Chapter Text
Dennis drove in silence, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in time with Amy’s voice in his head.
Why? Why won’t you stay?
He knew why. Trinity knew why. Robby knew why. Hell, it felt like the entire Pitt knew why. He’d let himself get too comfortable—slipped into a life pre-prepared for him, one that was easy and familiar. A life Amy had built and handed to him piece by piece without Dennis even noticing.
How had he not noticed?
Or maybe he had. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to look too closely, because this thing he’d found himself entrenched in with Amy and Theo was so like the farm in Broken Bow—the appreciation, the praise, the codependency. It was all so familiar, and familiar surely meant it was safe.
The sun was dipping low by the time Dennis turned onto Robby’s street. He pulled up outside the townhouse, killed the engine, and reached for his bag, digging out the scrap of paper with Robby’s scribbled instructions. He should have checked in on Robby’s place days ago, but it wasn’t like anyone would know. Just get the mail, water the plants, and head home. He glanced at the house, then back at Robby’s note, then back at the house.
All the lights were on.
Dennis frowned, pushing the car door open. The air outside was quiet, suburban and still, but then he heard it—soft music, like a forgotten radio, and crying. Loud, unending crying that pulled something in his chest.
A baby.
Dennis glanced at his phone like it might offer some kind of explanation, but all it gave was the time. He double-checked the address Robby gave him, checked the keys for any clues, but everything pointed to this strange townhouse with the baby being Robby’s home.
Christ. He was gonna have to call the cops.
But Dennis figured calling the police on a baby was a bit much, even if this was Robby’s place. He should at least see who was inside. So Dennis shouldered his backpack and started up the walkway, praying to anyone who’d listen for a reasonable explanation.
He raised a fist to knock but the door swung open, and Dennis had to fight to keep his expression neutral.
Robby looked … wrecked. His hair stood up in about six different directions, a days-old shirt wrinkled and stained with something pale down the front, and in his arms—a tiny, furious, red-faced baby, and she was screaming. Full-bodied, lungs-out, nothing-is-okay screaming.
“Whitaker,” Robby said, and it almost sounded like a curse. “I—shit, I’m sorry. I should’ve called—”
The baby wailed louder, cutting him off.
“I completely forgot you were coming by,” Robby tried again, voice pitching over the noise. He gestured vaguely at the house behind him, at the baby in his arms. “It’s been a—well. You don’t have to house-sit anymore. It’s fine. I’m not going anywhere.”
Dennis nodded slowly, trying to catch up. Robby didn’t have a baby. As far as Dennis knew, Robby didn’t date. He didn’t even have a goldfish. What was he doing with a baby?
But if he looked closer … Dennis had seen that baby before. Dana had offered her up to him only a couple of days ago, on Robby’s last shift. Baby Jane Doe.
Robby’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry for messing you around.”
“What?”
Robby shifted the baby higher on his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into her back. It didn’t work—if anything, she was louder.
“I’ll text you about the key, probably next week.” He started to close the door, clearly trying to end the conversation and the situation in one swift move. “Thanks for coming by.”
But Dennis didn’t move. “What’s wrong?”
Robby blinked. “What?”
“With the baby.”
He huffed out something like a laugh, thin and frayed. “She won’t stop crying. Hasn’t stopped since three.”
“Three this afternoon?”
“Three this morning.”
“Right.
“I’ve tried everything,” Robby said, ticking off on his fingers, jostling her slightly as he did. “Holding her, rocking her, music, bottles. She’s fed, she’s clean, her temp is a perfect ninety-eight, there’s nothing wrong, she just—” The baby shrieked again, right on cue. “—won’t stop.”
Dennis was quiet, watching Robby with her. His careful but tense grip, like he was just waiting for something bad to happen. He stepped forward, almost over the threshold, and rested a hand lightly against the baby’s back.
“Could be colic,” he said, remembering how much Amy had struggled with Theo those first few months. “Or sometimes they just … cry.”
Robby’s expression was unreadable, but he didn’t pull away. “That’s—yeah,” he said, a little helplessly. “That’s what Wolke said.”
Dennis fought a fond smile. “You called Peds?”
“I did a rotation back in med school,” Robby said, almost defensively, “but things have changed since then.”
“Pretty sure a baby is a baby.”
Robby scoffed. “You wanna have a go?”
A beat passed. The baby’s cries scraped Dennis’s nerves, but it was familiar—and familiar could mean safe, couldn’t it? Comfortable? He didn’t know a whole lot about babies, despite his months with Amy and Theo, but he knew enough, and maybe that’s all Robby needed.
“Why not?” he said, dropping his bag inside the door. “You look terrible.”
He stepped around Robby and inside, kicking his shoes off by his bag. The place was a mess. Blankets half on the sofa, half on the floor, empty bottles littered the coffee table, and the kitchen was piled with dishes.
He turned back to Robby, who shut the door with an almost dazed expression.
“Here,” Dennis said, stepping forward. “Give her to me.”
Robby hesitated. It was only brief, but Dennis saw it—his instinct to say no, to keep hold and not let anyone else take her away. Then the long hours of stress and lost sleep seemed to take hold, and his shoulders sank a little.
She was lighter than Dennis expected, warm and wriggling like any good baby should be. The crying didn’t stop when she changed hands, but it eased a bit. Enough for the usual twinkle in Robby’s eyes to make a brief appearance.
“Hey,” Dennis murmured, tucking her closer. He shifted one hand to support her head, the other steady at her back. “Hey, you’re alright.”
Baby Jane Doe clearly didn’t feel alright, but her wails softened, just a fraction.
Robby dragged both hands down his tired face and sighed.
Dennis swayed on the spot, slow and even. “You eaten?”
“What?”
“Have you eaten?”
“I—” Robby frowned, looking as if he genuinely did not know. “I had something. Earlier.” He glanced at the kitchen, like it might jog his memory. “Toast.”
“Toast,” Dennis repeated dryly. “When’d you last sleep?”
Robby let out a hollow laugh. “Define sleep.”
“Right,” Dennis said.
He shifted the baby again and she made a small, indignant noise, but her face had turned from furious red to blotchy pink, her cries tapering into uneven whimpers.
“I can stick around for a bit,” Dennis offered. “You should shower. Take a nap.”
Robby was already shaking his head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“That’s not—this isn’t your job.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
He looked torn, glancing between Dennis and the baby and away again, something like fear and doubt in his eyes. “It’s just—she—” He swallowed, collecting himself. “I thought I knew what I was doing.”
Dennis glanced down at the baby, who was clean and round and healthy, probably still fighting the remnants of her Rhinovirus. “Look to me like you’re doing a pretty good job.”
Robby snorted half-heartedly. “Yeah. Killing it.”
“Go shower,” Dennis insisted, not unkindly. “You look terrible.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime, Dr Robby.” Dennis wandered toward the sofa, hunting for something to distract her with. He found a spoon on the coffee table and held it up like a prize, but found Robby had followed them all ten steps.
“Look, I’ll go, but just …” Robby said, struggling with his words. “Yell if she—if anything—”
“We’ve got this,” Dennis promised. “Shower, then sleep. We’ll be here when you wake up.”
Robby hovered a moment longer, like he wasn’t quite sure how to leave. Then he reached out and did something quick and awkward—his hand brushed through Dennis’s hair, a brief, absent-minded scruff.
“Thank you, Dennis,” Robby said softly.
Dennis froze, quickly recovering with a small, “Yeah.”
Small touches from Robby weren’t new—his first shift, Dennis had lost count of the number of times Robby had manhandled him or reassured him with a squeeze to his shoulder. But that had gone away in the past nine months. Not that Dennis minded. Like, at all. They should probably be professional at work anyway, he figured, but … He couldn’t deny, the touch was welcome now.
He watched Robby head for the stairs, and then it hit him.
“Robby?”
“Yeah?”
Dennis shifted his weight. “What’s her name?”
“Uh,” Robby said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jane.”
Dennis breathed a little laugh. “Creative.”
“Shut up.”
Robby disappeared upstairs, leaving Dennis and Jane in the living room. She was much quieter now, tugging on the curls at the nape of Dennis’s neck. Without her crying, he could hear the music from the stereo now—something old and soft, almost soothing. They swayed together, slow and steady, listening to the music and the sound of running water upstairs until the crying faded completely.
Jane let out one last, stubborn whine, then sagged in Dennis’s arms, exhausted. He adjusted his hold again, gently, carefully.
“Alright,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into her back. “Guess it’s just us, hey?”
Her eyes fluttered, heavy. Dennis glanced toward the stairs, then back down at her.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We’ve got this.”