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Dennis knew this time of year would have to be hard. It would be the worst Christmas in his life.
Everything had worked out until last Christmas.
His family was proud of him for going to med school, even after the initial anger at him for neglecting becoming a priest they talked it out before Dennis began his first year of med school. His parents were supportive, his grandfather was willing to pay for school, at least the parts that weren’t covered by the scholarship. It had worked out.
He usually didn’t come home for Christmas, it was too expensive on top of the costs for studying. He promised his family that he went to church every week, attending every mass he could on both Christmas and Easter.
It wasn’t a lie, he did go to church. Not nearly every week, maybe every other month, it was hard. He cried after every mass, over the sins his praying couldn’t seem to release him from.
He did pray. Every night. He believed in God, he really did, but he wasn’t sure of his abilities to free him from his sin when he found himself kneeling in his shoebox apartment, crying over his filthy love for men. He hadn’t ever acted on it, in fact, he only ever kissed one girl in high school to prove he wasn’t gay. But he was. Why couldn’t God make it go away.
He thought about it a lot. Prayed. Read books. On God. On sin. On repentance. On acceptance.
His third year of med school he made enough money to afford a flight to Nebraska by working countless mini jobs. He gathered all his pay, then ended up regretting it.
Christmas Eve had been great. It was like all those years ago. Cozy and warm, his big family in the little space of the farmhouse. He evaded questions about partners, saying he was busy with his studies, talked about school instead, about church and how big and beautiful the churches were in Pittsburgh. He had brought presents for all his nieces and nephews and they were joyous. He was happier than he had ever been in that house.
On Christmas morning, he had helped his mother with breakfast while everyone was sleeping. He had always been a mama’s boy, teased about it by his brothers, but he didn’t mind. They talked about mass in Pittsburgh again, he lied a little, told her he went every Sunday, made her proud, prepared her for what he was about to say. He felt safe that morning, standing in the kitchen, surrounded by the smell of pine tree, firewood and last night's turkey.
He told her. And she slapped him straight across the face. She had never been violent. His dad and brothers, yes, but never his mother. She yelled at him, to get out of their house, never come back, never consider himself part of this family unless he straighten himself out.
Everyone heard, slowly filtering downstairs as they woke from his mother’s screams. He was already scrambling to get his things, he had slept on the couch anyways. His mother told him he was dead to them all. There wouldn’t be a trust fund anymore, he'd have to pay for med school and his apartment himself. His whole family stood by her side, agreeing.
He couldn’t understand how the innocent love he felt destroyed the love he thought his family had had for him. Bloods thick, but nothing like their religion, their reputation.
In hindsight, he told himself it had been them who never spared a prayer for his soul. His mother had told him that praying for himself was wrong, he should always include someone else. Gracious prayers were answered, those who prayed for their neighbor. Not his selfish ones.
It was the week of Christmas. He was lucky to not be homeless this winter. He was so scared that February after Christmas when he couldn’t afford rent any longer. It was so cold, he couldn’t even imagine having to sleep out in the cold in December.
Maybe some of his selfish prayers had been answered. Or maybe his grandmother had prayed for him, Grandma Robin who had shown him old pictures of her and her best friend from years and years ago and told him about that woman with so, so much fondness in her gaze. He missed her. He prayed for her and to see her again soon. Maybe she prayed for him, too.
Dennis didn’t even have to try, he was packed with shifts all week. He was going to pull a double from Christmas Eve into Christmas morning, sleep all day and then get really really drunk on wine as soon as Trinity comes home from visiting her family. He was looking forward to overwhelming his senses so much he won’t be able to form a coherent thought about his family all week.
Robby also took most of the Christmas shifts, due to him not celebrating the holiday. Dennis was looking forward to that, too.
So Wednesday rolled around rather quickly, and Dennis‘ hand had been buried in far too many rectums to pull out Christmas themed somethings all week.
In all honesty, it was better than he thought. Because he actually thought he would want to fling himself off the roof this Christmas, but he mostly managed to not think about the holiday nor his family nor his homosexuality, especially for his attending.
Well, that maybe wasn’t true. Because said attending remembered Dennis was christian, wishing him a Merry Christmas Wednesday morning.
The younger in return offered an awkward “Well, happy Hanukkah, I guess. Belated, um yeah, sorry ‘bout that.”
And Robby chuckled, patting his shoulder and then diving right into work. It was an okay day. Some season-common sicknesses, some weather-related accidents, but luckily Dennis didn’t get involved in either of the two traumas that had happened so far, so he would call it good.
Until Dana informed them of another few traumas incoming from a car crash on a frozen street. The snow was picking up into a snowstorm, frosty wind and snowflakes pushing into the ER through the doors as gurneys were rolled in.
It was all hands on the case. A young couple from the first car came in, the girl conscious with some mild injuries and the young man with crushed legs. They were taken over by Dr Collins and Mel, not Dennis’ problem. God, he wished he had been on that case.
Then a little girl and her father on gurneys, the mother running in after them with just a few scratches. The man was conscious, the little girl, about eight years old, wasn’t. Samira took the man to a room, who told his wife to stay with their daughter. They wheeled her into trauma two, Robby and Dennis on the case.
“Bpm is on 145, blood pressure is nearing systolic!” One of the nurses updated.
“Start bagging,” Robby ordered. The vitals were nearing critical, the girl was barely breathing on her own.
She didn’t even have many scratches or visible injuries, her lungs sounded fine and the medics had reported no sign for a brain injury.
But Dennis checked her eyes again, everyone in the room scrambling to find reasons as Robby barked orders for IVs and the mother stood crying in the corner of the room.
“Pupils are uneven,” Dennis reported.
Robby cursed. “Okay, Whitaker, start intubation. IV looks good. I want a few liters of O-neg ready. Let's focus on stabilizing, keep up the pupillary assessment!”
And with that Robby slipped into the other trauma rooms to check on the other patients. Dennis knew it was mandatory for him as an attending to check on the other doctors especially during traumas, but he was only an intern for Christ's sake, and yes, Robby's presence did make him feel a lot more sure of his work.
He didn’t let that rattle him though as he slowly intubated with help from Kim and Donnie while Perlah kept on updating them on the vitals.
They weren’t stabilizing, if anything they were worsening. Blood pressure as well as oxygen levels were dropping. The mother was still crying silently, now kneeling by her daughter’s gurney and praying.
The heart rate compensated for a few seconds.
Then they lost pulse.
Dennis jumped into CPR as Robby reentered, demanding advanced life support.
Dennis stepped back. No pulse. “Resuming compressions.”
He was sweating already. Quicker than usual, even in the coldest time of winter. He saw it coming, but he didn’t want to voice it, not even in his head. A brain injury, a possible hemorrhage.
The defibrillator was set up, Dennis stepped back again. Robby placed the electrodes on the girl’s chest, the shock rocked through her body, the pulse jumped…then flatlined again.
Dennis went back to compressions and they repeated the whole procedure. Nothing. No pulse. No other way to save her.
Dennis didn’t stop CPR yet. He couldn’t. He heard the little girls mother pray and sob. He locked gazes with Robby, those gentle brown eyes encouraging him to give up like they so often had to. Sometimes giving up is the strong thing. Dennis had heard him say to countless relatives who desperately wanted to keep their family members on life support. Dennis knew it to be true, too.
He climbed off the gurney, panting “Call it.”
Robby glanced at his watch “Time of death, 5:34 pm.”
He hadn’t even finished his sentence before he was interrupted by a gut wrenching scream. Robby closed his eyes, Dennis looked right at her. The mother draped herself over her daughter, screaming out incoherent pleas to God.
No doubt was the father hearing it too in whatever room he was in. The whole ER was hearing it. Robby stepped back, giving the woman space, but Dennis moved closer, tears stinging his eyes as he silently joined into her prayers, hanging his head and closing his eyes.
He willingly listened to her weep as his own form of punishment for failing to save this sweet little girl's life. But the woman wasn’t blaming them. No. As Dennis focused only on his sense of hearing, he could make out how she was begging God to take care of her girl in heaven. For God to bless her husband in the other room, for God to bless the doctors who are trying to save him, and the doctors who tried to save her little girl.
Dennis didn’t even register it, but he bolted. It was good he had the reflex before he formed the thought, because next thing he knew he was falling to his knees on the hospital’s roof, vomiting onto the gravel. She asked God to bless the doctors that had failed to save her girl. She asked God to bless him.
On Christmas Eve.
Dennis wanted to give his life so that that girl could celebrate just one more Christmas. He didn’t even know her name. He knew nothing about her, but he knew he would rather die slow and painful than have that sweet fragile girl die at his hands on Christmas Eve. He prayed for God to switch their positions, let it be Dennis on that gurney.
His mother wouldn’t weep. She would curse the doctors that couldn’t save him and then pray her boy wouldn’t go to Hell even though she herself believed he belonged there. It would all be okay, as long as that girl could live.
But of course, his prayers weren’t heard. Were they ever? He looked up at the sky, the sun had already set early as snow was falling and coating Pittsburgh in a white fluffy layer. Dennis liked snow. It used to make him feel fuzzy, it hadn’t been a reason to stop working back on the farm, but with all the snow there wasn’t that much to do. It had been nice.
Now it caught in his hair and shocked his hot sweaty forehead, bit at his fingertips, wet his scrub legs and chilled him to the bone. It wasn’t nice. It was cold and harsh and responsible for that girl’s death and other people’s joy.
While she died, other kids in Pittsburgh were giggling, making snow angels and snowmen, capturing the memories. They would soon go to bed, anticipating Christmas morning and opening all those presents under the tree.
This girl wouldn’t ever open another Christmas present. She would be buried soon. Her little body would be in a little casket, six feet under the snow covered ground. Dennis would be there, if he could.
He was crying, silent tears. Not weeping like a mother that lost her child, but silent, cold tears on his reddened cheeks. His nose was runny, from the biting cold and the sting of the tears in his eyes, he was shivering, holding back from adding onto the vomit on the ground.
It was his own form of torture. Listening to the mother cry, then letting the frost bite at him.
If he died of hypothermia now, he would go to Hell. He wouldn’t meet the girl, he wouldn’t ever know her name. Would he be able to rest in peace?
Dennis always liked the thought of dying as a young, innocent child. When those thoughts came though, he had already become a sinful young man. Maybe there were only children and animals in Heaven. Every adult person was full of sin.
Then he heard someone calling his name. He felt a warm jacket wrapping around him, then a matching pair of warm strong arms. The smell of sandalwood, coffee and hospital enveloped him and he turned his face into a warm, broad chest, sobbing into the fabric of a scrub top.
He knew who it was. Who else could it be.
It had to happen someday. For Robby to return the favor from Pittfest. Dennis thought he was the kind of person to feel indebted to someone for something like helping him through a breakdown.
It was stupid but it made sense and Dennis was happy he was there on Pittfest to help Robby, because now Robby was here to help him.
His words were muffled against the younger man's ear, a hand pressed to his chest as he failed to breathe properly. Dennis craned his head and made eye contact with Robby, his face so very close to his.
There was fear in those kind eyes. Fear and worry and grief. It all wouldn’t have hit Dennis so hard if it wasn’t Christmas, but it was. So he needed Robby's stability. He needed him to get up, back to his shift and then the shift after that because he was stupid enough to try and pull a double on Christmas Eve.
But Robby didn’t rush him like Dennis did on Pittfest. He held him close, still speaking, though inaudible to Dennis. Maybe he was dying. That wouldn’t be so bad.
He’s never that lucky.
His ears slowly cleared up and he started to register Robby's words.
“You need to follow my breathing, come on. Breathe, Dennis. It's okay. Everything is okay. I'm here. I'm here.”
It did wonders. Those deep whispers of Robby's warm voice. Not his doctor voice, not his mentor voice he usually used with Dennis, but a tone of voice that showed how much he cared. How this whole thing moved him, too.
Dennis stared out at the city, mouth slightly agape as he caught his breath, gathered his thoughts.
“It isn’t fair, Robby. It's Christmas,” he croaked out and the older man held him tighter, maybe even pressing a kiss into Dennis’ hair.
“I know.”
“I don’t even know what we’re doing. You can’t deny the other side. She was bound to die when she came in.”
“Dennis…”
“They don’t wanna die any more than we do. Sure as hell not more than me,” Dennis sobbed out, new tears gathering.
“Den, come on now.”
“Don’t they pray to the same God that we do?”
He didn’t consider that Robby didn’t pray at all. He didn’t consider that Robby might be sick of him. He didn’t consider that there was still work downstairs. He needed to get his thoughts out of the way. Now or never.
He sat up straight, looking at Robby's worried face as he faced him, the attending’s arms not letting go of him and adjusting the jacket draped over his shoulders.
“I mean, how does God choose whose prayers he refuses? I prayed to not be homeless anymore, I prayed for this internship, I prayed to find friends some day in my life. Why did he answer my stupid prayers, my selfish, greedy prayers, but not those of a mother who is praying that her child be saved, by me and you, and we fail. But that mother is virtuous. She doesn’t blame us, she doesn’t blame God, she isn’t bitter. Why are her prayers refused? For that sweet little girl…”
Dennis cut himself off from his rambling with a sharp sob, tears overwhelming him again, the sobs making any more coherent sounds impossible.
He felt warm, calloused hands on his cheeks, thumbs wiping his tears away, but the gentleness only made him cry more. His eyes hurt, so did his fingers and knees.
“Den. Dennis. Hey. Look at me.“
He tried his best to meet Robby's gaze, swallowing down more tears.
“You did good. You did all you could have done. There were no signs of anything externally, and we couldn’t have found nor cured the hemorrhage quick enough to save her. It's not our fault,” he emphasized, his hands still cradling Dennis’ face.
Dennis shook his head. He knew it was true, but it wasn’t that he blamed himself anymore. It was that he blamed God, He who he had always believed in. But he also prayed to Him that his family would accept him. So maybe He just threw dices, maybe it was fun for him.
He looked back at Robby, who was still trying to wipe his tears. It was unrewarding work, they kept coming.
“You should go home, Dennis. I’ll find someone to cover your night shift,” Robby offered.
He didn’t want to be alone. But Robby was right. He couldn’t stay here and try to work. It would be sloppy work, it would only risk more lifes.
So Dennis nodded and Robby did too, slowly starting to stand up, then heaving Dennis up to his feet, too.
Dennis didn’t make eye contact. He stared straight ahead, his vision and mind hazy. His gaze locked on Robby’s chest, the golden Magen David hanging from his neck. Robby was a good man. Would his God listen to his prayers?
Robby's arm was wound around him, Dennis pressed into his side as they made their descent back down to the Pitt.
Dennis was parked in the staff break room with a hot coffee. He was more of an energy drink guy, but the hot drink was really nice after the cold. He waited for Robby, who said he’d drive him home after he called Abbot to cover the last half hour of Robby’s shift and Dennis’ night shift.
Dennis didn’t really know the man, but Trinity said he was her if I had to pick a dude so he must be nice. Or maybe just good-looking. Dennis still thought that he probably hates him now for making him take a night shift on Christmas Eve. He hated himself too, so that would make two of them tonight.
Tonight was supposed to make him not think of his family. But as he waited for Robby, it was all that came to mind. Last Christmas, the confession, the pain in his cheek, the ache in his chest. It was all too painful, and it all felt less painful than tonight. He would live in that last Christmas on repeat if it meant not being on that trauma case today.
Why was he so unlucky? Why was he not worthy in front of God? Why did He only accept his selfish prayers nowadays? Was it a sick game to torture Dennis for his sins? Making him think that maybe he repented enough, only to be dropped again and crushed by so much grief he couldn’t fix it, couldn’t save her or himself, couldn’t breathe-
“Dennis!”
He snapped his eyes open, looking at Robby who was crouched in front of him, eyes wide.
Dennis raised his head. Dana was standing next to Robby, her expression matching Robby’s worried one.
He tried to take a deep breath but came up with a violent cough from the back of his throat.
“Easy. Easy, Dennis, try to breathe. Come on. We’re right here.”
It took him a few minutes before he was breathing evenly again. Robby stood up from his crouching position with a groan, his knees popping. Dennis looked up at them, Dana offering a smile.
“Looks like you're in deep shit, kiddo. Cause I know Santos is visiting her family, meaning you would be alone tonight, which isn’t happening this Christmas, honey. So either you spend Christmas Eve with me and my family, or you go home with Robby, no celebrating. What's it gonna be?”
Dennis blinked heavily, looking between Robby, standing tall with his arms crossed and a warm smile and Dana, leaning against the table with a raised brow.
He didn’t want to intrude in her family's celebration. They deserved a nice Christmas without depressed little Whitaker. Robby didn’t celebrate. There was no celebration to ruin.
“I’m… not really in the mood for Christmas anymore,” Dennis croaked out and Dana nodded, patting his back.
“Get some rest, Whit,” she said as she moved to the door, locking gazes with Robby. “Be nice” she warned him, and then it was the two of them.
“Ready to head home?“
They dropped by Trinity's apartment to grab some of Dennis’ things, then drove to Robby’s townhouse. It was a nice house. The front yard was covered in snow, some Christmas lights were hung to match the neighbors. The inside was cozy too, dark and warm colours, mahogany furniture.
Robby lit up the fireplace, the crackling and the smell of wood filling the space as Dennis sank down on the leather couch. They didn’t speak much on the way. They were both tired.
“Beer?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Robby sank down on the couch next to him, handing him the can.
“What would you like to eat?”
“Oh, I'm not hungry.”
“Sure, but you're eating. So, any preferences?“
Dennis shook his head and Robby ordered something on his phone, then put it away and went back to watching the fireplace.
“When is Santos coming back?”
Dennis sniffled softly. “Tomorrow night. Don’t worry, I won’t be in your hair long.”
“Well, you're welcome for however long you like. But I imagine you'd rather spend Christmas with your friend. Why didn’t you visit your family?”
The question was careful, Dennis could tell. It always was when it came to family, even Trinity became careful around the topic.
“It’s complicated.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, but he didn’t care, mainly because he cried in Robby's arms for probably twenty minutes straight and was done with being vulnerable for the day.
Robby nodded, accepting the vague answer and a couple minutes later the food came. Dennis would have never considered ordering food on Christmas Eve was even possible. Obviously it was in a big city, but there were some things he couldn’t shake from his life in Broken Bow. Stores should be closed all of Christmas, including Christmas Eve.
Robby had ended up ordering pizza, just one big cheese pizza and Dennis wasn’t kidding when he said he wasn’t hungry, but he ate a slice anyway.
“You mind if I turn on the TV, kid?”
“No, that’s fine.”
Robby switched through channels - most were old Christmas movies or hallmark movies - as he chewed on his third slice of pizza.
He finally left the TV on some movie, sighing to himself as he stood and brought the pizza box into the kitchen.
Dennis pulled out his phone then, planning to text Trinity about his shitty day and his breakdown in their bosses arms but was instead met with a caller ID.
The thing was, his mother still texted him, regularly. Some bible verses about sins like lust and greed, but mainly about homosexuality. Links for him to sign into camps or support groups to ‘straighten young men out’.
So he changed her contact name to DONT ANSWER.
Now those two words were bright on his phone, loud music blaring from his phone.
Dennis dropped the phone onto the carpeted floor and stood up, taking a few steps back as if it was a bomb. Why would she call him? He never answered her texts, never even opened the chat.
A warm hand was on his shoulder and he found himself relaxing without even trying.
He was gently pushed back down onto the couch, his ringtone still blaring. Robby sat next to him, thigh pressed to thigh.
He found himself struggling to breathe again, for the third time today. Was that gonna become a habit? Because it wasn’t pleasant at all and he really wanted to just breathe in, smell the scent of Robby’s home and calm down.
“Who’s calling you?” the older man asked, ducking his head to try and meet Dennis’ gaze.
Dennis cleared his throat. “My mom. She hasn’t called since, uh, what happened last Christmas.”
Robby glanced at the phone on the floor, which had finally stopped ringing, and picked it up. The screen was cracked, but not from the fall it just took, Dennis bought it cracked. It still worked really well back then and it was really cheap. Now it got hot after ten minutes of use.
Robby set it down on the coffee table, then turned back to Dennis, their sides now almost completely in contact and it settled the younger man's heavy breathing more than he'd like.
“I doubt you’d want to talk to me about it, but maybe you should give Santos a call. Don’t keep everything bottled up tonight.”
Dennis chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to interrupt Trinity's Christmas dinner. She did like spending time with her family, even though she didn’t voice it often, Dennis could tell. And he had already basically bared himself open to Robby tonight. Might as well.
“I came out to my mom last Christmas, when I visited. She didn’t take it well. There…isn’t much more to say about it and I don’t know why she would call me now,” he explained, avoiding eye contact.
The phone started ringing again, with the same caller ID.
“Well, then…I don’t think you should pick up if you don’t want to. But it’s really your choice.”
“I don’t want to, yeah, but, I mean, it’s Christmas. Maybe she, I don't know, came to her senses?”
It sounded unbelievable as it left his mouth. It was his mother he was talking about. If anything, she would be the one to ask him if he came to his senses. He shook his head and just kept staring at the ringing phone.
“Do you have anything stronger than beer?”
Dennis had promised Trinity he would get wine drunk with her, so they settled on a nice whiskey Robby had, much more expensive than anything Dennis ever drank. The older man didn't want to drink much, he had work the next morning, so while he nursed on his whiskey sip by sip, Dennis downed swig after swig.
Robby told him to slow down, Dennis told him he had a great alcohol tolerance.
Now he was draped over the couch, his feet in Robby's lap, while he rambled on and on and on about last Christmas.
Robby looked fond, albeit concerned and even angry at some of the things Dennis talked about, but he didn’t interrupt his flow of speech.
And it was great. Dennis felt floaty on his drunkenness and lighter and lighter with every word he said. He told Robby more than he had told Trinity, which really wasn’t smart, that is his boss, but he was too inebriated to care, and Robby didn’t seem to care either.
So he talked and talked and talked, uninterrupted, never even taking more than a second to breathe and therefore making it impossible for Robby to make a comment.
But slowly, he started getting sleepy. Robby had started to rub his ankle gently, maybe absentmindedly, and the weight lifting off his chest after talking made him finally feel that warmth he had felt exactly a year ago, before it all broke down in the morning.
Dennis had always liked Christmas Eve more. The picture of that little girl showed up in his mind, but he banished it, just for tonight. He will grief her tomorrow.
“Den?” He'd been using that nickname ever since the roof. It made Dennis’ skin prickle.
“Dennis?” Right. He was talking to him.
“Yes, Dr Robby?”
Robby smiled gently, patting Dennis’ leg.
“We should go to bed, kid.”
Dennis smirked, sitting up and leaning into Robby’s side again.
“The same bed?” He asked carefully, looking up at the older man while batting his eyelashes.
Robby sighed, snaking an arm around Dennis’ waist.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea. I have a very nice guest room, Dennis. And I will be right next door.”
Dennis’ smirk faded. He was hoping to lay in Robby's scent and warmth all night. Sleeping in a cold guest bed alone would only make him think until he cried and hyperventilated. He knew it from experience.
“Trin and I always sleep together after a difficult shift,” Dennis mumbled. “Please, Dr Robby?”
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, then looked back at Dennis again.
“Alright. Come on.”
Dennis grabbed his bag, dragging himself up the stairs and managing to not take a fall. He hadn’t realized how drunk he was until he stood up.
Dennis went to the bathroom first, showering with just water and the soap that looked cheapest, then dressing while brushing his teeth. He stumbled out of the bathroom and into Robby’s bedroom, who pushed a glass of water into his hand before heading into the bathroom, too.
He crawled into the bed and under the covers, Robby’s smell stronger here as Dennis was enveloped in the blankets he slept in every night. When Robby came back, freshly showered and dressed in flannel pajamas and a band tee, Dennis was already falling asleep. Robby smiled, getting into bed next to him and turning off the lights.
The bed was big, with a lot of space between them. Dennis’ hand searched around under the covers nonetheless until he found warmth, grabbing onto Robby’s arm.
He heard a small grunt from Robby, then the arm snaked around him and he was being pulled close into the older man’s side, arms wrapping around him.
Dennis’ head rested on Robby’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was there. It was steady. A sound to focus on so his mind couldn’t get a word in, much like when Dennis heard music to sleep, so loud it hurt his ears. Just that this felt natural, unintentional but still exactly what he needed.
“Mm…thank you, Dr Robby,” he mumbled before he went out like a light. Robby held him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
“Sleep well, angel.”
Dennis usually woke up with the sun. Back on the farm, there was no breakfast if he didn’t do any work before or got up far too late. When he did try to snag some food that one time, he slept out in the barn for a week. Safe to say it didn’t happen again.
He never really got rid of that habit. But when his slumber was disrupted by an alarm that was turned off just as quickly as it came and his sleepy groans were shushed by a raspy “keep sleeping, angel” he listened.
Dennis was nothing if not obedient.
Next time he woke up, it was ten in the morning. He got up to pee then, thinking over his plans through the hangover clouding his mind.
Even though he didn’t quite pull the double shift he planned, he still wanted to sleep all day. Trinity would be home by 11 pm. He had time. Robby had said he was welcome however long he wanted to stay. He was on shift anyways.
Dennis crawled back into the bed after taking some advil from Robby’s medicine cabinet, then cried himself to sleep.
He planned to sleep until afternoon, get up, go home, make dinner for him and Trinity, leave Robby a text of ‘sorry and thank you’ and then get shitfaced on so much wine with his best friend.
Instead he woke up to a hand in his hair. It was gone when his eyes fluttered open, Robby standing next to the bed with his arms crossed, clearing his throat.
“Shit,” Dennis mumbled as he rubbed his face. “I'm sorry, I wanted to be gone by now.”
He sat up and shuffled out of the sheets awkwardly, swaying as he stood up, Robby steadying him with a hand on his back.
“I don’t mind. I can drive you home if you like?”
Dennis looked up at him. Robby looked tired from his shift, but it never took away the fond smile lines and the warmth in his brown eyes when he regarded Dennis.
He nodded, smiling. “Yup, yes. I'd like that. Thank you, Dr Robby.”
He smiled as Dennis grabbed his bag and they walked downstairs, the blonde not bothering to change out of his pajamas.
“You can drop the doctor title, Whitaker. We slept in the same bed, don’t make it weird.”
Dennis let out a surprised laugh as he slipped into his shoes. “Drop the last name, then. You did all of last night. I'm not the black out drunk kind of person, Robby.”
Robby smiled at him over his shoulder, but when he turned back to put on his jacket, Dennis could see the blush on his neck.
He pulled on his jacket, too, grinning at Robby as he waited for him by the door.
“Thank you, again, Robby. For- you know, for all of yesterday, basically. I wouldn’t have managed alone. Not without you. I feel better now, besides the hangover.”
Dennis knew how to beat a hangover. Keep drinking.
“I think if I…ignored yesterday’s shift - which I can’t - this Christmas might have been my best in a few years.”
Robby smiled compassionately. “Working in the Pitt does that to you.”
“It does, yeah.”
Robby opened the door, letting Dennis step outside first.
“Let’s get you home, Den. Come on.”
Dennis was pouring his second glass of wine and Trinity’s third as they sat on the couch, Home Alone playing on the TV.
“So…let me get this straight. You lose a patient, sorry babe, then you spawn to the roof with no memory of how, throw up, cry in our bosses arms so long you both were showing signs of hypothermia, drop a diss track on the big guy up there and went home with him, got drunk AND SLEPT IN THE SAME BED!?”
Dennis choked on his sip of wine “That sounded like I went to bed with God!”
“You might as well have been with the amount of power imbalance between you and Robby!”
“We didn’t have sex, we just cuddled!”
“Which is obviously the more intimate option, dipshit!”
“He was really kind and caring and sweet, Trin! He called me angel and stuff! I told you so you could help me out here, not judge me!”
Trinity scoffed, sitting up as straight as she could muster.
“Huck. If I had an older female attending that I found really hot who then took care of me after several panic attacks, cuddled me and called me angel, I would have immediately kissed her and asked her to marry me. But you don’t have those kinda balls, sucker, so I can’t help you.”
Dennis let out a dramatic groan, dropping his arm over his eyes while trying to hold his wine glass up steadily.
“I'm gonna die. Cause of death: hot old and really really super duper kind man.”
Trinity cackled. “I can kill you, so they won't be telling your whole asshole family at the funeral that you actually died of homosexuality!”
“OMG TRIN!” Dennis shrieked suddenly, Trinity jumping in her seat.
“I totally forgot! My fucking mom called!”
Getting wine drunk was quite nice. Paired with all the food he and Trinity ate alongside it, Dennis just felt warm and fuzzy.
He was holding last night’s pajamas to his nose as he laid on the couch with Trin. She had been asleep for a few hours. The clothes still smelt like Robby.
He played over Trinity's words in his head. How she was so sure Robby was absolutely smitten with Dennis and just too scared to act on it.
It's way too late, Dennis. Don't call. He's probably sleeping. Don't call him.
“Dennis? Everything okay?”
He could feel his heart melt at that voice. He sounded like he had been asleep before.
“Yup, good. Fuzzy. I had, uh, a lot of cheap wine.”
Robby hummed. “So this call isn’t really a good idea, I’m guessing, hm?”
“No, no. It’s actually probably my best idea in a while. I won’t say anything crazy, I promise. I just talked to Trinity tonight to, I guess, gather my thoughts maybe? It wouldn’t have mattered if I got drunk or not. But she knocked some sense into me, like always so um…yeah.”
Robby chuckled softly. Dennis could hear some rustling, so he was definitely in bed.
“Okay then, Dennis. I'm ready for whatever sense she knocked into you.”
Dennis laughed nervously, Trinity stirring next to him.
“Well, I just wanted to ask if you’re gonna be free on Friday so… Well, that’s tomorrow. Are you free tomorrow night?” He stumbled out and was mentally hitting himself.
He could hear the fond smile in Robby’s voice as he almost whispered. “I’m on shift before, but I'll be free afterwards”
Dennis put the phone on mute, jumping up and silently fist bumping the air, cheering under his breath to not wake Trinity.
Then he unmuted himself, clearing his throat after Robby didn’t say anything else. “Are you gonna, uhm, like make me say it?”
Robby chuckled, the sound tingling his ear through the beat up speakers on his phone.
“Yes, Denny. I’ll take you on a date.”
Take you. Not go with you. Dennis’ brain was slowly melting and turning to mush.
“Okay. Thanks. You- you’re on shift tomorrow so uh… you should sleep. Good night!”
He hung up. He fucking hung up like a stupid idiot. And then he started jumping through the apartment, inevitably waking Trinity, who then proceeded to try and kill him.
He was going on a date with Robby. His first date ever, with a man, and that man was Robby. He could die happy now.
Dennis picked out his best clothes, ones that Trinity had made him buy. A light blue button up, matching his eyes, and grey jeans. Robby had texted that he would pick the place and pick Dennis up.
The doorbell rang at 8 pm. Dennis was whisper-yelling at Trinity, who whisper-yelled back to “get the fucking door.”
He opened the door and there was Robby, a little red bag in his hand, a golden bow on it.
“Hey.”
“Uh, hi,” Dennis fumbled out as he pulled on his coat, smiling awkwardly, the bag throwing him off balance.
“If that, uh, bag is for me then I'm screwed cause I don't have anything for you.”
Robby chuckled. “No, don't worry. It is for you, but it’s just a belated Christmas present. Open it later?”
Dennis nodded despite hesitating and took the bag, putting it down in the kitchen before going down to Robby’s car with him, his hand on the younger man’s lower back.
His cheeks were red when he stepped back into the apartment, definitely not from the cold air but from Robby’s constant flirting all night.
There had been no kiss. Dennis was secretly glad because he hadn’t kissed anyone in years. And now there was no more chance to practice but with the man he was stupidly in love with.
He watched him drive away from the kitchen window, then turned to the bag still standing in the kitchen. He picked it up like it was a holy relic, it was heavy in his hands. What in Christ’s name had this man bought.
He opened the bag and inside was a dark red scarf, a red velvet box and a card, written in the typical almost indecipherable doctor writing.
Dear Dennis,
I meant to give you the watch for your birthday, but I had been too scared to overstep any boundaries. I haven’t gotten wiser with age if that’s what you're expecting from dating me. Now it’s a Christmas present as well as the scarf. You've been looking cold coming into work lately and I saw it and thought it would look good with your eyes. I hope you like it. Now that I know you reciprocate my feelings, I promise I will get my shit together and be the man you need. If I don’t keep that promise, please do shove this letter in my face, because there is nothing I want more than doing this the right way. I'm looking forward to next Christmas now, hoping to spend it with you. But for now, I will see you on our shift tomorrow.
Merry Christmas, angel.