Chapter Text
Dennis had never begrudged rising before the sun, nor keeping busy through the twilight hours.
As a teen in the Nebraska summertime he’d always volunteered for the far-ranging morning chores. He'd be first to call in the farm dogs and walk the cattle pastures, all while the sky still cradled some stars and his brothers finished filling their thermoses.
As the hay harvest season wound down, he'd rush through post-school chores and wait eagerly for family dinner to end. Just Dennis and his mother would linger in the kitchen afterwards and together they'd read from the bible. They'd take turns when Dennis was older, the other seeing to some kitchen chore while listening in.
In the Whitaker household, one's hand were always expected to be moving, and in work and prayer, a quiet contemplation could be found.
There was a certain liminality to those hours, a suspense of the more menial tasks of life. Free from the sensorial overwhelm and never-ending pressures of their farm’s always tenuous future, free from the cajoling and roughhousing of his brothers and rowdy farm boy classmates, it was easier simply to be. Not only that, but he could think about what it meant to be – to be on this earth, among the cycle of life and death, with God above.
Those had been sacred times of simple peace and easy joy. But peace couldn't always outlast change, and unlike peace, change was inevitable.
If he’d been a better Christian, maybe the peace would have lasted. God didn't change, and in heaven He promised an everlasting certainty that any faithful Christian should take comfort in. But teenage Dennis faltered, first without knowing it, and then helpless with the knowledge, only went on to falter again and again and again.
---
Over a decade away from the farm and Dennis still liked starting and ending his days just before or after the sun. There was something freeing in taking time to step outside of the stream of things, something that let the world that upcoming day or night hold onto some unknown potential. It was a ritual and an attitude that helped him weather years of constant change and challenge, especially once he'd found his way into medicine.
He’d known before even starting med school that the ED was for him. Steady to a fault, driven to go above and beyond most people’s sane limits, incapable of giving up on others, plus whatever other secret ingredient X made up the ED doctor - Dennis had it in him. It was what had already made him a damn good paramedic.
He’d had an attending once who thought he might do well in surgery, but Dennis hated the quiet and sterility of the OR. Shamefully, what he craved most in medicine was the soul of the thing – the messy, chaotic realness of it all, and even the fear, pain, and loss. It fulfilled him to survive it, proved to him over and over that he could, and it made it all worth it to be able to bring someone else through to the other side with him. Or the very least, to be able to offer himself as witness to their final moments. Becoming an emergency physician was the natural extension of that, the thing that would let me do even more than he'd been able to in the back of an ambulance.
It had hurt, quite a lot really, to lose Mr. Milton right away on that first day.
Working the ED was a lot like working as a paramedic but had some key differences too – mainly that his relationship to the patient didn’t end at the hospital doors. Rotating through patient after patient, circling the Pitt, the constant follow up, was still a big change. Even though he’d used every resource he'd could, he couldn’t help thinking that if he had only spent more time focused on Milton, hadn’t let his focus waiver, that things would have gone differently.
Dennis had had transports die on him of course, or arrived on the scene to someone already passed, sometimes a while ago. Still, he'd panicked when he’d found Mr. Milton gone down when they’d been making small talk minutes ago. Dennis has acted fast, done everything possible, but the panic had him yelling internally at himself that this was supposed to be different, that Dennis was supposed to be different now, he wasn’t supposed to fail anymore-
He could see it on Dr. Robby’s face the first time he’d come over during compressions, that Mr. Milton was dead. He’d been in Robby’s shoes giving others that look before, even. When the attending had come back later and waited to called the time of death until after the younger doctor had exhausted himself, Dennis had said nothing. He could only look at the newly dead man, embarrassed and defiant and grateful in equal measure for the grace Dr. Robby offered, knowing that the attending hadn't had to.
It was one of the first things that had caught his attention about Robby, the way he too made efforts to pay witness to the lives who passed beneath their hands, those who went back out into the world and those who went beyond as well.
Still, he'd been caught up in the reminder that sometimes paying witness was all you really could do, and ready to spiral about it - but he'd been with Mel in that moment. At first it’d been strangely comforting to see someone even more tightly wound then Dennis. And then her conversational offering of “on occasion, I have an emotional response to death” had made him laugh inexplicably, caught off guard by the mix of absurdity and seriousness of the moment.
“Ha! Tell me about it,” he’d managed to reply.
Mel had looked mildly stunned and alarmed at that.
“Oh, um, I don’t think there’s time for all that…? And, I mean, we’ve only just met?”
Dennis had laughed even harder.
“Don’t worry,” he'd reassured her, “I just meant that I relate. Most people probably do, actually – have an emotional response to death, I mean? But hey, it sounded like maybe that brought up something else for you. You don’t gotta talk about with me but I’m told a good listener if you ever feel like it. Just keep that in mind.”
Mel’s face had gone from mild to moderate alarm then, but she had also looked - touched? He hadn’t had a read on her just yet, and she hadn’t been able to reply before the rest of the team who’d ran the code returned. Regardless, Dennis had felt more on track by the time the rest of the people who'd coded his patient had returned.
Dennis had had his chance to get any what-ifs out the way, appreciating Robby’s steadfast certainty about the situation. When asked to say something, Dennis had really tried to reach deep and not just block out the moment.
“Mr. Milton... liked bourbon,” here Dennis had paused for a group chuckle, “…and he loved his wife. He seemed kind, the type of kindness you can recognize right away. I know he will be missed, and I’m sorry that today was his last day on earth, but I’m glad that I got to meet him. Thank you, everyone, for letting me see him through to the end.”
Something, maybe the sincerity, had seemed to surprise Robby, who’d gave Dennis a keenly appraising glance before their moment of silence. Dennis would come to recognize that particular look as a Robby-special, a combination of raised brows, downward tilted head, and deep, probing eye contact - delivered in a single second’s glance that magically communicated humble concern, steadfast assurance, and a mild form of judgement, all with a professional level of emotional distance. Dennis admired it immediately.
“I’m good,” he assured the chief attending when he'd taken Dennis aside to check in further. “And really, thank you for letting me go the extra mile there. I knew he was gone, I just… really am bad at giving up, you know?”
That look settled on Dennis again, now with a touch of skepticism, but this time not so quick to move away either.
“Oh, really? You knew, did you?”
Dennis let his smile go lopsided.
“It might not have seemed it there for a sec, but I’ve got almost a decade as an ambulance paramedic under me – I’ve seen patients go before. Think I’m just getting used to it all over now that I’m fully in a hospital setting. It feels like I ought to be able to do more now, you know? But I know how it is.”
The pair had fully paused in the ER hallway at that point, as Robby crossed his arms and cocked his head, look sliding into something more curious, maybe even approving?
“You don’t say? Paramedic here in Pittsburgh?”
“Partly. I started out back in Lincoln – Nebraska – moved out here when I started school and kept it up as long as I could.”
“You worked all through med school?” Eyebrow level: one hundred percent.
“Only the first year or so – I meant when I moved out here to get my bachelor’s.”
“Huh, started in the ambulance right out of high school? That’s…” Dennis braced briefly, expecting something negative out of habit, “…impressive. How old are you, Dennis?”
Dennis’ own eyebrows were raised now, not expecting the personal questions right out the gate.
“Thirty-five, thirty-six later this year - and you?” Dennis lobbed back with some snark, intonation flat.
Robby had just laughed. Dennis, privately, had been stunned by the way genuine humor changed the older man’s face – his eyes got all scrunched up as the smile took over, taking all the intensity out of him for just a moment.
“Wouldn’t have guessed! You must have had quite the baby face as a kid, huh?” jibed the attending.
“Yeah, funny how you learn to be grateful for the things you used to get teased for," replied Dennis, "I’m sure I’ll only be more grateful by the time I get to – seventy, did you say?”
That earned Dennis an even more delightful face – a downward tilt again, but with narrowed, mischievous eyes and a would-be grin tucked away at the corners of that firm mouth.
“Oh, Huckleberry, you’re gonna fit right on in here at the Pitt.”
“Huckle–? Hey! Who-?” But Dennis had already been flung out of Robby’s orbit, and it had been back into the Pitt from there.
--
Looking back, Dennis could logically see all of the puzzle pieces, the basic building blocks, that made up his childhood – made up him.
Raised on the values of a rural, Christian, multi-generational farm family, he’d internalized the need to work hard, without complaint or expectation. As the youngest son of several much older brothers, he was always smallest and slowest, often pushed aside, and this had translated into a particular need to prove himself. Kept out of his brother’s social lives, he’d gotten used to living in his own head while looking at the rest of the world as an observer. He enjoyed school for its own sake and spent whatever free time he had reading, and eventually, online. All that had yielded a teen with insatiable curiosity, an eager but wounded ego, and a deep dissatisfaction with partial answers and half-truths, layered with the same tireless drive and determination that all his family had.
He’d started asking questions.
First, mostly about scripture. He’d quiz his mom on this and that over his coloring books or his homework as he got older, always searching for the context religion could give. The questions got harder for his mother to answer the older Dennis got, first causing his mother amused befuddlement, and eventually inviting deeper and deeper frowns to her face, leading to hushed conversations with his father.
He started asking questions, and with the questions came wanting, and with the wanting came change.
He hadn’t meant to be different, but before he knew it, he simply was. His mother must have seen it happening, and maybe at first it had given her hope of a future pastor in the family, a perfectly respectable interest for an intellectual youngest son. She started sending Dennis to Sunday school and enrolling him in after school programs at the church, hoping he’d settle into this place there, and that his questions could finally be answered and done with.
Looking back, a part of Dennis had probably known that he was gay by the end of high school, but he’d been incapable of conceptualizing that aspect of himself then. He just known that something about him was different from anyone he knew. He'd also known his desire for recognition, to be unique, to make a difference in the world in a way no one else could, and for a while he had also hoped the church would be his place.
The first year after high school graduation had been when he’d doubled down the hardest - keeping himself busy during those liminal hours where he could be tempted to fantasize, or worse, to dwell on the questions he hadn’t found answers to. Questions like if it was by God’s design that some people seemed set up to fail, questions about who really earned damnation or not, and why; and why children could starve and be abused in a world with the power of prayer. Failing to stay focused, thinking about those kinds of things, felt like falling into a sinkhole filling with water, pulling Dennis under with the weight of the impossible task of reconciling everything he thought he knew about the world.
After that first year after high school, his parents finally sat him down to talk about his future.
The 2000s were ending, technology was changing, and small to mid-size farms like theirs were not only struggling but had different needs than they used to. His brothers were desperately trying to learn new business practices, marketing skills, and modern agricultural techniques; and the bad economy at the very least meant that the farm had cheap manual labor easy at hand, if nothing else. His parents didn’t really need Dennis around just for simple farm work, especially since he’d never shown any real interest in the management side of farming and had only really taken ownership of the homesteading work. His brothers had used to joke about how Dennis would make a better farm wife than a real farmer.
What was it Dennis wanted? Did he want to take over any of the farm management here, start working the cattle auctions, help his brothers figure out how to expand their cash crop operations maybe? Until he started his own farm or figured out an arrangement with his brothers as they took over the family farm or expanded into their own? And if not that, what? How did he plan to settle down and have his own family eventually? He couldn’t be his mother’s errand boy forever.
These questions were somehow worse than any he’d been avoiding inside his own head until then. Panicking, he’d reached for anything to ease off the weight suddenly compressing his chest, and suggested he started taking some classes at the local community college. He could study agriculture, start learning more about the modern industry big picture, and go from there?
It bought him a short reprieve.
For two more years he continued pitching in on the farm while slowly taking classes. The weight on his chest took on increasingly complex emotions that he knew less and less how to make sense of - a feeling of wrongness with himself, an ill-at-ease feeling with his very person, tinged with loneliness and self-recrimination that he couldn’t put words to. He was trying, trying so very hard to live the life he knew was meant for him, and it wasn’t hard, he knew how to do these things, he was never really alone, and he had every possible example he could need of the man he was meant to be.
So why did he feel like he was dying, rather than learning to live?
He became deeply aware of his need for a way out long before he had a single clue what 'out' could mean. But he had no real means of leaving the town he lived in, not even for a weekend trip, without having to go through his family to get it. And while his family didn’t have the time or just didn’t bother to get on Dennis’ case all that much about much of anything, he had an awful feeling of certainty that if he actually started asking for something different, then that all of that would change and there would be no coming back.
He needed was just to find a livelihood that his parents could accept, he'd decided, and which wouldn’t feel like it was eating Dennis alive.
Colleges were meant to help figure out those kinds of things, and so Dennis started there. There were way more programs than he would have guessed, even ones in theater, political science, and music, among others. He filtered out the obvious non-choices, programs he couldn’t see leading to a “real” career or which didn’t feel much different to him than farming. Education wouldn’t be so bad, maybe? His search had him at one point clicking through an associate’s nursing degree program, and – a paramedic program?
Of the many questions Dennis had begun asking about the world, many of them had been about the pain and suffering people endured, and the thought of being able to alleviate that pain himself, especially if God himself wouldn’t… The thought rocked him to his core, inspiring equal parts terror at the audacity of his thoughts and deep-seated longing. In an act less of bravery and more of desperate need, he brought up the idea of medicine to his parents.
They wouldn’t hear of it.
Worse than that, they wouldn’t let go of it either – the realization that their son was trying to escape them. Dennis himself hadn’t tallied up all the reasons why he was trying to get out yet, but something in Dennis had managed to give up secrets he hadn’t even know he’d had. Was it because Dennis was so quiet? Was it his lack of friends, the way he’d never spoken of a crush on anyone all his teenage years, while his brothers had been sneaking out to see their girlfriends? Was it the way he’d started to shrink when his mother took out the family bible?
Maybe if Dennis had been different but not too different, his parents could have supported his desire to go into medicine. But Dennis was exactly that – too different.
Dennis tried these days not to dwell on the awfulness of his parent’s words, their deepening rage and disappointment when Dennis couldn’t summon a convincing response to their accusations. He tried not to think too often either about the years that came after, especially the months where he’d often choose to sleep in the fields or hay barns to dodge his parents, nor the grueling hours spent working every part time job he could find to save money, certain that he was racing against the clock until his parents would give up on trying to force sense into him and just kick him out of the house. He’d rarely fought back against his parents, already feeling the completeness and irreversibility of his own failure and too accustomed to never raising complaints. The best he could do was to follow through on getting out - for all of their sakes.
He’d saved enough money to get to a bigger city in the state. He’d worked ceaselessly to keep a shitty roof over his head and save some more. He’d found a different community college with a part-time emergency medical technician program and spent every dollar that didn’t go to rent and instant noodles on classes. He became EMT certified and started working in ambulances, making enough money for the first time to afford more than just basic necessities. Still his parents child, he put most of that money back into the business, in this case investing in the further courses and certifications to become a full paramedic.
He went on a first date, had his first hookup, started and ended his first disastrous relationship as an adult gay man from the boonies, clueless about it all. He tried therapy, hated it, danced on the edge of disaster, and decided that maybe he did deserve to live after all, even if his very existence was already fundamentally a failure in living; learned that were worse things in life than having failed to be the kind of man his family valued – much, much worse things, and much, much worse men. He fucked up more than a few attempts at friendship but learned to open up, if only occasionally. He found purpose and tried not to let it consume him in the absence of faith.
He'd already started his life over at 22, and did it again at 28 when he left the state and went for his bachelor’s, and at 35 he was beginning year one of the rest of his life, a resident now, and fully on the path he knew he’d been heading towards all this time.
--
Dr. Robby hadn’t known any of that, but he’d seen enough to be intrigued. Later that morning, back on day one of Dennis’ residency, he'd had stopped by the charge desk and leaned in towards Dana.
“Hey, what do you make of the new resident, Whitaker?” he'd asked her.
“The doe-eyed kid?”
“No kid, apparently he’s thirty-five.”
“Oh, no shit? I mean, he doesn’t look as fresh-faced as the usual batch, but who’d a thunk?”
“Nearly a decade as a paramedic – you buy that?”
“Oh, sure, now that you say so, I can see it. Fella’s been one of the calmest in the ER today, reassuring the other newbies even, for all that he went all gung-ho on poor Mr. Milton earlier. He’s got some passion to him, don’t he?”
“Yeah… yeah, I think so.” Robby seemed lost in thought for a moment, or maybe it was just that he was oddly at ease, considering what day of the year it was.
“…what’s that about, then?” Asked Dana, slyly.
“Hm? What’s that?” Robby pretended not to hear, already reaching for his coffee and stepping away.
“Run all you want, Robby,” Dana laughed to herself, “You know there’s no getting away from me.”
Robby had felt good putting Dennis in on the post-tonsillectomy hemorrhage, taking satisfaction in the way the new doctor was quick to fall in at his side. He’d been steady, attentive, and quick on his feet alongside him and Langdon, never flinching from the blood – and wasn’t this the second time in just a few hours that he’d been doused? Guy really was rock solid. Even when he'd maintained compressions on the drowned girl, another they couldn't save, he'd stayed steady. He'd gotten a bit too attached with the burn victim, but at least it said that he cared, even when he'd already taken worst losses in the first half of the shift than most did in their first week at ED.
But it wasn’t until they got the alert about Pittfest that Robby really knew how glad he was to have the new resident.
Dennis had come right up to him, calm and determined.
“I’m wherever you need me, Dr. Robby, but this is my area,” he'd been quick to offer, looking Robby right in the eye. “I’m new here, but float me in triage with Mohan and I can help ride the critical cases in to you and keep them stable, alright? I’ve got this.”
Down his senior residents, Robby had had no choice but to agree. Dennis had kept his word too, jumping determinedly into the fray over and over, putting his paramedic experience to good use, well trained in fast assessment and stabilization. He even circled over to the new med student and other new residents when the attendings were too tied up, just generally putting himself exactly where he needed to be, when needed there. Everyone had done incredible work that day, but Robby had been particularly grateful for Dennis' independence and self-assurance.
And thank g-d someone had a grip on themselves, because by the end of the night Robby sure hadn't. A lot of that day ended up being a blur, one mangled body after another, with the memory of one particular mangled body layered overall the rest.
But among the moments that remained crystal clear from that day was the one in the make-shift morgue, when the world started crashing in around him. The pressure had been building all day, a weight on his chest that sent a ringing through his ears, until he’d been falling, falling, falling, right into a dark tunnel, squeezing him in from all sides.
But then there’d been something else in the dark with him. At first, just a voice, tight with fatigue, but calm, controlled.
“Dr. Robby, it’s me, Dennis Whitaker. I’m one of the new residents. We met this morning for the first time, here, at PMTC. It’s September, 2025. I’m Dennis Whitaker - can you squeeze my hand if you remember me?”
A light pressure, and suddenly Robby remembered he had a body - or a hand, at least – even if he couldn’t see it in the dark. Whitaker. Robby did remember him. He squeezed, hard, and didn’t let go, prayer still passing his lips in shaky bursts.
“That’s great, that’s right, Robby, it’s just me, Dennis. I’m here with you, and we’re going to get through this together, ok? I’m going to start squeezing your hand, and when I do, we’ll do our best to breath in, ok? In…”
Dennis had squeezed, and somehow, Robby’s diaphragm had remembered how to do the same. His breath had hitched, filling his lungs in sharp increments, but filling them, nonetheless. The pressure had eased. He'd breathed out.
“We’re doing great Robby, we’re gonna be ok, I swear. Just... keep breathing with me, ok? In… and… out…”
Robby almost couldn’t hear the slight waiver in the other man’s voice just then, but he had, and when he'd started noticing the trembling in their joined hands he hadn't know for certain who was causing it. Robby’s other hand had come up instinctually, covering Dennis’ completely, something in him responding with an urge to comfort. Hands, he had hands, and lungs, and a whole body that was here, present – brutally aching – but still going.
The sudden return to his body had had Robby slumping forward. Dennis, too, had flagged for a moment - maybe in relief. For a few seconds, both their foreheads had touched over their clasped hands.
“...Isn’t fair,” the younger doctor had mumbled eventually, head still bowed with Robby's.
“it isn’t fair, and it’s too much, and it shouldn't be this way. I don’t know why we’re asked to do it, or if He even cares, if this is His plan, or- or- how much we can really change about anything at all, but I know we’re needed out there, Dr. Robby. We're needed. Even without faith, we can still have purpose. This is yours, and mine, and we both know it. Let’s just… Let’s go save some lives, ok?”
That had been enough to finally get Robby to raise his head, which had had the side effect of locking his gaze with Whitaker’s. The younger man had had tears of his own welling up and he'd looked just as haggard as Robby had felt, and still felt. Robby could still remember the strangest sensation in that moment of looking in a mirror, but not. Something achingly familiar had been reflected back at him, but with something else too that didn’t belong to Robby at all and never could. Robby didn’t think he’d ever be capable of looking at himself the way Dennis had been looking at him in that moment.
All of that, a day and a lifetime packed full of hurt and healing and hurt again, was what had them shoulder to shoulder with a beer each, taking solace in a public park of all places. He'd has his moment on the roof, with Abbot, and here they all were, surviving another day it seemed. And what a fucking day – how had this been so many of this group’s first shift? What a nightmare, how was he was gonna get them all through this, the social work staff had their own hands full with today too –
"Hey, you gonna finish that or what?”
You had to give it to the guy, he sure had timing.
“I mean, no shame if your tolerance is shot,” Dennis teased, “God knows I wouldn’t have the time, much less the energy, for ever going out if I were in your shoes. So if you need me to take one for the team, I’m just saying…”
“Whitaker, I’ll give you this: you sure got a set on you,” huffed Robby.
“What’s that, sir? A set of what? You mean these baby blues?” he'd snarked back, tone ridiculously flat.
“Quit trying to get to me say ‘balls,’ Whitaker – you’re gonna have to get a whole more creative if you’re trying to drag me to HR.”
“That lot has got a whole separate manual of policies for our chief attending here, let me tell you,” Abbott decides to chime in. Christ, Robby really was taking leave of his senses if he was forgetting they were in a group right now, composed mostly of people for whom he was their direct supervisor –
“Yeah, Dr Abbott?” asked Dennis, feigning wide eyed surprise, “What would be rule number one in the Robby Manual, you think?”
“Oh, kid, ‘think’? I’m literally not joking here; I’ve glimpsed the damn thing.”
Dennis looked completely sold on the idea.
“Well did you get a look inside, or not?,” he asked, “I gotta know how to climb the ladder around here.”
“Got plans to throw me under the bus already, huh?” mumbled Robby around his beer.
“Hell no," scoffed Dennis, "day one and I already know it’s not HR who’s running things around here.”
And what a sentence that was.
“I gotta know all the tricks to your good side though, don’t I?” Dennis jibed. “I’ve a feeling the Robby HR Manual has an itemized list of your vices – or, maybe Dr. Abbot here does. Sure would’ve been useful with my last ambulance partner – I didn’t find out until week five that the guy liked to keep porno mags in the glove compartment for his breaks and that every time I brought him back a coffee in our down time it was actually just making him want to strangle me.”
“So, did you let him?” Thank g-d it was Santos asking. “I wouldn’t have guessed it at first, but you’ve been full of surprises all day, Huckleberry – you kinky, or what?”
Dennis only rolled his eyes, but from his close vantage point Robby could see a slight dusting of pink at the tips of his ears.
Cute.
“Probably would have improved our working relationship now that I think about it, but no, Trinity, I did not. And I don’t think you have a way of figuring out just how kinky I am,” Whitaker shot back dryly, and astutely. He’d probably clocked the mutual interest between Garcia and Santos same as Robby had.
“Psh, says who? You’re as transparent as glass, Whitaker. That wasn’t a denial at all about if you would have enjoyed it. But you know what, you are right that I have no interest in your pasty white ass – and so on that note, I think I’ll be heading home.” Santos had her phone out, screen lit up with messages apparently more interesting than their current group hang out.
Robby was startled by Whitaker getting to his feet as well, jolting Robby into also realizing he’d basically just been staring silently at him for the last few minutes of conversation going on around him. Fuck, but he was out of it. He peeled his eyes away – only to meet Jack’s instead, right under brows raised high up his face in amusement. Shit.
Robby shot to his own feet, refusing to hear the ribbing - or worse, questions - Abbot was surely gearing up to unleash on him.
“You know, seems like a good time to head out, actually. Either of you heading back to the parking garage? I can walk you.” Robby was already moving, in fact.
“Ugh, no thanks, and I’m calling a car anyway – night, losers!” And that was Santos gone.
“I’d appreciate that, Robby,” was Dennis’ much more mild response, falling in step.
“We’re heading out then,” was Robby’s quick reply for the both of them, hustling Dennis out of the park. Hearing the lack of “doctor” ahead of Robby’s name had Abbot’s laughter going already. Robby supposed he’d better just be grateful that the other attending hadn’t decided to leave with them just to get in a few jabs.
The short walk back to the parking garage was largely silent, but not in a bad way. Dennis had his head tipped back a bit while they walked, eyes to the skyline where he could see a sliver of the moon.
Robby kept his eyes – mostly – on the street, staying focused and briefly shouldering the responsibility of making sure they didn’t end up in the middle of oncoming traffic. Dennis only looked back down as the garage entrance entered their line of sight, taking the initiative to break the silence first.
“So, bit of a personal question here," asked the younger doctor, "but are you the type to want the whole world to fuck off when you’re this beat, or the type to want company?”
“Well, I went to the park too, didn’t I?” Grumbled Robby back.
That was a pretty personal question actually, at least to Robby. Dennis hummed in response, following Robby into the garage.
“I’m also feeling pretty safe in guessing that you live alone.”
Mild panic started to build in Robby’s chest – what was the resident after here?
“And so, I think I don’t mind asking you for a favor, and my therapist has really been on me to get better at asking for help…”
The panic died down. Helping he knew how to do, and without thinking too hard about it.
“Could I crash the night with you?”
They were stopped at Robby’s car now, the older man blinking owlishly at the request. Dennis’s face was solemn, neither coy nor suggesting any kind of come on.
“Crash… as in…”
“As in sleep on your couch for the night, or in your guest room if you have one. The truth is, I’ve been really low on funds and waiting for my next resident paycheck before getting a permanent place. I had some plans for where to stay, but ah, I didn’t really have the time and don’t have the energy now to figure those out. Most of us have the day off tomorrow so I can get it sorted then, if you don’t mind one night…?”
Huh. Robby didn’t know why he’d been trying to set expectations with this guy at the rate Dennis kept turning them around on the older man. Dennis had a certain self-sacrificing air about him, much like Robby himself, or so he’d thought. But it was good not to let yourself down by not reaching out for help, Robby fully knew and believed that, at least when it came to others on his team. If only Langdon had - well. He couldn’t not honor the effort Dennis was making here.
“Yeah - yeah, of course. Do you need…?” Robby honestly had no idea how he thought he was meant to end that sentence, and so let it trail off.
It earned him a snort of amusement. “No, no, you’re all good – I’ve got everything truly important right here,” Dennis supplied, with a pat of his backpack. “What about you?” The reply seemed strangely laden with meaning, which Robby also didn’t understand.
“Oh, uh, nope, all good here, let me just…” Robby fumbled popping open the trunk, which shouldn’t have been as much effort as it was. He tossed his own work bag into the back, nearly missing - fuck, but he was exhausted, it was really hitting him now. Dennis tossed his own bag in with just a tiny bit more energy, then held out the empty cans he’d carried back from the park.
“Do you mind tossing these for us? No idea where the garbage is here…”
“Yep, got it,” and Robby shuffled off to the trash - dragging himself back to find Dennis leaning against the driver’s side door.
“What a sensible vehicle you’ve got here, Robby. Not sure I would have pegged you for the mom van.”
Robby sputtered weakly, “Mom van? Hell no, this isn’t—”
“A brand new, four door, compact SUV – and is this all-electric? It’s the modern Midwest mom van, Robby, it just is. That, or you’re secretly a lesbian. I’ve never driven anything all electric before, mind if I give it a spin?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Robby couldn’t even begin to name all of the angles by which this situation was wildly falling out of his hands.
“If there’s anything a ‘Huckleberry’ can do, it’s drive, I promise you – gimme.” This last bit was said with grabby, outreached hands that had Robby handing over his keys before he could properly think. The hell?
“Wait…” But Dennis was already sliding smoothly into the front seat.
“You comin’, or what?” he shot over his shoulder. Oh, but he was being cocky about it now.
“You’re damn lucky I’m exhausted, you brat,” he muttered while circling to the passenger side.
He didn’t think Dennis had heard him, but the younger man was smiling in that mild way of his either way as Robby collapsed into the passenger seat. Robby’s scowl only deepened, and deepened again as he endured not only the insult, but the off-putting burn put in his gut from watching Dennis casually and smoothly adjust all of the angles of the driver’s seat, hands skimming over each control and the gear shift - or whatever they were called in an electric car, Robby didn’t actually know - and checking each rear-view window like it was his job to be good at it. What the fuck. Without asking, Dennis had also already set the GPS in the built-in screen with a route to “home,” not even bothering to ask before pulling out of the parking spot.
“Mind putting on some music?” Dennis asked casually, calmly, eyes keeping to the road. He was speaking quietly now, pulling back in some of that tranquil atmosphere that had cloaked the two while walking to the garage. Wordlessly, Robby used his phone to put on something soft and bluesy. Dennis thought maybe it was something sung by Nina Simone.
They drove without speaking again, letting the music hang soft and easy for a moment. Robby felt himself fading, but not in a completely awful way. For a bit, there was nothing in the world but the barely present noise of car on pavement, the crooning of the music, Dennis' hands on the steering wheel, and the brief flashes of light from the city lights flying by.
All too soon they were pulling up to Robby’s townhouse, Dennis finding the garage door opener clipped to the sun visor with wordless ease. The younger doctor gave a moment for the current song to peter out, before killing the power, pocketing the keys – brat – and sliding around to the trunk before Robby could pull himself together enough to do more than pop open the passenger door. Dennis was already there, both their backpacks in one hand, the other finally passing back the keys.
“Almost there, now," said Dennis, almost soothingly. "You mind showing me in?”
Robby scrubbed a hand roughly over his face and nodded, more to himself than anything. He led them both through the inside garage door – the townhome was one of those with a single stall garage built right into the ground level, which opened on the left into an entryway shared with the front door. From there spanned an open kitchen, dining, and living space.
“Full bath down here, towels and clothes in the closet. I’ll shower upstairs and then show you the guest room – good?” Robby had no energy for any more than the minimum requirement of words right now.
“Yeah, you’re good, Robby. Can I have your phone though?” Robby’s eyebrows must have done something despite his exhaustion, but it only made Dennis huff again, quietly, with amusement. And sure, why the hell not. Robby handed his phone over, unlocked.
“I’m gonna order us food,” said Dennis, disappearing into the bathroom. “See you in a bit.”
Who the hell did he think- aw, fuck it, who cared.
Robby suddenly and desperately wanted more than anything to wash the day off of himself. Probably why Dennis had booked it straight into the shower like that too. Robby sometimes couldn’t wait the amount of time it took to get upstairs before get the grime and sweat of the day off of him, and during COVID it had become habit to head straight into the downstairs shower after every shift, hence the extra clothes ready at hand there – shit, what was he doing, thinking about that? And standing the fuck around? Robby forced himself up the stairs, as quickly as his aching, aging frame would allow.
He almost lost it again in the shower, a single sob breaking through the brief tranquility carried over from the car. He let a few tears and gasping breaths out but refused to sink to his knees. He knew from experience that if he did that, then there would be no telling how long it would take to come back to himself enough to go back downstairs, and the thought of Dennis coming up to find him like that – He shut the shower off, having just barely done more than let the water run over him for a bit. It was enough. Sluggishly, he flipped on the lights to the guest room, confirming that the bed there was already made. Probably a bit dusty, but oh well. He switched on the single bedside lamp in the room, flipped off the overhead light, and shuffled back downstairs.
Dennis was still in the bathroom, also meaning he still had Robby’s phone in there… The water was off though. He would probably be out soon. Mechanically, Robby sat down on the living room couch. It was a huge, deep, and velvet-soft thing, that couch. Robby vaguely remembered telling the interior designer he’d hired that he wanted simple and comfortable, leaning traditional over modern, and thankfully the man had truly made the most out of the scant instructions.
Robby beat back the urge to drift into his thoughts by flipping randomly through tv channels, waiting for Dennis to reappear. He settled on some kind of wildlife documentary. Neutral. Soothing. Soon enough Dennis reappeared, damp, mullet extra curly with it, and looking ever so slightly dwarfed by Robby’s sweats and long sleeves, both too long for his shorter frame. Robby snorted helplessly at the sight.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I’ll let you, since you’re paying for dinner.”
“Am I?” Robby mumbled senselessly, halfway to passing out now that he could properly slump over in comfy place, warm, clean, homey…
“Technically, you’ve paid already. I just went with whatever was first in your order history that was still open, hope that’s fine.” Dennis was settling into the couch now as well, groaning loudly, in a way that suggested the sound was being torn out of him. Fucking hell.
“Jesus Christ, if I didn’t know ER doc was the right profession for me already, I sure do now. Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve ever put my ass to something more comfortable in my life.” Dennis was absolutely collapsing, totally boneless, in the couch corner opposite Robby, outstretched feet and Robby’s phone on the cushions between them.
I’ve been told I’m pretty comfortable - Wait, what? Robby killed the thought. Brutally. No mercy.
“You still think that about the ER? After a day like today?” Robby asked, unable to help the strain that crept back into his voice, and squeezing his eyes shut against it. And also, how was this a better thing to say than the other thought? He needed to get a grip.
Dennis was silent for a long moment. When Robby dared to open his eyes again, the younger doctor was looking right at him. Like he’d been waiting for Robby to meet his eyes. Fuck.
“Yeah, Robby, I really, really do. Do I ever want to have to experience today again? Fuck no. But am I glad that we were the ones there to survive it, to get others through it? Fuck yes. You’re good at this. And… I think I could be too. At the very least, it’s still the one and only thing I can really see myself doing with my life. You know?”
“Yeah… yeah, I know.” It hurt, actually physically hurt somewhere under his heart and above his gut, just how much Robby knew exactly what Dennis meant, and even more to hear Dennis say that he thought he was good at it. It hurt even more to have to face that knowledge after today of all days, after Addamson, after Leah – and yeah, that was enough of that.
“So, penguin guy, are you?” Dennis seemed to agree with the silent sentiment, if the sudden topic change was any indicator. Sports? They were gonna talk about sports now?
Dennis pointed to the tv. The documentary. It seemed to be about penguins. That won another huff from Robby.
“Yeah, yeah, sure… I mean, look at the little guys. They’re… cute.”
The narrator on the screen was talking about how the penguins cared for their mates and eggs, and the coordinated effort it took to keep the eggs and newborns from freezing to death on the ice.
“That’s actually… kinda cool. Huh.” Mumbled Dennis, genuinely seeming invested in the film.
That seemed to be the perfect signal to fall back into another comfortable silence, interrupted only by the arrival of Chinese takeout. Without asking, Dennis retrieved the food and brought the bags to the kitchen, rummaging through Robby’s cabinets and piling together plates for the both of them.
Robby… just let him. Why the hell not? He accepted his plate on the couch with a simple muttered “thanks” and let the documentary continue while they ate in silence. Both doctors set their finished plates on the coffee table without getting up, neither moving while the documentary continued.
Hazily, Robby thought to himself that this was the best possible kind of ending he could have hoped for after such a shitty fucking day.
“Yeah, same,” replied Dennis sleepily. Hm, oops. Oh well.
Shamelessly, deeply, comfortably… Robby drifted into sleep.