Chapter Text
Robby had always believed that familiarity was dangerous. In the emergency department, comfort meant mistakes, routines caused people to have no urgency, attachments caused hurt. Nurses and doctors, hell, everyone in the hospital learned to stay sharp, guarded. Especially Robby. He stays just detached enough that nothing could slip through the cracks. Thats how he survives the fucking job. And yet, with Dennis Whitaker the familiarity had become unavoidable.
They worked together too well, way too well.
It was in a way Dennis anticipated his next move without needing direction, already pulling gloves from the box when Robby stepped toward a trauma bay, already lining up medication before Robby could ask. Their conversations rarely required full sentences, fragments of thought passed seamlessly between them in the middle of chaos. They were on the same rhythm, their movements syncing naturally. As if they had spent years of learning each other’s timing instead of months.
They could stabilize a patient in silence, read each other’s body language across a crowded room, and trusted one another.
It made them efficient, but it also made people stare.
Robby noticed it in the way nurses paused when he and Dennis passed, conversations briefly stalling before resuming in low murmurs. He noticed it especially in Dana’s sharp eyes, which lingered a second too long. He even caught the new med students watching them openly, which those two never talk together.
They noticed the chemistry long before Robby and Dennis ever did, or at least before either of them admitted to noticing.
“You two are ridiculous,” a nurse muttered under her breath as she handed Dennis a chart he was about to ask for. Dennis glanced up, blinking while his cheeks warmed, “Uhh…what?” The nurse shook her head, “Nothing. Just wish I had that kind of telepathy with my coworkers”
Dennis fumbled as he grabbed the chart, gripping it tighter, “I-I guess he’s just…predictable,” he murmured, voice quiet, and not making eye contact.
Robby turned the corner, overhearing them at the end of the conversation and scoffed, “That’s insulting.”
Dennis’s head jerks up, blue eyes wide and embarrassed. His cheeks flush even more, “I-I didn’t mean-“
Robby raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“You say that as if it isn’t true,” Dennis adds quickly, flustered. He tucks the chart against his chest as if it’s a shield.
Robby opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. Something in Dennis’s expression made his chest tighten unexpectedly, which he did not like. He turned away under the excuse of checking a patient. It was nothing, right? Just teamwork, Robby reckoned.
Still, his pulse refused to calm down.
The shift was relentless. Ambulances rolled in one after another. There was a pileup on the interstate, flooding the trauma bays. A cardiac arrest which ended up going to the morgue. The waiting room was full as always.
Robby stayed in motion, running on instinct and training. He barked orders, assessed injuries, made split-second calls. His body moved before his mind could catch up, muscle memory was guiding his steps through the hospital.
Through it all, Dennis stayed beside him.
Not in his personal space, not touching, just…there.
“BP’s dropping,” Dennis murmured during a resuscitation, already adjusting the cuff to read it. Robby glanced at the screen, “Start fluids, and get blood.”
It was already done, because Dennis knew what to do next.
They moved together, pivoting around each other without collision, passing instruments and instructions like an unspoken language. Everything in the way they moved was seamless. It was intimacy in its own art, even if not that kind of intimacy.
Robby barely registered the adrenaline crash before the next emergency rolled in. He felt stretched thin, tension coiling beneath his skin. His patience was dropping, shockingly he had some. Every small disruption grated against him. Whether it was a delayed lab result, a med student not knowing an answer to a simple (to him) question, or a nurse misplacing a chart.
He snapped more than he meant to, and Dennis noticed it. As fucking always. The kid can’t help it.
“You’re running yourself into the ground,” Dennis said quietly during a brief pause in the chaos, handing him a bottle of water. Robby took it automatically, muttering an “I’m fine.”
Dennis raised an eyebrow. “You’ve said that three times today.” Robby twisted the cap open, “that’s because it’s true.”
Whitaker studied him, expression thoughtful, “You haven’t ate.”
“I don’t have time,” Robby said.
“You make time for everyone and everything else.”
Well, that was a hit to Robby, maybe a soft one, but a hit. Robby took a long drink, staring at a far wall, “later.”
Dennis hesitated, then nodded. He stepped back, giving Robby his space, because he respected Robby. Why did that scare Robby? He never felt that way.
Maybe it’s because he hated how considerate Dennis was. He never was pushy, especially in emotional situations. It made the distance between them feel like Robby’s fault, which it was, and it also made it harder to justify maintaining it.
Dennis deserved better. The thought alone made Robby pull further inward. He doesn’t want to see Dennis act this way with anyone else, maybe besides his friends.
He became hyper-aware of every accidental brush of contact. When they would accidentally touch when handing supplies to one another, when they’d collide on accident in a hallway, or when he simply could tell Dennis was near him because of the warmth he emitted.
Each moment sent a jolt through Robby’s chest, like an electric current. He began to avoid proximity altogether. Dennis felt it immediately.
At first, the distance was subtle. Half-step of distance, slight hesitation before speaking, pause where none had existed before. Dennis had always noticed patterns, though. It was what made him good at his job. He was able to read the smallest shifts in behavior and sense when something was wrong. Part of that came from growing up on the farm in Broken Bow with his family. He had to anticipate his fathers footsteps, his brothers movements, his mothers words.
But now, something was wrong with Robby. It made Dennis ache in ways he did not understand. He had always been comfortable in his own head, with the quiet reflection, because he personally liked routine. Emotional turbulence was something he observed in others, rarely something he experienced himself. Okay, so he’s lying to himself. Whatever. His thoughts felt tangled, and they somehow unraveled when looking at Robby.
He kept overthinking the avoided looks, the forced tone, the hesitation. Each detail lodged itself beneath his ribs and refused to let go. During a brief break, Dennis stood in the supply room, staring at rows of neatly stacked gloves. His hands were steady, as much as they could be, but his chest felt tight. Why does it matter so much?
“Earth to Dennis,” a voice rings out.
He startled, turning to find Dana leaning against the doorway, arms crossed.
“Sorry,” he said, “Just thinking.”
She tilted her head, “About him.”
Dennis hesitated. “Is it that obvious?”
Dana laughed softly, “To everyone but you two.”
Heat rushed to his face. “It’s not-“
“Relax,” she interrupted, “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just very, very obvious.”
Dennis swallowed, “I don’t even know what it is.”
“Neither does he,” she said, “That’s the problem.”
Dennis glanced down the hallway, where Robby stood reviewing scans. Something warm and painful twisted in his chest as he looks at him.
“He keeps pulling away,” Dennis said quietly.
“Because he’s terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of wanting,” Dana said simply.
The words lodged deep, settling into a place Dennis had not yet learned how to navigate, even after his 27 years of life.
The rest of the shift blurred by in a haze of half-awareness. Dennis moved through his tasks automatically, but his thoughts stayed tethered to Robby, unable to let it go.
Near the end of the night, they found themselves alone in the supply room, restocking trays in silence. The air hummed faintly with fluorescent lights, the smell of antiseptic lingers between them. They reached for the same package of gauze, their fingers brushing.
Dennis barely registered the contact before Robby flinched away, breath hitching almost imperceptibly. The moment stretched, heavy and fragile.
“Sorry,” Dennis murmured.
“It’s fine,” Robby replied, too quickly, “Just…be careful.”
Dennis nodded, turning back to the shelves, but the sting lingered. He had never felt like his presence was a risk before. Now, he felt like he was a mistake waiting to happen.
As the shift wound down, Dennis gathered his things, exhaustion settling deep into his bones. He lingered near the nurse station, hesitating longer than he should have.
He turned back, looking at Robby who was sitting in a chair.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Robby looked up. “Yeah?”
Dennis forced himself to hold his gaze. “Do you want to get coffee sometime? Not now…o-of course. Just when things slow down” he stuttered over a word, fuck.
The question felt small; but, it still made his heart pound.
Robby’s hesitation was immediate. His expression stuttered, walls snapping into place painfully.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Dennis felt the words strike, sharp and sudden. “Oh. Okay.”
“We work together,” Robby added, “It complicates things.”
Dennis nodded, throat tight, “Of course. I get it.” He didn’t, but he pretended that he did.
“Goodnight, Dr. Robinavitch.” Dennis put his own walls back up. If Robby can, so can he, the fuck?
“Night.”
Dennis walked out into the cold, the city lights blurring faintly through tired eyes. The weight of unspoken feelings pressed down on him, heavy and raw.
Inside, Robby stood frozen, staring at the doors long after they had closed. Distance was safe, right?
But the failed attempt at justifying it did nothing to ease the hollow ache in his chest.
He didn’t like how Dennis called him by Dr. Robinavitch. He only does that if he’s mad at him. That thought alone hits Robby like a train and he curses under his breath.