that it’s out of fluid until it’s dry and useless to him, but it's more frustrating for it to happen when someone else needs it. “Shit, sorry. There should be a light for the candles inside I can grab —”
“Nah, it’s fine.” Dennis waves the offer off and wheedles himself in closer to Robby. His feet tuck between Robby’s, and the tight proximity out of nowhere has Robby’s head spinning. Dennis lifts himself onto his toes, plants a hand on Robby’s arm, and then his face is close enough that, were it not for the cigs between their lips, he’d think the man was aiming to plant one on him.
Instead, he touches his tip to Robby’s cherry, and sucks in quick puffs. Short and sharp, bringing out the hollow of his cheeks, until the end of his stick is lit a stark orange beside Robby’s.
College confidence in-fucking-deed. Robby is lightheaded from the nicotine rush.
“So,” Dennis says when he’s carved the distance out between them again. “How’s the ER? That’s where you work, right?”
Robby nods. “You’ve been asking around?”
Dennis shrugs. “Can you blame me?”
That’s not what Robby thought he’d say. “It’s been fine,” he answers the original question. It’s what he says to anyone he doesn’t work with. “Emergecy is as emergency does.”
“Poetic.”
“That is what people say about me.”
Dennis snickers, and Robby can’t help but join in when the tinkering laugh carries on for longer than necessary. “I saw the books you keep on your shelves,” Dennis eventually says, “when I stayed over with Jake. Guidebooks, old textbooks, that Atul Gawande autobiography. No one not in medicine would have those.”
Robby nods with a long hum, like Dennis has put together the clues of a mystery Robby hadn’t realised he’d set out. “I don’t know why I still have any of that stuff.” He hasn’t read any of them in years.
“They’re cool. Some of them are older than I am.”
“Jesus, kid.”
“I’m just saying,” Dennis lifts his hand, half-smoked cig between pointer and middle. “The only time I see half of those is at the school library. Or if I can find an ancient PDF online.”
Robby eyes him. “Is this you asking to read through my collection?”
Dennis blanches, returning to the nervous boy Robby originally thought him to be. “W — No! No, sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that.” He clears his throat. “That totally sounded like I was fishing.”
“A little,” Robby says around his filter.
“Sorry.”
“Forget it,” Robby waves his apology off. “If you ever end up watching Jake at mine again, you’re free to take a look. I don’t mind.”
Dennis shuffles in place. He has one foot on the grass, the other on the pebble path leading around to the backyard. “You sure?”
“F’course. Not like I’m making use of them.”
“I appreciate it,” Dennis says, unusually sincere for such a casual exchange. It makes Robby frown. How much do textbooks cost these days anyway?
They linger there, outside the front of the house no one lives in, smoking cigarettes that’ll slowly kill them off. They watch cars pass them by, a few Jeeps and middle-class typical Volvos barely stopping at the bright red stop sign stationed at the corner. The sight makes Robby scowl. Those people have no clue the mess they could cause by driving straight through those things.
He shakes it off and stubs out his cig on the beige brick, flicking it down to the pebbles and burying it under a shift of his foot. “Coming?”
He hears Dennis doing the same, but instead of following, he gets a headshake. “Nah, I need to go. I was on my way out when I found you.”
Robby nods slowly. “Okay then,” he says placidly. “You good getting home?”
He doesn’t like the odd look Dennis is wearing at the question, but doesn’t push it. “There’s a bus stop a couple blocks down,” Dennis replies, nodding towards the stop sign. “Say bye to Jake for me.”
Dennis trails away from him and down the street. Robby eyes the vehicles that appear and disappear from his view as he does, until the boy’s brown hoodie disappears from sight and he can drag in his first clean sigh of the evening.
“I won’t tell anyone, no one will find out.”
“It’s not about finding out, it's the principle of the thing.”
“But she’s going away for two months, this might be my last chance. What would you do in my place?”
A sigh. “I get that, but you’re asking me to lie about your whereabouts when I’m meant to be taking care of you.”
“Not lie. Just say, I don’t know.” Someone sits against the aging leather couch. “Don’t say anything. And if you’re asked about me —”
“Which I will be.”
“— then just say it was quiet. Quiet as a mouse, barely heard a peep, all of that stuff.”
“Jake.” The sigh is guttural, and Robby winces in sympathy. “When your Mom asks me to watch you, that isn’t just a little monitoring. You’re sixteen years old. If something happens, then I need to be able to take care of you.”
Neither of the boys say a word, and Robby strains his ears to pick up anything else they could be whispering. He feels bad for eavesdropping, but the context of what he’s overhearing has the resulting concern enveloping that guilt whole.
“I thought you were my friend.”
Robby winces at the wounded little words.
“I am,” Dennis insists, a little broken in himself. “I swear, I’m not saying any of this to hurt you or, like, make it harder for you.”
“Sure,” Jake grunts. The telltale click of the TV sounds, followed by the sudden low volume of whatever’s being shown on the station Robby was last watching. Probably PBS, he thinks.
“I’m serious.”
Jake tuts. “So I am. She’s going for two months, I just wanna see her for a few hours.”
He hears Dennis sigh. “And you can’t do it tomorrow?”
“She’s got family stuff. This thing in Frick Park is my last chance.”
Tzi-ing!
Robby winces at the sound of his timer going off and cutting into the moment so sharply. He’d left the boys in the kitchen to go fold the clothes he’d left in his laundry room, and hadn’t considered that they’d take his exit as the opportunity to gossip about some sort of issues Jake has been having with a girl. They must’ve not even considered the fact that Robby could overhear them when it got heated enough. At first it had been amusing, in that teen-drama-that-won’t-matter-in-two-years way, but then Jake had begun to bargain with Whitaker. There was a party he wanted to go to tonight while Dennis was supposed to be watching him at his Mom’s house. Said party was the last chance Jake would have to make something right with a girl (Molly or Polly or another -olly name, Robby’s hearing had failed him on that) and he felt desperate to go. Dennis, as his babysitter, said no.
Then the whispering came.
Robby had considered making a noise, like dropping his phone or something to let the guys know that sound travels in this place, but had given in to the urge to snoop. It was fine, he told himself. Jake is his step-kid, he practically raised him for ten years, he’s within his right to do what he needs to do to keep him safe.
Both the voices stop. Then Dennis whispers, even quieter now. “Let’s talk about this later.”
Robby doesn’t hear any response from Jake, but takes advantage of the break in flow to leave his half-folded laundry and make his way back through the kitchen. Both Dennis and Jake are sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, but definitely not watching it if their lack of interest is anything to go by. “Hey,” Robby eyes them as he passes the couch. “You two okay?”
Jake nods. “Yeah, totally. Is the pizza done?”
Robby looks to Dennis, who has dropped his gaze to the floorboards. “Let me check.”
It is done, and he lets the two boys go at it after swiping a few slices for himself. When he’d gotten home from a day of errands earlier, taking advantage of his infrequent days off with absolutely nothing to do, he’d arrived to see Jake and Dennis occupying his living room. Jake being there wasn’t too much of a surprise — he had a key for a reason and, when he could be bothered to remember it, Robby kind of liked it when he turned up out of the blue. Dennis’ presence had been enough to make his eyebrows quirk though.
“Mom has a date after work,” Jake had explained, face in Robby’s old DVD collection. “I asked if he wanted to hang out first and we were in the area.”
Dennis, when Robby looked at him, had gotten a little twitchy and pink at the attention. “I was on shift, but he knows where I work,” he said, like that helped explain it. Robby had given up and asked if they wanted a frozen pizza he had in his freezer.
Now he watches the boys share the steaming food from where he’s leaning against the island separating the kitchen from the living room. He’s pleased to see his copy of Danielle Ofri’s ‘What Doctors Feel: How Emotions Affect the Practice of Medicine’ sitting out of his coffee table in front of the college student. It isn’t one of the books he’s ever gotten around to reading, but Jack had gifted it to him back when he’d been made chief attending in the Pitt. It’s supposed to be very insightful.
“Are you two going to be okay getting to Janey’s?” Robby asks from his front door a while later. “I can call you two an Uber if you need.”
“For the hundredth time,” Jake sighs through a small grin. “Yes, we’ll be fine. We’re gonna get the bus.”
Robby eyes Dennis, who’s acting more like the suspicious kid than the responsible babysitter at this moment. He’s staring down at his feet. “Dennis?”
Dennis snaps back up to him. “Yes, sir?”
Robby swallows. “Feeling okay?”
He gets a slightly-too-enthusiastic nod in reply. “Yep,” he answers, then looks at Jake. “We should get going if we want to get to your Mom’s before it gets dark.”
Robby waves the two of them off as they step into his apartment building’s elevator. He feels the anxious urge to follow them down and see them off. To make sure they really do get on the bus and get their asses to Janey’s. Jake is a good kid, but he’s a teenager and hasn’t grown into his senses yet. Dennis, Robby doesn’t know that well. He seems like he has his head screwed on right, seems like a nice guy and a dedicated student with a hell of a work ethic. But he could list off a dozen fair traits about a lot of people who still do dumb shit. Hell, he works with some of them.
(He is one of them.)
Closing his front door, Robby tries to shake off his nerves as he cleans away the empty pizza box and puts away the book Dennis had gotten a few chapters into. It’ll be fine, he tells himself. Dennis will get Jake back home, and the kid can deal with his girl problems when Molly-Polly-whoever is back.
A few hours later, when he’s getting ready for bed, he shoots Janey a quick text to see if they got to hers okay. She responds with an affirmative, and that loosens something between his shoulderblades. That’s good. Great. Perfect.
Bzzzt!
Bzzzt!
Bzzzt!
Robby groans into his bedsheets as steady vibrations ring from his bedside table. It’s still dark outside, the clear moonlight glaring at him through the blinds he’d forgotten to close, and there’s no damn reason for anyone to be trying to contact him at whatever fuckass hour he’s being woken up at now.
Unless it’s Dana.
Or Jack.
His stomach sinks when he considers that this could be a work call. Some sort of MCI that has them calling for every available doctor, a pileup on the freeway or a shooting or maybe even a natural disaster where they need all hands on deck.
Robby forces his sleepy brain to stop spiralling and reaches out to grab at the still-ringing device.
Dennis Babysitter
Answer | Ignore
“Fuck,” Robby grunts, squinting at his blinding screen. He knew something wasn’t right. He could feel it in his gut, and his gut is a well-trained, ED-honed signifier that rarely gets shit wrong. He sighs, saying goodbye to his full nights’ rest, and answers the call. “H’llo?”
“Oh, thank god,” he hears Dennis breathe over the line. “Hi, sir. Dr. Robinavitch. Hey —”
Robby mutters out an interruption. “It’s late, Whitaker. Why are you calling?”
“Geez, I’m sorry. I just. I think I need some help. Actually, I know I need some help. I didn’t want to call Jake’s Mom because she’s out for the night, but the buses aren’t running anymore and I don’t have the money for an Uber.”
“Dennis,” Robby says, firm and sure like his stomach isn’t twisting in knots. “Get to the point.”
“I’m with Jake and some of his school friends or…whoever, out in Frick’s Park.” Robby can hear the slight quiver in Dennis’ voice. “I don’t know how to get him home. He’s, uh, had a little to drink.”
Something adjacent to anger zips through Robby, and he clenches his jaw as he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of his mattress. “He’s been drinking? He’s a teenager.”
The reply is weak. “I know. I looked away for like, barely a second and he went with this girl —”
“Your only job is to watch him,” Robby bites out as he stands and grabs some sweatpants. “You take care of him and look out for him, and this is where he’s ended up? What’s the point of you being around?”
In the part of Robby’s brain that hasn’t been woken up in the middle of the night and is aware of how teenagers can be, he knows he shouldn’t be snapping. That side of him is the logical side, the doctor side, the part that doesn’t see things in a vacuum and can recognise when context is vital to the situation.
But that side of him is still passed the hell out. His stepson is drinking with his school friends in a park in the middle of the night with only a broke college kid for a responsible caretaker right now and no way of getting home safely, and Robby needs to get moving now.
“I’m sorry,” Dennis croaks out after a stretch of silence over the silence. Robby will feel bad about making him sound like that later.
“Just tell me where you are, I’m on my way.”
Despite the signage telling people to stay out after closing, Frick Park is more accessible around the clock than Robby had thought. He’d walked through the hiking trails and past the clay courts a few times over the years, usually in an attempt at what the kids these days call a selfcare walk, but this marks the first time Robby has driven through the grassy area, especially after dark.
Dennis has sent him a location pin, and he follows it diligently around to the east side of the park, where he pulls over by a pair of blue gates. Two figures are beside a spindly tree, one slouched on a fallen log, the other standing upright and staring like a deer in Robby’s headlights.
Robby shuts his drivers’ side door with a slam before half-jogging over. He goes right by Dennis and kneels to duck in close to Jake’s lolling head. “Jake? Can you hear me?”
Jake mumbles a hello.
“I’ve been giving him water and making sure he’s okay,” Dennis says from behind Robby’s shoulder, a little slow. He must’ve spooked the guy pretty bad over the phone. “He’s out of it, but he can focus and his pulse is in the normal range. I made sure he didn’t… trip or anything.”
Robby doesn’t respond. Instead, he taps the side of Jake’s cheek lightly and says his name again. Jake blinks at him wearily. “He-ey Robby. Wh’you here?”
“Your babysitter called me,” Robby replies to the loopy question. “Said you need a ride home.”
Jake nods once. It’s wobblier than Robby likes, but normal for a drunk person. “Don’tell Mom I snuck out,” he mutters. “She’s gunna be — mad.”
Robby holds in a snort. “Yeah, well I’m not too happy either.”
Jake frowns, expression exaggerated with closed eyes. “You let me drink b’fore.”
“Yeah, at home,” Robby points out. “Where you’re safe, and I can make sure you’re okay.”
“I’ve got Dennis for that. He took care ‘f me.”
That makes Robby pause. He turns just enough to catch a glance of Dennis and the way his body is angled towards them. He’s given them space, but isn’t hiding his attention. He looks away when Robby catches his eye for a shred of a second.
“Guess so,” Robby mutters, and pushes himself back onto his feet. “Okay, can you walk?”
“Duh.”
“Okay, just checking.”
He takes Jake’s elbow, and when the boy stumbles with telltale drunkenness, hunches down and hoops it over his shoulder. Immediately, Dennis appears on the other side to do the same. Together they get Jake sitting in the back seat of Robby’s old truck, sipping at the water he had thought to bring and holding a disposable vomit bag to his chest. He doesn’t remember why he has it nor when it appeared, but the medical branding printed over the side has faded to the degree that it must’ve been years ago.
“You can lie down if you need to, I put a blanket down,” Robby says. “Just hold on to that bag, okay? If you need to puke, it goes in there.”
Jake salutes him, already dropping to the blanket. Robby re-arranges his legs for him and shuts the door carefully.
“Where are you going?”
Dennis turns to face Robby. He’d started walking away, back towards the innards of the park without even a simple goodnight. “Um.” Dennis stares at Robby. “Just… somewhere? Home?”
“Thought you didn’t have the money for a cab.”
“I don’t, but — “
“And the buses aren’t running.”
Dennis presses his lips into a straight line, throat bobbing, almost missable in the dark night. “...I can walk. I’m sober.”
Robby rolls his eyes. “Get in.”
“What?”
“Where do you live?”
Dennis fumbles around a non-answer before shrugging. “South side.”
Robby scoffs and points to the passenger side door. “You’re not walking that. Get in and put your seatbelt on.”
He doesn’t give the younger guy a chance to respond, ignoring any protests as he takes his place in the driver's seat again. Behind him, Jake has toppled into an uncomfortable half-lean, but the bag is still held tight and his seatbelt is still in place, so Robby leaves him be. He’ll drive slow and not take any sudden turns.
Dennis doesn’t say a word as he slides into the seat beside Robby, shutting the door firmly once his legs are inside the vehicle. He’s holding himself like he has a rod up his ass, eyeline low to stare at the footwell. There’s an old receipt down there and it’s dusty from lack of care, but it’s not like Robby takes the truck out of his garage often enough to take it for regular cleanups. Usually he’d be on his bike, but that wouldn’t have worked to transport a drunk teenager and his sober babysitter home.
“Where in South Side?”
He’s given another deer-like look at the blunt question. “Huh?”
Christ, this guy. Robby sighs as he throws an arm out, catching the headrest of Dennis’ seat in his hand so he can angle himself and reverse the car. The park is empty at this time, save for the chatter of wildlife and creaking foliage, so he’s quick and smooth in the three point turn. “I’m dropping you off, so I need an address.”
Dennis is staring at Robby’s shoulder and the dip where it meets the bicep when Robby looks at him for a reply. The attention must startle him, because he stutters a little. “Oh, n-no. It’s fine, anywhere near South Side is okay. Thank you.”
“It’s two o’clock in the morning, kid. I’m not leaving you on the side of the street. What’s the address?”
Dennis looks forward, then speaks slowly. “Corner of East Carson Street and Fourteenth.”
Robby nods and starts down Braddock Avenue. Not a great area, but not the worst Robby’s seen.
It’s quiet on the drive. Dennis doesn’t say a word and Robby has no intention of striking up a conversation. Now that he has Jake safe and sound in his back seat, the flaring anger has simmered down into general annoyance. Without that distraction, he’s all too aware of how he’d snapped at the kid. He doesn’t think it was unwarranted, but Dennis has been coiled tight in obvious nerves since Robby found the pair. Even now, he’s turned his body towards the door and away from Robby like a stray dog at the pound, as if he’d army-roll right out of there if Robby gave him the opportunity.
“Janey doesn’t know about this,” Robby says, intentionally monotonous, and they speed down highway twenty-two. The late hour has given them a good open road. “And I’m not planning on telling her.” The unless Jake takes a sour turn hangs in the air, unspoken.
“Okay,” Dennis replies, hushed.
“I’ll make Jake come up with a reason why he’s staying at mine.” Robby turns on his indicator to turn on to the bridge while Dennis nods. “I don’t need to tell you that this can’t happen again, right?”
Dennis agrees, quick and insistent before Robby’s even finished his sentence. “No, absolutely not. It totally wasn’t okay. I should’ve — ” he stops himself hard in the middle of his words, and Robby can practically feel his body slumping. “I should’ve done better,” Dennis finishes.
The phrasing has Robby internally wincing, but he doesn’t reply with any kind of placating or softening words. He’s not wrong, unfortunately.
Robby pulls over the car where Dennis directs him and kills the engine. It’s rougher around here and Robby remembered, though that could be the yellow streetlights bringing out the chipped paint. He gives Jake a glance — he’s snoring now, but otherwise silent — as Dennis pulls the door open and shuts it quietly behind him. He doesn’t slam it like a lot of guys have.
“Drink some water and go to bed,” Robby calls out as he rounds the hood.
Dennis frowns, one hand in his pocket where keys start to jangle. “I didn’t drink.”
“So you said,” Robby hums. “I don’t care, just do it.”
He doesn’t fight it, only throws Robby a short wave as he jams a key into the terrace house with the silver wire gate beside it. Beige paint has chipped enough to reveal old brick underneath. He shoves his shoulder into the door to open it, and doesn’t look back before it’s slammed shut again. Robby waits until he hears a lock and a deadbolt clack into place before starting his engine again and pulling away from the curb.
“G’nna miss you, Mol,” Jake mumbles in the back seat between a few other nonsense phrases. Robby glances at him through the rearview mirror and snorts. Damned kids.
Robby’s hands are aching. The muscles of his palms and tendons in his fingers groan, but the worst part is the sting in his skin, cracking and dry. Antibacterial gel is a godsend, but it’s also a thing with devilish consequences, in Robby’s mind, on the days where he’s with someone new every half hour and the latex gloves don’t feel like enough.
He’s rubbing his thumb into his aching forehead when his building’s elevator doors ping open. At the end of a shift that overran by an hour, all he wants is to eat the thai food Dana had bullied him into taking home and fall into his bed to sleep the day away. He needs to get the cry of devastated parents out of his mind.
It washes away sooner than he’d thought it would, when he spots a familiar form curled up on the itchy fibres of his doormat.
(It reads ‘probably somewhere saving lives’, and had been a housewarming gift from Jake and Janey. It isn’t to Robby’s taste — he doesn’t give a damn about showing off a job that's a lot less glamorous than the general public may think, but he can appreciate a gift however much it may feel like peacocking.)
“Dennis?” Robby says, frowning. The boy’s head lifts from his knees. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi,” Dennis greets, unbending his legs from where he’s hugging them to his chest. “I — Um. I needed to see you.”
Robby lifts an eyebrow.
“Not like that!” Dennis adds, standing in a rush.
“Is Jake okay?” Robby approaches his front door.
“What? Yeah, of course. I mean, I’d guess so.” Dennis shrugs. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen him for a while.”
Since the night of their little outing, if Robby had to guess. Jake had woken up a little more bright-eyed than Robby would be if he’d been out drinking, which he supposed was correct considering his age. He’d done as Robby instructed and gave his Mom an excuse (Robby had made it clear that he wasn’t condoning the adventure, but didn’t want to make things worse than needed if nothing truly immoral had happened) before spilling out the truth to Robby like word vomit he couldn’t hold back any longer.
“I was going out whether or not he said okay,” Jake had explained into his yoghurt bowl, eyes a little red. “Dennis tried to stop me, but I really wanted to go. So.” He’d shrugged moodily.
“So you took him with you?”
“Not willingly. He said if he couldn’t stop me then he was going to tag along to make sure nothing happened.”
Robby had spun that thought around in his head. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he’d have done anything different if Jake was being a stubborn little shit. Maybe lock him in his room, but he supposed Dennis didn’t have that kind of authority. “You have fun with him?”
“No,” Jake moaned. “He was a total buzzkill.”
That had made Robby laugh.
“I mean it! I thought he’d be down to party, since he went to college and all that, but instead he barely left my side. I had to sneak away just to hang out with Molly without him breathing down my neck!”
Now, the memory of chewing Dennis out over the phone gnaws at him. He moves his takeout to the other hand so he can unlock his front door, and feels Dennis’ eyes staring at him as he does. “C’mon,” he mutters, jostling the door open and leaving it ajar behind him. The only indication he gets that Dennis is following him is the light footsteps passing into the hard wood entryway and the sound of him taking his shoes off at the door.
“So,” Robby starts as he divides the Pad Mee and dumplings over two plates. Dennis starts objecting to the food, but Robby ignores him. The kid needs meat on his bones as soon as possible. “You needed to see me.”
Dennis holds his gaze and nods, fork twisting between twitchy fingers.
“Why?”
“To apologise.”
Robby hums noncommittally and sucks at the sauce that’d flicked onto his thumb. “For?”
“For that night, with Jake. For not watching him the way I should've been.” He’s got a hell of a hard stare, Robby will give the kid that. “I’m sorry.”
Robby purses his lips and pushes one plate over to the other side of the island, before turning to grab two bottles of beer from his fridge. “I forgive you,” he replies eventually, cracking the tops off them and handing one over. “But you don’t need to apologise. Not really.”
Dennis doesn’t even look at the food. “What?”
“Jake told me about it. How you tried to stop him, followed to keep an eye on him, tried to stop him from going too hard.” Robby rotates his fingers in the air as he explains. “That was good of you.”
Dennis chews on the inside of his cheek and finally looks down to his plate. He pokes at a dumpling and Robby takes that as his cue to start eating too, pulling a stool out to sit opposite.
“Calling you out of nowhere in the middle of night wasn’t very polite of me, though.”
Robby almost rolls his eyes. Is this kid incapable of accepting a basic compliment? “Fuck being polite,” Robby replies through a cheekful of vermicelli noodle. “You didn’t have any cash and there’s no public transport at that hour. I would be pissed if you hadn’t called me, or someone who could help. Jake was kind of hammered.”
Dennis lets out an amused huff through his nose and sips at the beer. It’s the good stuff — Robby isn’t picky, but if he’s stocking his own fridge, he’s going to make sure it’s with stuff he actually likes the taste of. “Actually,” Robby continues a few seconds later, stilted and awkward, “I think I’m the one that owes you an apology.”
He gets a wide eyed eyebrow scrunch in reply. With the way Dennis’ mouth is full, he looks like a desperately concerned chipmunk.
“I wasn’t very nice to you that night. You were doing the best you could — the responsible thing — and I snapped at you.”
Dennis swallows with a slow shake of his head. “You were worried about Jake. I understood.”
“Still.” Robby shrugs and stares at his food. “I was… mean to you. I’m sorry.” He shoves a dumpling into his mouth, a tangible reason for his silence and an excuse for him to stop talking.
He hears Dennis’ stool creak and the noise of a metal fork stabbing lightly on his plate. “Call it even?”
Robby is caught by the open look Dennis is wearing. There’s a friendly smile on his lips, a little worried but solid and sure, and the way he holds eye contact with Robby makes his skin itch. Not in a bad way, just… it nags at Robby.
“Sure. We’re even.” He hesitates with his next question. It’d be easy to drop the subject entirely right here, but it’s been niggling in his brain. “Out of curiosity, why didn’t you tell Janey or me about his plans?”
Dennis frowns. “What do you mean? I told you.”
“No, I mean before. Or when he was actively trying to leave. You could’ve called Janey and explained, and she’d have gotten his ass back home and grounded like that.” He snaps his fingers as he says the last work.
“Because,” Denis starts with a little laugh, shoulders shrugging like that would’ve been a ridiculous option to choose. “He’s not a kid.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No, like,” Dennis nods. “Sure, he’s a minor. But he’s not a kid, and I’m not going to treat him like he is. If he was actively trying to go out and cause trouble or something I would’ve spoken up earlier, yeah, but he’s a teenager. He just wanted to go and see the girl he likes before she leaves for the summer. It was hardly a crime. Victimless, if anything.”
“It wasn’t fair on you for him to put you in that position.”
Dennis smiles, a little sharp with the eyes of something tragic. “I’m a big boy,” he hums. “I can take care of myself.”
Their conversation falls largely to the wayside as they eat. Robby asks him about school, how the schedule is treating him and about his teachers. He’s MS2 at the University of Pittsburgh, and anxious about starting clinical rotations next year, if he makes it there at all. “Every time I think about the Step 1 exam I feel like I’m going to pass out,” he jokes, but the almost manic look in his eyes tells Robby exactly how serious he really is in that statement.
“Understandable,” Robby nods. “You don’t have anything to worry about, though.”
Dennis rolls his eyes. “How would you know?”
Robby points to the bookcase behind Dennis on the far side of the open space, the one Dennis took a fancy to. “And I have good intuition.”
“Oh yeah?” Dennis eyes him.
He likes the look on the younger man’s face, Robby decides. Deferential and a little eager. “Yeah.”
They finish the food through a natural silence, odd questions and simple answers. Robby has to hold the dirty plates up high enough that Dennis can’t reach them to stop the guy from cleaning up for him. He’s a guest, Robby tells him, and gets a fidgeting look that's a little constipated in reply. Eventually, when Robby keeps blocking him from the sink and won’t tell him where he keeps his rubber gloves, Dennis relents.
“Have you read all of these?”
Dennis had gone quiet while Robby was washing up and throwing away the trash, so the sudden question makes him jerk. He’s been poking around, Robby realises when he sees a few of his older records between Dennis’ finger tips. He’s staring at the bookcase again.
“No,” Robby replies. “Most of them. A few were gifts and I’ve never gotten round to them.” He doesn’t say the untouched ones are the books on the lowest left corner, where various mental health books have been caged for years. There’s a few whodunnit fiction ones he hasn’t started, but. Yeah. Mostly it’s the ones about personal growth.
“Huh,” Dennis says and doesn’t elaborate.
Robby hangs the wet yellow gloves over the sink to dry and grabs a bottle of disinfectant. “You can play one of those if you like,” he offers as he sprays down the island counters and reaches under the sink for a clean cloth.
“You sure?”
Robby gives an affirmative, and moments later he can hear Dennis tinkering with the vinyl player. He wants to ask why the kid has stuck around — he’s fed him, given him a beer, assuaged the guilt he’s apparently been feeling over the Jake situation from last week — but a stronger side of him won’t let him say the question. It’s nice having simple company over. He doesn’t want to pop this bubble, no matter its odd formation.
The twangs and cries of Mojo Pin start through atmospherical crackling, and Robby lets out a tight breath. Jeff Buckley. Good choice.
When the brief cleaning is done, Robby joins Dennis in the living room, two fresh beers in hand. He puts them on a pair of cork coasters that sit on the coffee table, directly in front of where Dennis has settled on the couch. He’s plucked out the same book he was reading last time he was over, right where he left off — where Robby had slotted a scrap piece of paper before putting it back on the shelf, just in case the kid came back. Clearly, it was worthwhile.
“Enjoying that one?”
Dennis nods. “It’s interesting. Have you read it?”
Robby eyes the Danielle Ofri book and feels the restless sensation of discomfort pool under his tongue. “No,” he replies shortly.
“Crazy to think this is what I’m going into.” He lets out a frantic-sounding hum. “Kinda scary, actually.”
“Oh, yeah? What does it say?”
Dennis keeps a finger in his place, but flicks back through the stiff pages with a long inhale. Robby reclines into the cushion beside him, jostling the kid slightly under the weight shift. “A lot,” Dennis says eventually, eyes still in the gutter of the book, prey-like.
“Read something to me.”
Dennis glances at him, drops his eyes to the beer bottle Robby takes a swig from. “Like what?”
“Anything,” Robby replies, shrugging. “Whatever stuck out to you.”
Sprawling a little with his legs akimbo, Dennis goes back to his searching. A moment later, a little ‘aha’ noise comes from him, before he’s rotating to half-face Robby, face faux-serious. “Ready?”
Robby nods with a ‘go ahead’ motion.
“‘Whatever the medical student has been taught, and even genuinely believes, about the ideals of medicine, the primacy of empathy, the value of the doctor-patient relationship--all of this is swamped once he or she steps into the wards.’” Dennis carries on with a clear diction, voice falling into the rhythmic bounce as he reads. He flicks the page over, not a stumble to his reading. “‘It's no wonder that empathy gets trounced in the actual world of clinical medicine; everything that empathy requires seems to detract from daily survival.’”
“It’s not wrong,” Robby replies when Dennis’ voice trails away.
“After that she starts talking about the medical vernacular and how students' language changes once they’re actually working in their rotations,” Dennis adds. “It kinda… hit me a little.”
Robby slants his head at the admission. “Yeah? Why?”
Dennis shrugs and puts the book open face down on the ochre coffee table. “It’s silly.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Thanks.”
“Look, I’m not going to force you to talk about it and be open with me,” Robby starts. He’s being a hypocrite and he knows it. “But you’re already here and I’ve got the experience to help, if you want it.”
Dennis’ thumb runs against the outer seam of his old jeans. They’re scuffed around the knees and ankles, worn like they’ve been put to work for longer than the kid has been the one to wear them. “I’m not stupid,” he says to his kneecaps. Robby doesn’t interject. “But sometimes I feel like it.”
Robby doesn’t really know what to say to that. “Okay.”
“I know that every doctor has made the transition from studies to actual application in the wards, but I’ve also heard about doctors who haven’t been able to handle it. They thrive in academia, or maybe barely get through it, I don’t really know, but then they’re out in the real world and it’s like they never passed an exam in their life. They crack.” Dennis’ voice gets weedy and tight. “I don’t want to be that.”
“Then don’t be,” Robby shrugs.
Dannies scoffs. “It’s not that easy.”
“No, I know,” Robby continues. “But are you seriously telling me that this has all been a breeze up until now?”
“No at all.”
“And yet, here you are.” He waves a hand at Dennis. “You’re definitely going to screw things up. On your first day, after years in the job, even when you’ve got decades under your belt and things start to happen on autopilot.”
He wishes he hadn’t said the words as his chest gets a little tight. He’d left crying parents in the Pitt that evening. He’d told them that they’d done everything they could for their son, but nothing has ever, will ever, stop that traitorous voice that feeds poisonous doubt into his mind.
But did you do enough? Did you try it again? What if you gave up right before hitting diamond?
He shakes himself out of it when Dennis looks straight at him.
“Being a doctor isn’t like working in an office or taking an exam,” he continues. “You can know all the possible answers and each variation, you can get your work done to the highest calibre, but you’re not guaranteed a good result. You will fail. Again and again, for your entire career. But then you turn up again for your next shift, and keep on going.”
The chesty drum beat and smooth crooning of the music sits around them, encompassing Robby’s little speech.
“Was there a voice unkind in the back of your mind? Maybe you didn’t know at all.”
Dennis wraps his fingers around the neck of his beer bottle, the one left untouched and perspiring on the coaster. His throat bobs as he takes three long gulps of it. Robby watches the shift under his skin, down to where it buries deeper near his collarbones.
“Did I scare you off?” Robby asks eventually, when the silence drags.
Dennis shakes his head. “You know, for everyone I’ve talked to about this job, you’re the only person to not talk about saving lives as like, the be-all end-all.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Robby hums. “Well. Sorry to burst the bubble.”
“Oh trust me, you didn’t.” Dennis’ head falls back and is cushioned by the back of Robby’s couch. He angles his neck to look at him. “What was it like when you started rotations?”
That almost makes him laugh. Robby blows out a long, dry breath. “Jesus, kid. Way to take me back.”
“To what, the medieval era?”
“Watch it.” He points a stern finger in Dennis’ face, and can practically see the fight in his blue eyes about whether to bite it. He pulls it away from the toothy grin before he can. What a brat.
Talking to anyone that isn’t Jack or Dana or anyone few and far between about his work is already rare, but it’s just plain strange to talk about it with a medical student. Especially the earlier days. He lets Dennis ask questions, answers as best he can (as far as he’s willing to share) and diverts the poking that feels like it’s snagged on something raw. He swerves around the topic of Dr. Adamson, if only because he hadn’t been working under the man in the early days at Charity Hospital in New Orleans. He listens attentively to the time that Robby, as a fresh-faced student, had misremembered the name of a patient and accidentally filed a tox screen for a lady who had been there for a broken toe.
He preens a little at the wide-eyed attention Dennis is giving him. A lot of people look up to Robby at work, but their reverie is for Dr. Robby, MD, Chief Attending in the PTMC emergency department. Dennis is listening to the tales of Michael Robbinavitch, MS4, who put his gloves on inside out at least once a day.
“It wasn’t as easy to check these things back then,” Robby says wryly while Dennis fails to hide a snicker. “Now we’ve got tablets and everything, you can look reports up digitally. Back then it was pen, paper, and faxing.”
“You’re not making a good case for it not being the middle ages.”
“Aaand that’s where I cut you off,” Robby says, pinching the almost-empty beer from Dennis’ loose fingers. The paper stuck around it has been rubbed and shredded, left in a tiny pile on the table. Dennis grumbles something under his breath as Robby takes their bottles and drops them into his recycling. The record ran to a stop a while ago, neither of them bothering to get up and flip it over (honestly, Robby hadn’t even noticed the static-y silence between them), so Robby makes a diversion on his way back to the couch to pinch it between his fingers and turn it over. The b-side starts, smooth and morose.
“Do you want me to give you a ride home?” Robby asks, flipping the empty cover around the check the tracklist idly for lack of something else to do with his hands. He doesn’t like feeling fidgety. “I’ve got a spare helmet if you wanted a go on the bike.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Dennis asks.
Robby sets the cardboard cover in its place above the player and turns to the boy. “No. Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick you out. Just figured you’d have plans.”
Dennis frowns a little, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Robby looks away from it pointedly as he retakes his seat on the coach. He can feel Dennis’ body heat in the proximity. His endearingly-pathetic face is locked in. “What makes you think that?”
“It’s the weekend,” Robby states. “Saturday nights aren’t for spending with random old men.”
“Says who?”
…Oh.
Damn.
Robby doesn’t know what he’s meant to say to that. People? The general zeitgeist that decides that twenty-something year old students should be with other twenty-somethings? “You’ll regret not taking advantage of your nights off when you’re in your rotations,” Robby says finally.
“Doubt it,” Dennis says.
Then Robby is met with all the force of a student pushing into his personal space, cheap body spray in his nose, and the wet crush of lips against his.
Fuck.
Robby’s hands hang listlessly in the air around them as Dennis shifts himself closer. He finds a new angle, presses shaky fingertips into Robby’s jaw, and holy shit Robby can taste the malt of their beers in the warm air around them.
Too suddenly, that warmth is gone. Dennis zips back a few inches and opens his eyes wide. As if Robby is the one who shocked him.
“Um,” the younger man whispers. Robby glances down to his chapped lips when he licks over them. Dennis looks scared, face getting more pinched by the second as all they do is stare at each other. It was a simple kiss — close-mouthed, sort of dry, the kind you let yourself have when you can’t think of anything else you want to say. Robby has had better. He’s also had worse.
It’s the sight of Dennis’ courage crumbling before his eyes that gets him. He’s pulling away, eyes going shiny, face flushing painfully, and Robby has to admit the unspoken to himself.
He’s never claimed to be a good person.
He doesn’t mean to be harsh in his actions as he grabs at Dennis’ elbows and drags him back into place, but the grunt he’s given tells him he failed on that count. Dennis doesn’t complain though, if anything he tucks his chest closer to Robby than he intended. Their second kiss is hard and a little clumsy, the way it has always been when you’re being introduced to someone so intimately, but the sensation of Dennis’ wet mouth opening against his is heady. Dennis is making breathy noises that sound a little more pornagraphic than appropriate.
Not that Robby is complaining.
The way he has to twist his back to get a good angle isn’t very forgiving, so Robby prompts Dennis into his lap with a few taps to his flank and a directional pull. Dennis follows perfectly. One leg swings around til they’re bracketing Robby’s hips, and oh, that’s the angle.
Dennis pulls back for a moment, tilts his head to the other side, and drags Robby close by gripping either side of his neck with clawed fingers. Robby coaxes him in, sways the kissing to be more slow and lazy, a little languid but entirely full-body. One arm reaches around to cup where the waist of Dennis’ pants sit and the other slips up, fingers pushing beneath his body-warm t-shirt and dragging it up as his fingers count the knobs of his spine.
“R-obby,” Dennis groans into his mouth. He trying to grind his hips down. Robby isn’t letting him.
“Shh,” he comforts. “It’s okay.”
It’s less of a kiss and more of an arrangement of lips when Dennis pushes in, fighting the way Robby is fisting the very back of his waistband. Robby could put up more of a fight, a stronger grip on how he’s literally holding Whitaker back from getting too much friction, but he isn’t a cruel man. A tough one, a guy that appreciates effort and ethics, but no. Not cruel
“I like the sound of fu-unky music!”
It’s like a knuckle to the jaw, the aggravating music cutting into their moment. They separate like repelling magnets. Dennis is wide eyed, a little soft in the mouth as he stares down at Robby with a slack jaw and pink pulling down his face. Robby can’t imagine he looks much more dignified — the facial hair hides it well, though.
“Fuck,” Dennis hisses, toppling backwards like a foal. He’d crash right on top of the coffee table, if Robby didn’t reach out, snatch him back, and direct him to sit on the cushion next to him. The younger man starts patting down his pockets furiously as the tinny sound continues.
“Oh shit,” he mumbles before pulling the phone to his ear. “Hey, Jake. How are you, bud?”
Cold washes over Robby. He has to force his limbs to move, standing to pull the needle up from the record and putting an abrupt end to their swooning backing track.
“That’s great, I — Yeah. No, I’m,” Dennis pauses. “Just studying. Ha! Well, you know me.”
Robby moves into the kitchen robotically, lets the change in texture of smooth wood transitioning into cool tile ground him. Dennis is on the phone to Jake. Dennis, Jake’s babysitter, is on the phone to Jake.
Who is Robby’s quasi-step-son.
His jaw tingles with nausea. You kissed Jake’s babysitter, his brain tells him, who is a student. Not even twenty-five, Robby thinks.
Fucking shit. Robby really is a creepy old man.
“Yeah, send it over to me, I’ll check it out,” Dennis laughs into his phone. How can he be laughing? “If you get your Mom’s permission, I’m down to come with and let you guys go do your thing.”
Dennis continues his phone call with Jake on the couch. Robby continues his breakdown-adjacent crisis in the kitchen.
“Yeah, see you,” Dennis says eventually and hangs up the phone. He turns and looks to Robby over the back of the couch, still grinning a little. “Sorry about that.”
Robby coughs around the lump in his throat. “It’s okay.” He stays in the kitchen, the island acting as the only barrier Robby can bear to put between him.
Dennis stares at him, smile dwindling. “You sure?”
Robby nods and wrings his wrists back and forth, looping circles.
“Oookay then,” Dennis half-whispers and hops up from his slouch. He rounds the sofa and stalks across the room. His little smirk is endearing, like the cat who finally got his cream, and he encroaches closer to Robby’s personal bubble. When Robby shifts back, he follows. “So.”
“...So.” Robby echoes.
Dennis’ face shifts, a little less smug and a little more sincere. He reaches out to hook a finger into the V of Robby’s shirt and plucks it out. “Should we move this to —”
“You should leave.”
Dennis freezes. The fabric pings away from his hand as any expression of joy sinks out from his face. “What?” he mumbles.
Robby rolls his shoulders back and stares into the air behind Dennis’ head. He feels rotten. “This — that was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Shutters fall over Dennis’ face, taking away the pleasantries and casual joy Robby had been exposed to over the evening. Letting that happen in the first place was wrong of him, but turning the guy down so completely feels like Robby is giving him a one-two punch.
“Oh. I thought,” Dennis says, though it sounds more like a mouse is trapped in his windpipe. “I mean, it seemed like you were… enjoying it.”
Robby closes his eyes and doesn’t say a word.
“Was that wrong to assume?”
What the hell is supposed to say to that? Of course he isn’t wrong. He wants to deny it — shake Dennis by his shoulders, apologise for the entire evening, tell him that pursuing some old fart held together by medical tape and stitches isn’t worth getting his feelings hurt.
More than that, he wants to kiss him again.
He wants to do more than kiss him.
“You really need to go,” he says instead, and can’t stand the hurt pinch that forms between Dennis’ eyebrows.
Thankfully, the younger man doesn’t fight him any further. He nods, mumbling half-formed agreements, a thank-you for the food, and practically speed-walks out of Robby’s sight. The distance is awful.
Robby considers offering him a ride again, then wonders if he’d take whatever cash Robby has in his wallet for a cab. It’s the chivalrous thing to do at this time of night, but it feels like chivalry went out the window about one make out session ago.
The front door slams. Robby groans, curls his body down to crouch on the kitchen tiles, and presses flat palms into his heated face.