Chapter Text
Robby stared into the dregs of his coffee and tried to work out what, exactly, he was going to do about Dennis.
It had happened slowly and then all at once, which was perhaps the cheesiest thought Robby had ever had in his entire life. He could practically hear Abbott mocking him for it.
Still, it was true.
There had been no lightning strike. No dramatic realisation. Just an accumulation of little things. Robby had ignored them right up until he felt like he was going to explode.
And they really were small things. Dennis waiting for him after shifts without mentioning it. Dennis turning up at the start of a shift with his favourite coffee and that hesitant half-smile. The way Robby’s eyes had started searching for him automatically in the chaos of the ED, and the way his shoulders loosened fractionally every time he found him.
That was the worst part, really. Not the attraction itself, though that was its own particular disaster, but the dependence creeping in underneath it. Quiet. Persistent. Dangerous.
Robby scrubbed a hand over his face and exhaled sharply through his nose.
This was ridiculous.
He was too old for this. Too old for Dennis.
Robby’s silent contemplation was cut short when Dana appeared in the doorway.
“Pedestrian versus auto. Ten-minute ETA, boss.”
Robby straightened automatically, setting the abandoned coffee aside. “How bad?”
Dana grimaced. “EMS says unstable in the field. Probably headed straight to Trauma Two.”
“Alright.” Robby pushed himself to his feet, already mentally shifting gears. “Who’ve we got?”
“Collins is with a septic work-up, Mel’s drowning in psych holds, and half the waiting room’s threatening to riot, but McKay’s holding down the fort. So I think Dennis’ll be with you.”
A tired snort escaped Robby before he could stop it. “No. Not Dennis.”
Dana’s eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him.
Robby ignored that. “Send Dennis to Chairs. Have him relieve McKay.”
Something unreadable flickered across Dana’s face for half a second. Far too observant, that woman.
“Sure,” she said slowly. “Dennis to Chairs.”
Robby reached for the chart tablet a fraction too quickly. “What?”
“Nothing, boss.”
Which, coming from Dana, almost certainly meant something.
Dennis didn’t mind being in Chairs; Chairs was often good fun. It was just odd to be moved there so abruptly in the middle of a shift.
Usually, assignments get stuck unless the department is drowning or someone needs to be pulled out of trauma. Chairs was steady work — stitches, fevers, sprained ankles, worried parents, the endless stream of coughs and cuts that kept the place ticking over.
Not exactly where Robby usually wanted him.
Dennis frowned as he logged into the computer at the station, pulling up the first chart. Dana had barely looked at him when she’d handed over the assignment, just jerked her chin towards Chairs and told him to swap with McKay.
Weird.
Not bad-weird. Just… weird.
He’d been expecting trauma.
Expected Robby.
If he was honest with himself, he had been expecting Robby all day. After he’d given Robby his coffee, there had been no small chat about their respective evenings. Between patients, Robby hadn’t sought him out, and every time Dennis had tried to bring up something non-work-related, Robby had suddenly had to leave.
Robby’s hands also hadn’t found Dennis’s shoulders once that day, but that last point Dennis was trying very hard not to acknowledge at all.
Robby should have been able to shake it off.
That was the point of the job. There wasn’t time for anything else. Not distraction, not indulgence, not whatever the hell had happened in the break room. You dealt with what was in front of you, and you moved on.
Except he wasn’t moving on.
He was aware of Dennis in an actively unhelpful way.
Or rather, aware of his absence.
Chairs.
Robby had said it without thinking. A clean, clinical instruction. If he moved him there, he would stop thinking about him.
“Robby?”
He blinked, snapping back into the present as Collins repeated the question about bed allocation. Something about overflow and whether trauma could take another patient.
“Yes,” he said automatically. “Put them in Bay Four and prep for imaging.”
Collins hesitated. “We’re already holding two in there…”
“I said Bay Four.”
A beat.
Then: “Got it.”
She walked off.
Robby exhaled through his nose, irritated at himself. Too sharp. No reason for it.
He glanced down at the chart, but the numbers blurred more than they should have. He found himself rereading the same line twice.
That was new.
That was unacceptable.
Across the department, someone laughed, too loud, too bright, and Robby’s head turned before he could stop it.
Habit.
Looking.
For a second too long, he found himself listening for a voice that wasn’t there. Expecting movement where there should have been none.
It took him a moment to force his attention back where it belonged.
Dennis did not think he would end the shift with a black eye, but here he was, handing over his patients to Trin with an ice pack pressed to his eye.
“Shit, Huckleberry, that is going to be a real shiner,” Trin said, lifting the ice pack slightly to inspect it. “I’m sorry I missed Robby’s reaction to it. He must have gone mental seeing his favourite pet get socked in the face.”
Dennis pulled back a little. “Actually, Robby doesn’t seem to care past making sure I fill out the correct incident report forms.”
“Bullshit,” Trin said immediately.
Dennis frowned. “It’s not bullshit. He was busy.”
Trin gave him a look that suggested she had been in this hospital long enough to recognise nonsense in multiple dialects. “He was busy,” she repeated flatly. “Right. Because Robby is famously emotionally detached about everything, especially his staff getting assaulted.”
“It wasn’t an assault,” Dennis said automatically. Then, after a beat, “It was a misunderstanding with a patient who had poor impulse control.”
“Uh huh.”
Trin leaned back against the counter, arms folding. “And he still didn’t come and check on you?”
“I didn’t need checking on.”
“That’s not the point.”
Dennis adjusted the ice pack again, suddenly aware of the dull ache spreading under it. “He’s the consultant. He’s got other things to deal with.”
“Yeah,” Trin said. “I’m not buying it.”
“There is nothing to buy,” Dennis said. “Can we please finish up here so I can get home and sleep?”
Trin held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, like she was deciding whether to push further.
Then she sighed. “Fine. But I’m telling you now, Huckleberry, that man absolutely noticed.”
Dennis didn’t answer.
He just gathered up his things a little more carefully than he needed to.
Because the annoying part was that Trin saying it didn’t feel entirely impossible.
And that was worse.
Robby was very lucky. He had been doing this job for long enough that he could hand over to Abbott while his mind was a million miles away.
Although it wasn’t really a million miles away.
It was actually just across the department, with Dennis.
The kid had been assaulted in Chairs. He had been assaulted in Chairs because Robby had sent him there. And Robby had done nothing more than tell him to fill out a form.
“Robby.”
Abbott’s voice cut through it cleanly.
Robby blinked.
“Yes.”
Abbott held his gaze for a moment longer than necessary. Not probing. Just aware.
“Handover’s complete,” Abbott said, eyebrows lifting slightly.
Right.
Of course it was.
Robby nodded once. “Good.”
But even as he said it, his attention had already drifted back again, uninvited, to the same place it kept returning to.
Across the department.
Where Dennis was.
Hurt.
“You alright, brother?” Abbott asked, his voice quieter now.
Robby dragged his attention back. “I’m fine.”
Abbott glanced over Robby’s shoulder towards Chairs, then back at him. “You want to go check on Dennis?”
The offer was casual. Easy. Like Abbott was handing him an out.
Robby shut it down immediately.
“No,” he said, too quickly. “Dr Whitaker is fine.”
Abbott blinked, then smiled a little.
“Dr Whitaker?”
Robby frowned. “What?”
Abbott shoved his hands into his pockets, looking far too amused for Robby’s liking. “Since when do you call him Dr Whitaker?”
Robby opened his mouth, then stopped.
Abbott’s smile softened.
“Robby,” he said, gentler now, “the kid got punched in the face. It’s alright to check on him.”
“He’s fine,” Robby said again, quieter this time.
Abbott studied him for a moment, seeing far too much, as always.
“Right,” he said at last. “Well, if he’s fine, and you’re fine, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Robby gave a short nod.
Abbott clapped him once on the shoulder as he passed.
“Try and get some sleep, yeah?”
Robby watched him go, feeling uncomfortably like he’d just been handled.
And across the department, Dennis laughed at something Trin said.
Robby looked before he could stop himself.
Still hurt.
Still here.
Still entirely too important.
That was the problem.
Dennis felt unsettled; the shift had sucked, and getting punched was only a small part of it.
Sitting in the flat he shared with Trin, ice pressed to his eye and a tub of ice cream keeping him company, he finally let himself think about it.
Robby had been ignoring him all day.
He hadn’t been too busy or distracted. He had just ignored him.
And once he thought it, he couldn’t unsee it.
No coffee chat that morning, no stopping by between patients, no hand on his shoulder in passing.
And Chairs.
Robby had sent him to Chairs, putting physical distance and walls between them.
The question wasn’t whether Robby had been avoiding him.
It was why.
Dennis’s phone buzzed on the arm of the sofa.
He ignored it at first, assuming it was Trin or one of the group chats he had muted halfway through the shift.
But the screen lit up again.
ED Rota Update.
Dennis frowned and opened it.
Effective immediately, Dr D. Whitaker has been reassigned from tomorrow’s day shift to nights for the remainder of the week. Staffing adjustments as per departmental need.
Dennis stared at it.
Then read it again.
Night shift.
Starting tomorrow.
A laugh escaped him, sharp and humourless.
Well.
That answered that.
It was one thing to be avoided for a day. Easy enough to explain away. Stress. Fatigue. Too many patients, not enough hands.
This?
This was deliberate.
Robby had not just put him in Chairs.
He had moved him out of reach entirely.
Dennis dropped the phone onto the sofa beside him and pressed the melting ice pack harder against his eye, the ache suddenly feeling a lot less physical.
The question had been why.
Now there was a new one.
What the hell had Dennis done?