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‘Hey, Doctor Robby!’
Dennis watched the man glance around the ambulance bay as he struggled to catch up. When Robby turned fully and saw him, Dennis gave a small and slightly awkward wave.
‘You, erm,’ he began, stepping aside to let a paramedic past, ‘you said to find you before you left?’
Understanding dawned and Robby nodded.
‘Oh yeah, well remembered. You’re still up for watering my plants, making sure no one breaks in and trashes the place?’
Dennis nodded, thinking of Santos’s spare room. It was indoors, free, and close to work. It was also an air-mattress, surrounded paper-thin walls, and more closely resembled a cupboard than a bedroom. Trinity would be delighted to have her closet back and, if Dennis had heard Robby’s plans correctly, he might have saved up enough to move somewhere by himself by the time the man came back from his sabbatical.
If he came back. Robby hadn’t seemed sure about that when they spoke briefly that afternoon––or had it been morning? From the moment Dennis walked in through those doors, the very concept of time always seemed a bit slippery. Perhaps Robby was considering a change of career, Dennis thought while Robby rummaged around in his rucksack for some keys and a scrap of paper. The place would never be the same without him though.
‘Okay, so, just make yourself at home and try to keep things ticking over,’ Robby mumbled, tossing him a set of keys which Dennis caught more with his forearms than hands. ‘You’re a smart kid, you’ll work out which one’s which. There’s a neighbourhood cat who comes around scrounging for food sometimes, so I keep some stuff for him by the door,’ he said, still rummaging. Eventually, he pulled out a small notebook with a hum. ‘Got a pen?’
Dennis grabbed his penlight from his scrubs pocket and handed it over. As if on reflex, Robby clicked the torch on and off twice before starting to write.
‘There’s the address and the code for the mailbox. No parties,’ he added abruptly, pointing the pen between Dennis’s eyes. ‘I remember med school. I was young once. No twenty-somethings chucking up in my shower, yes?’
With a small smile at the image of twenty-year-old Robby cutting loose at a house party, Dennis nodded.
‘Yes, sir. I’m not much of a party person, don’t worry.’
‘Good. My neighbour has a weak heart, so try not to blast car horns or anything. I think that’s about it,’ he said, hesitating before scribbling something else and then handing over the pen and notebook.
‘No special instructions for the plants?’ Dennis asked, taking them and glancing over the address. He was still getting used to the city. He knew the area around Santos’s apartment and around the hospital, as well as a couple of routes in between and the places he went with the street team, but that was about it. He didn’t recognise the road name. There was a phone number written below it.
Robby gave a minute shrug and otherwise ignored this question.
‘You’ve got three months, maybe longer. If there’s an emergency, give Abbot a call.’
‘I don’t have-’
He leant over and tapped the paper.
‘You do now. Don’t tell him I gave it to you––and when I say emergency, I mean it. You don’t want him having yours unless it’s absolutely necessary.’
Dennis blinked, possible interpretations flashing through his mind, but Robby just gave a small chuckle.
‘He’s a nocturnal vet with an inflated sense of how funny he is,’ Robby explained. ‘And an upsetting love of the sound of his own voice. Not to mention a habit of trying to poach my day-shifters to the dark side,’ he grumbled.
Dennis liked the sound of being one of Robby’s day-shifters and he didn’t fancy thinking too hard about why.
‘Okay,’ Dennis said with a nod. ‘Is there-’
‘Don’t think so. Look after yourself, kid,’ Robby said, flinging out a hand to rest on Dennis’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘Don’t let this place wear you down.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Dennis replied once more and then he struggled to parse the strange flickering expression that passed over Robby’s face. The man looked exhausted, and not just long shift exhausted, but bone dead tired. ‘I hope you have fun, get some rest, well-earned time off and all that,’ he added with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
‘Me too, Whitaker,’ Robby said quietly, squeezing his shoulder once more, patting the place his hand had been twice, and then withdrawing it. Dennis felt colder without it. He watched Robby head for his bike, swing a leg over it, and fumble about with the keys and the kickstand for a moment or two before starting the engine. At the sound of that rumbling purr, Dennis thought that he could understand the appeal for a moment. Then, he remembered how much gravel he’d picked out of road rash injuries, how many leg breaks he’d helped set, how many skull fractures he’d seen, and Dennis had only been in the Pitt for a few months.
He had no idea how Robby was so happy to forego a helmet and take the beast out for three months straight after what he must have seen.
Nevertheless, he seemed to be and Dennis watched him go, disappearing around the ambulance bay bend and into the dwindling evening light. In his hands, Robby’s keys felt heavy.
That night, after stopping by Trinity’s to pick up his stuff and share a very un-tearful but deceptively sweet goodbye, Dennis found his way to Robby’s house and stood outside its door for a few moments. The street was quiet, the sort that you might see kids kicking a ball around in the afternoon. The house itself was narrow, but three storeys that Dennis could see and, when he peered up at it, he thought he could see a skylight in the roof.
After trying three different keys, he found the one for the front door and let himself into the dark hall.
He successfully resisted his immediate urge to snoop around, but only for about fifteen seconds.
The moment his shoes were off, Dennis was exploring the room off the hall––a cosy living room with a small brown leather sofa and a TV too big for the space––then heading through a further door into a kitchen––sleek, tidy, but not especially clean; it gave the impression of someone who doesn’t cook much and also doesn’t care about crumbs, but does like buying mid-range appliances and letting them gather dust. After this, he headed upstairs. One bedroom was clearly Robby’s and he left it alone while he poked around the other room on that floor––a spare room that was clearly aimed at the vibe of cool uncle but sort of manifested as nerd with grown up money; there were a collection of games consoles and the games to go with them, a lightsaber that lit up when Whitaker pressed a button on the handle, and two framed horror movie posters that promised to bring back Dennis’s childhood nightmares. Then, unable to resist, he circled back to Robby’s room.
Compared to the one next door, it was practically an oasis. The walls were painted in shades of calming blue, and the window was covered by a black-out blind, which was, in turn, framed by a set of navy black-out curtains. There were no TVs, games consoles, stereos, nothing. One wall held some built-in closets. There was a large king-size bed with two very empty nightstands, and that was it. As he looked around, Dennis let out a low whistle, then succumbed to yet another nosy impulse and ran a hand over the roughly made bed covers. They were cool to the touch, with a thread count higher than his tuition debt. This, he decided, was the bedroom of a man who took sleep seriously.
He did not go so far as to rummage around in his closets that night. Instead, he turned on his heel and left, closing the bedroom door behind him with a respectfully quiet click, and headed up another storey.
As he had suspected, it was an attic room. Dennis peered through the skylight at the faint stars up above, the night sky polluted by the city’s constant supply of neon signs, street lamps, and light-up billboards. From a window like that, Dennis thought, he’d be able to make out the milky haze of the galaxy itself if he were back home. There was a pang of something in his chest at that thought: not quite nostalgia, not quite homesickness, not quite satisfaction at how far he’d come, but some combination of all three and more.
The attic room was a study. Each gabled wall was lined with shelves, creating a triangle of books, trinkets, and medical journals. Between them was a desk, a stereo system, a couple of expensive beanbags––an object that Dennis hadn’t known could exist until he saw them––and a leather office chair that screamed ergonomic.
All in all, there wasn’t a damned thing in the place that didn’t make sense with what he knew about Robby. He hadn’t known exactly what to expect, of course, but seeing each room, imagining the man in his natural habitat, occupying the space, it all made sense.
Except for one thing. There wasn’t a single plant in the whole God-damned house.
This thought kept rattling around Dennis’s head as he looked for a shower––he hadn’t felt water pressure that good since the fancy hotel they’d stayed in for his brother’s wedding five years ago––then rummaged in the fridge for food––literally nothing, the fridge contained one jar of mayonnaise and an old looking carrot––then looked around for a wifi code while munching on some dry crackers he found in a cupboard, before heading down into the basement to scope out the washer situation and backdoor.
Sure enough, when he headed down into the slightly grungy basement, he found a washer, a dryer, and the house’s backdoor. He also found a small ginger cat pawing at it.
‘Hey, buddy,’ Dennis muttered, trying two of the remaining keys and then lucking out on the third. When the door opened, the little critter hopped in with a chirrup in and began to pace the length of the basement like he owned the place, but kept his distance from Dennis.
‘Hey,’ he cooed again, holding out his hand hesitantly, ready to pull it back at the first sign of something sharp. But, the cat just sat himself down, tucked his tail around his feet, and stared.
‘Okay,’ Dennis said, more to himself than to the cat. ‘Not too friendly, huh? Maybe you take some time to warm up to people.’
The cat food was on the little table by the door, along with a stack of chipped crockery. He took a pouch and squeezed out the food onto the top plate, but the cat still didn’t move. It just sat there, watching him as he broke up the jelly and meat with an old fork, and waved it as enticingly as he could in front of the cat.
‘You hungry? Huh, buddy? Want some…’ he paused to find the packet. ‘Want some… fish chunks in jelly… yikes. No, me neither, pal,’ he said, but set the plate down besides the door. The cat, however, continued to stare.
‘I don’t think I can leave the door open for you, kitty, you’re gonna have to eat up and scoot,’ he tried, picking up the plate and offering it to the cat again. There was no reaction.
Dennis thought about what Robby had said. He knew the cat, called it neighbourhood, not a stray. He tried putting the plate just outside the door. He tried gently waving towards the cat, encouraging it to leave. He even risked trying to pick the critter up, but that just resulted in its ears flattening to its head and a warning hiss that Dennis really didn’t want to push his luck with.
He tried closing the door, to see if the cat would feel trapped and paw at it to leave.
Nothing worked. It just sat there, staring at him, the end of its tail flicking gently.
By this time, the long shift and late night were starting to weigh on Dennis. He wanted to crawl into the spare bed, ignored the horrible poster over it, and let unconsciousness claim him. He did not want to wake up to burglars stealing Robby’s enormous TV, all because he couldn’t persuade a cat to leave.
‘Okay, you’ve got like thirty seconds to leave before I’m locking this place down,’ Dennis said sternly, trying one more time to wave the cat towards the door. This time, it took a warning swipe at his hand.
‘Alright!’ he declared, shutting the door and locking it. ‘But if you crap on the floor, I’m rubbing your nose in it, capisce?’
The cat very clearly did not capisce, but Dennis didn’t see what else he could do about that. With a sigh and a final glance behind him to the pair of ominous flashing green eyes by the locked back door, Dennis headed back upstairs.
There was a weight on his chest.
Dennis grumbled and shifted, not quite willing to open his eyes just yet. The weight on his chest shifted too. Four points of pressure dug in a little more sharply.
‘Ow,’ he yelped, his eyes flying open. ‘Jesus Christ!’ Dennis yelled, his arms coming up to push the creature off him before he thought it through. ‘Ow! Shit!’ he yelped again, pulling them back and shaking his right hand which was now beading blood from one long scratch across the back of his fingers.
As quickly as the swipe had come, the cat darted away to the end of the bed, tucked his tail around his paws, and settled in for another long stare. Dennis slumped back down onto the pillows, willing his pulse to return to a normal rate. Above him, he stared at the framed poster, which looked little better in the morning light. It wasn’t exactly gory or horrifying, just upsettingly tense and filled with promises of three-sixty projectile vomiting and exorcisms.
‘Okay, time to go, buddy,’ Dennis said, dragging himself upright and swinging his legs over the bed. The cat did not so much follow him as it did haunt him. Each time Dennis got to the bottom of a set of stairs or the threshold of another room, he’d glance back and it would be there, sat patiently, watching him.
‘Keep that up,’ Dennis said, ‘I’m gonna start calling you Chucky.’
The cat did not respond. When he got down to the basement, he looked back and saw the creature perched on a step near the top of the stairs. He unlocked the backdoor and left it open, but the cat didn’t move.
‘Come on, man,’ Dennis muttered, running a hand over his face. A glance at his phone on the way down told him that he’d only been asleep for about five hours. It was his day off, he wanted a good few more and he knew he wouldn’t get that with the backdoor open or with the ginger menace’s eyes on him.
Once more, he tried to usher it, he tried to tempt it with more food––since the plate he’d filled the previous night was now glaringly empty––but none of it worked.
‘I meant what I said last night,’ Dennis said, giving up, shutting the door, and stepping over it on the stairs as he went back up to the kitchen. ‘Your nose’ll go right in there, I don’t even care if you scratch me. Don’t mess up Robby’s house.’
With hope of more sleep rapidly disappearing with each blink and thought, Dennis decided to potter around the kitchen, finding coffee, prodding the fancy machine until it started making promising noises, and idly scooping crumbs off the side into his hands. Whenever he glanced around and saw the creature sitting at the top of the basement stairs, watching him, he stuck out his tongue and ignored it. Eventually, with a tidier kitchen and a steaming mug of coffee, Dennis settled on the sofa. Resting the cup on his own chest, he slumped against the arm and let his eyes shut.
The house was so quiet. Trinity’s apartment was near the top of the building, and so there wasn’t much street-noise, but there were always footsteps from the floor above and the constant murmur of voices or music from the ones below. Not to mention, Trinity herself who emitted a constant stream of out of tune singing, curses, quotes from movies and videos, and grumbling sighs at all times. Dennis had grown incredibly fond of Santos over the last few months, but the woman was loud and Dennis was used to the solitude of a farm out in the middle of nowhere.
Sure, there were always the lowing of cattle, the barking of dogs, the hum of their generator, and the bickering of his family, but it was different somehow. His family were quiet people when they weren’t arguing. They didn’t whistle as they work or talk to themselves, they just got on with things, then settled down for a beer and a thousand-yard stare at the end of the day.
They were quite a bit like Robby, actually, except their job involved far fewer people and conversations, and no one in his family was any good at teaching, unlike Robby. On the farm you learned by watching, then doing, then getting yelled at when you did it wrong. No one had ever talked anyone else through the process of helping a cow through labour or breaking in a feisty colt, everyone just mucked in, had a go, and hoped they didn’t get kicked––though, usually someone did.
A vague and slightly hazy mental image of Robby, dressed in stained jeans and a rugged over shirt, speaking low and soothingly to the last horse Dennis had helped train up floated around in his mind as he sipped his coffee. It was a nice image.
Dennis only became aware that he was dozing off again when his phone blipped.
Santos: yo fuckleberry hows the bosses digs???????
Dennis snorted and tapped out a reply.
Huckleberry: Pretty nice place, I’d invite you over but he specifically forbade it.
Santos: what the hell man? Thats so mean!!!!
Huckleberry: Sucks to be you I guess. Enjoying your morning off without me under your feet?
Santos: I so missed being the naked neighbour the building opposite gets to bitch about
Huckleberry: Weirdo. Hey, did Robby ever mention a cat to you?
Santos: he sees like more of a dog guy
Huckleberry: He told me there was this neighbourhood cat who came around for food sometimes so I fed it but now it like will. not. leave.
Santos: lol
Huckleberry: I’m worried it’s gonna take a dump on his floor or something!
Santos: dw man youve got like three months to clean it up if it does
This was true, and made him feel a little bit better. This thought was immediately ruined though when he dropped his phone down to the side of the sofa and saw it, sitting on the opposite arm, and staring at him once more.
‘Jesus!’ Dennis hissed, then raised his phone again and snapped a photo.
Huckleberry: Chucky says hi.
Santos: CURSED
Huckleberry: Woke up with him standing on my chest. He’s terrifying.
Santos: oh yeah he needs to go no one needs that shit in their lives
Huckleberry: I’ll break Robby’s ‘no Santos’ rule if you come help me with that?
Santos: we both know there aint no no Santos rule youre just a lil bitch
Huckleberry: You’re so mean to me, literally all of the time. He just wanted to protect me from that.
Santos: hmmmmmm sounds like your creepy hell cat is your problem then huck
Dennis smiled and dropped the phone down again, locking eyes with the creature.
‘Just you and me then, Chuck,’ he muttered, taking another sip. The coffee was good. Dennis would have to see if he could find a travel cup in Robby’s kitchen to take to work with him. Good coffee from home would be a game changer.
‘It’s like the man himself is back in the flesh.’ Dennis looked up from the computer at the hub and flashed Langdon a smile before taking another long drink from the flask.
‘Don’t tell him I’ve been using his stuff, when he’s back, will you?’ Dennis asked sheepishly. ‘But his coffee’s damned good and he did say to make myself at home.’
‘He wouldn’t mind,’ Frank said, flapping a hand dismissively. ‘Just don’t start showing up in his clothes, that would be weird.’
‘Noted,’ Dennis said, rolling his eyes. Then, he paused. ‘Hey, did Robby ever mention a cat to you?’
‘A cat?’ Langdon said, sceptically, then shook his head. ‘Nope. Has he got one? Always figured he was more of a dog guy.’
‘No, just a neighbourhood one, got a bit clingy, can’t persuade it to leave.’
‘That happened to me once,’ Perlah called across the hub. Dennis looked over to her.
‘Oh yeah? How’d you manage it? Did you have to like stomp your foot at it or something?’
But Perlah just shrugged.
‘I’ll let you know when I work it out,’ she said. ‘But it’s been four years and she hasn’t left yet.’
Langdon let out a sharp laugh and then shot Dennis a grin.
‘Good luck, kid, you’ve got three months.’
Under his breath, Dennis cursed and then got back to catching up on his charting.
He took to leaving the basement window open when he was at work, in the hopes that the thing would hop out during the day and Dennis could shut it out before it could come back. At least it seemed to be doing its business outside, but whenever he came back from a shift, he’d find it perched in some improbable place staring at him. Once he’d found it balanced on top of the television and he’d nearly had an aneurism.
But, nevertheless, bit by bit, Dennis made himself at home. He took the creepy posters off the spare room wall and slid them under the bed, facing the floor. He filled the fridge with cheap ingredients, and then with Tupperware filled with his batch cooking. He hung his laundry up on the airer in Robby’s basement, since the man had left a load in the dryer and Dennis was too awkward to deal with them. He even started drinking his morning coffee on the step of the backdoor, overlooking the little enclosed courtyard behind the house. There weren’t any plants there either and Dennis would spend those few precious moments before heading into work wondering why he was in the house at all, before deciding, once more, not to look the gift-doctor in the mouth.
Chucky didn’t leave. Over his first week in the house, Dennis went through all of the cat food supply that Robby had in his basement, and then decided to engage in a kind of siege tactic with the creature––except that it could literally leave anytime it wanted, and in fact Dennis very much wanted it to do so.
The cat, however, did not get this message and instead started to increase the volume of his plaintive little meows and chirrups until Dennis broke after two days and bought the cheapest bag of kibble that he could find in the store.
‘No more fancy wet food for you,’ he muttered. ‘I’m not starving you but I’m not encouraging you either.’
The basement window was now––after some experimentation through which Dennis assured himself that no adult human could fit through it, and no doorhandles could be reached via it––open twenty-four-seven and Dennis had caught the menace hopping back inside after a visit to the little boy’s room only once.
‘Hey, how’s the catuation, by the way?’
‘You pick your moments for small talk,’ Dennis muttered, his hand buried in the chest cavity of a trauma patient, feeling around for the heart.
‘Santos, focus,’ Garcia snapped, and Trinity rolled her eyes, still pumping oxygen.
When the poor man was stable, after his unfortunate collision of motorcycle vs learner driver in a pick up, and they were pulling off stained gloves by the door, watching him get wheeled towards the elevator, heading to the OR, she tried again.
‘Creepy cat still trying to eat your face every night then? What’s it been now? Three weeks?’
‘Three and a half. Chucky and I have found a level,’ Dennis said. ‘I feed him, I ask him to leave every day, he eats the food and ignores me.’
‘Still staring at you from haunted corners.’
‘No, now he stands in the middle of the room and stares. He also takes swipes at my feet when I try to walk past him. It’s much worse.’
Santos cackled and swatted his shoulder.
‘Huckleberry, I think this is just how people get cats, you know? The cat chooses the loser.’
‘Thanks,’ he deadpanned while they walked back to the hub and he scanned the board. ‘I think North Three is ready for discharge.’
‘Joy’s on it, and I sent Ogilvie to the disimpaction in South Two.’
‘You’re a cruel, cruel woman, Doctor Santos.’
‘You love it. Drinks in the park later? Or have you gotta go feed your cat?’
‘Shut up.’
It was not until week five that Dennis had to dig out the notebook Robby had given him. This was proper, homeowner, grown up stuff that he didn’t know how to deal with.
Whitaker: Hi, Dr Abbot, sorry to bother you. It’s Dennis Whitaker from the ED day-shift. I don’t know if you know that I’m housesitting for Dr Robby while he’s away on his sabbatical, but he gave me your number to contact in case of an emergency. I hope you don’t mind, but his washer is leaking out water all over the basement floor and I’ve been using a laundromat since I left home so I don't know what I'm doing. Any ideas of what to do? Sorry again and thanks!
Whitaker: Hope everything’s going smoothly on the night shift!
It took a couple of minutes for a reply to come through, but when it did Dennis let out a huge exhale of nervous energy.
Dr Abbot: Hi, kid. There’s a good plumber I know Robby uses. Just tell him the address and to charge it to his account, he’ll talk you through shutting off the water and then come fix it tomorrow.
Dr Abbot has shared a contact.
Whitaker: Thank you so much, sir! You’re a lifesaver.
Smiling at his own joke, Dennis gave the number a ring. He got through to a gruff sounding but informative voice who told him where Robby’s water shut-off was and told him to leave a backdoor key in reach of the basement window when he left for his shift tomorrow. When Dennis came home again the next day, the basement smelled damp, but the floor was mostly dry, the washer was back up and running, and it had even surrendered his scrubs and jeans.
Whitaker: Thanks again, Dr Abbot! He came by and fixed it today.
Dr Abbot: Glad to hear it. Any time, kid.
Dennis rolled his eyes at the repeated nickname, and hesitated before sending the next message.
Whitaker: By the way, have you heard from Dr Robby at all? I hope his trip’s going well.
Dr Abbot: Yeah, he’s just fine. He’ll cross into Canada in the next day or so.
Whitaker: Cool, give him my best if you talk to him.
Dr Abbot: Will do, kid.
That night, Dennis hung his calendar and a photo of his family up on the nails that the posters had hung from. They looked a little silly so high up on the wall in a space obviously designated for something bigger, but he felt a little better for having them there. As he did, he muttered to himself.
'Kid. Always kid.'
Another bright summer’s day, another motorcyclist taking a corner too fast with a head to stitch back together.
‘Heard from Robby?’ Santos asked as she applied glue to the young woman’s scalp.
‘Not directly. I think he’s in Canada by now. What is it? Week six? He must be not far off turning back around and starting the return leg.’
‘Unless he’s in a ditch somewhere, bleeding out, wishing he’d worn a helmet,’ Trinity suggested, then glanced down at the patient between them. ‘Erm, no offence.’
‘I’m buying one the second I’m out of here,’ she muttered blearily.
‘Smart move,’ Dennis said, moving his penlight in front of her eyes. Her reactions were normal, even if she was a little dazed. ‘You got lucky,’ he said with a tense smile.
‘Tell that to the headache she’ll have for the next week,’ Santos muttered and Dennis kicked her under the bed.
‘But, maybe give the bike a rest for a while,’ he added. She nodded slightly.
Outside the room, Trinity flashed him a sad face.
‘I’m sorry, Huckleberry, are you worried about your work hubby? Missing your best boss? You wearing his hoodies around the house, telling your cat how much you wish he was back home with you?’
Dennis swatted her arm and rolled his eyes. The teasing had been going on for a while, but he had made a tactical error last week which had ramped it up tenfold. He had, during one of his and Santos’s now weekly day-off-movie-afternoons, admitted that the Pitt didn’t feel the same without Robby. He liked Shen and Al-Hashimi well enough, he was getting along with Langdon, and getting on far better with Trinity now they weren’t in each other’s space all the time. Dana was keeping things going smoothly, along with Perlah, Princess, Donnie, and Jesse. The street team remained incredibly rewarding. Samira, Mel, and McKay were all as supportive and friendly as ever. Ogilvie was even growing on him. But, despite all that, despite really feeling like he was finding his feet, it didn’t feel the same without Robby.
Now, Santos might have let that all go without taking the piss quite so much, if he hadn’t also made the mistake of drunkenly telling her why he’d originally fallen out with the man upstairs and why he’d switched career goals as late as he had.
The conversation, a couple of months earlier, while Dennis was still living with Santos had, according to his spotty memories of the evening in question, gone a little like this:
They'd gotten in after a night out with the other first years and a few other residents they knew from around the hospital. It was late, and Dennis had already been sick in a bin.
‘You know, I always feel so old around you guys,’ Dennis grumbled. Trinity rolled her eyes and kept texting. Probably Garcia. It usually was.
‘You’re not old, Fuckleberry, you’re just a lightweight.’
‘Nah, ‘m oooold, Trin.’
‘Whitaker, you’re an absolute baby.’
‘'m older than you!’
‘By a few months maybe,’ she muttered, tossing her phone down on the floor at last and looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. She handled her drink so much better than he did.
‘Nope. Wait,’ he said, swinging himself more upright so his back was no longer resting against the bottom of the sofa. ‘How old do you think I am?’ He was too drunk to realise how much he’d regret asking it.
She squinted at him and shrugged.
‘You just graduated, so, like twenty-six?’
He groaned and collapsed back against the cushions.
‘Oh, God, I’m so old.’
‘Wait, how old are you?’ Santos asked, her curiosity piquing dangerously.
He mumbled something.
‘What?’
‘I’m thirty-three, alright? Thirty-four in a couple of months. I’m oooold!’
‘Oh. My. God,' she cackled. 'Fuck! You are old! I hope I look as young as you in my mid-fuckin’-thirties!’
‘Shut up, shut up, shut up,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s not a blessing, it’s a curse. I get called kid every day. I’m nearly the same age as Langdon.’
‘Jesus, Huck, you get held back a few years in middle school?’
He grumbled some more, then propped himself up and stared at her.
‘You really wanna know?’
‘Do I wanna know how my baby-faced best friend ended up not starting med school until he was like twenty-nine? Yeah, yeah I do,’ she said, tossing a pizza crust at him from her abandoned plate.
‘Fine, fine,’ he said, running a hand over his face. ‘Well, I took a gap year to farm work high school, right? All my brothers did too. Then, becuase I wanted to, like, help people, I went to college and did theology––I was gonna be a priest, I had a seminary all lined up and everything.’
She stared at him with an amused smile.
‘Okay, so, father Huckleberry, what happened?’
He took a deep breath and tilted his head upwards. He didn’t tell people much. There was still a twang of guilt in his chest about it that didn’t go away no matter how much journalling and rationalising he did.
‘Had a thing with another kid at college,’ he admitted vaguely. ‘Realised something about myself, something the seminary probably wouldn’t have liked too much.’
‘Oh, shit, Whitaker are you-’
‘Came out to my parents,’ he continued, ‘and they basically told me I’d just, you know, get over it. In fact, they told me to go talk to our pastor about it. And that,' he said, waving a finger near her face, 'that turned out to be a very bad, no good, terrible idea. After that summer, the church never quite felt like home again, you know?’
‘Jesus, man, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. They didn’t throw me out or anything. I finished college, worked on the farm for another year or so, trying to work out what to do next. I still wanted to help people, you know? Then, the pandemic hit and I realised what I had to do.’
The next three days had been filled with jokes about him being and old man. Santos had gone as far as to smuggle a walker frame back into the apartment from the hospital, then snuck into his room and left it by his bed for him in the morning. When she’d got bored of that, she’d started grilling him on his type. When he admitted that he didn’t really know, the thirty-year-old-virgin jokes had started, but they got old fast when Dennis started telling her about some nights from college that would suggest otherwise, so she’d moved to endless, increasingly horrifying, priest jokes. She had just about been giving up on teasing him with her newfound information when he’d admitted his ever-so-slight work-crush on Robby and she’d been insufferable ever since.
‘I hate you,’ he muttered in her general direction, but she just made a face at him and bustled off to bother someone else.
‘Work hubby, huh?’
Dennis whirled around and saw Langdon leaning against the wall, one eyebrow raised.
‘Oh, erm, she was just, you know, talking rubbish, like usual.’
‘It’s alright kid,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Robby’s always played favourites. Just, enjoy it while it lasts. The man’s fickle.’
Now, Dennis didn’t think that was entirely fair. It wasn’t like Robby had just gotten bored and stopped looking out for Langdon. Dennis remembered the weeks after Frank’s not-so-secret suspension. Their attending had been torn up about it, even if he never said it outright. But, Dennis thought as he formulated a reply, he didn’t really have the energy for that sort of conversation. It was gone seven and the night shift were trickling in.
Instead of pointing out that losing trust in someone for being dishonest wasn’t exactly the same as being fickle, Dennis shrugged.
‘Are we clear to start handing over? Mine are all stable.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Langdon said. ‘I’ll get Shen and Al-Hashimi for rounds.’
And so, there was a lull––a precious, magical lull, in which Dennis could find a free workstation and start catching up his charting. There were always notes to write up, handovers to complete, symptoms and thought processes to log on the infernal machines that his mother probably still called comp-yuters. Dennis buried himself in it in, seizing hold of a glorious few minutes where no one in the department was screaming or calling a code, and started to make some headway.
Then, a flask was dropped in between his arms.
‘He’ll be pissed if you leave his coffee cups in the break room and someone swipes them.’
Dennis blinked up at Abbot, who was smirking at him. It had been a couple of days since he’d seen the night-shift attending, in fact it had been since before his plumbing mishap.
Nodding and tucking the cup to the side, Dennis cleared his throat.
‘You’re right, it’s bad enough that I flooded his basement,’ he added with a wince.
Abbot let out a bark of a laugh.
‘Oh, shit, kid, he’ll hate that. Make sure you clean it up real good. We were roommates in our residencies and Robby was always a total neat freak. I spilled something on the sofa once and he didn’t let it go for six months.’
Dennis chuckled at the image, but frowned too. Abbot hadn’t mentioned that in his texts.
‘Well, thanks again for the plumber’s number. He was great, mopped it all up, got the washer working again.’
This time, Abbot frowned.
‘The hell are you talking about?’ he asked.
‘The, erm, the plumber? You sent me his-’
‘Whitaker!’
His head whipped around. It was Doctor Shen.
‘Hand overs! Let’s go!’
Dennis jumped up, grabbing Robby’s flask just before he followed his attending’s rapidly retreating form. Behind him, he called back: ‘Thanks again, Doctor Abbot!’
By the time Jack Abbot tilted his head to the side and muttered to himself What plumber? Dennis was firmly out of earshot.
Dr Abbot: Hi, kid. Just checking in. No more plumbing issues?
Whitaker: Hi, Dr Abbot. No, everything’s good here.
Dr Abbot: Great. I heard from Robby. He got to Alberta.
Whitaker: Awesome. I hope he’s having a great time!
Dr Abbot: Whitaker, could you check something in Robby’s place for me? He thinks he’s lost something but now he’s not sure he even brought it with him.
Whitaker: Of course! Just let me know what I’m looking for.
Dr Abbot: Take a look in the left closet in his room. Is there a green hoodie?
Whitaker has shared a photo.
Dr Abbot: Shoot.
Whitaker: Is that the wrong one?
Dr Abbot: No, you’re good. That’s the one he was looking for. Thanks, kid.
Whitaker: No problem, sir.
Dr Abbot: Just checking you’re alright after the pile up this morning. Busy shift?
Whitaker: Busier for you tonight, I’d think! I hope you manage to get through the backlog okay. We were pretty tied up with the incoming traumas, chairs looked like hell when I left.
Dr Abbot: Don’t worry about night shift. We’ll get through it. You okay, kid?
Whitaker: Yes, sir.
Dr Abbot: Good.
Whitaker: Have you heard from Dr Robby?
Dr Abbot: Yeah. I think he’s getting a bit bored of his own company to tell you the truth.
Whitaker: Well, tell him that we’d be happy to have him back whenever he feels rested enough!
Dr Abbot: Is everything falling apart without him?
Whitaker: No, it’s all fine. You know Dana, she could run the Pitt with her eyes shut and one arm tied behind her back, so long as she could smoke with the other one. It’s just not the same ED without him.
Dr Abbot: Very true, very true. He’d appreciate that, kid.
Whitaker: Hope tonight goes smoothly!
'Yeah,’ Trinity said, passing his phone back over to him across the break room table. ‘Yeah, you’re right, that is weird.’
‘Like, the place was snowed under,’ Dennis said quietly. ‘You saw what chairs was like when we left, and he’s texting me about whether I’m doing okay?’
‘Yep, definitely weird. And he just, like, ignores you when you see him?’
‘Completely. It’s like he’s a different person. Robby made out that he’d be weird if I messaged him, to leave it for an emergency, but I figured I’d be getting boomer memes not like, tonal whiplash.’
At that, Trinity’s eyes narrowed.
‘Robby gave you Abbot’s number?’
‘Yeah, for an emergency.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, they’ve known each other for ages, I guess.’
‘Robinavitch gave you, a resident on the day shift, the number of the primary attending on the night shift in case of an emergency?’
‘Yeah, so?’
‘Huck, during what hours are you likely to be in Robby’s home, having an emergency?’ Santos asked in her talk slow to the idiot voice and Dennis frowned.
‘When Abbot’s… working.’
‘You don’t say,’ she muttered. Then: ‘Don’t leave without finding me tonight,’ she said, clearly plotting as she knocked back the last of her coffee with a grimace and headed back out into the fray.
The rest of the shift passed relatively uneventfully, which Dennis took as a karmic apology for the previous day’s clusterfuck, but Trinity’s very sensible if cynical point kept swirling around Dennis’s mind. Why would Robby lie?
So, that evening, during hand over, when Santos walked over to Abbot and asked to borrow his phone to call a taxi home, and he handed it over without a word, Dennis took the chance.
Whitaker: Hi, Dr Abbot, just wondered if you could let Dr Robby know that one of his plants is looking a little worse for wear. Could you ask him how often he usually waters the one in the bathroom?
He looked up at Santos, who shook her head. Dennis frowned and looked back down at his screen. Three dots were bobbing.
Dr Abbot: Last I remember, he didn’t have one in there? In fact, not sure he has any? Are you in the right house, Whitaker?
Dennis looked up at Santos again, who, again, shook her head. He pocketed his phone.
‘Hey, erm, Dr Abbot?’
The attending looked up from the workstation he’d been peering at.
‘Dr Whitaker, your handover’s done, right? Go home.’
‘Sure, yeah, I will, just wondered if you’ve heard from Dr Robby since he went off on his sabbatical?’
A tense look came over Abbot’s face.
’T minus four weeks. When he comes back,’ Abbot said slowly, ‘and someone takes a sledgehammer to his bike, you won’t grass me up, will you, kid?’
Dennis took that as a no.
Santos: so what are you gonna do about your weirdly coy texting fake relationship with robby???
Huckleberry: I have no idea. Why would he tell me it was Abbot? Why would he ignore Abbot’s messages to him? Why did he ask me to water his plants?
Santos: ... so they dont die?
Huckleberry: Trin, he doesn’t have ANY plants.
Santos: oh even weirder
Santos: man I thought I had issues
Huckleberry: You do have issues.
Santos: not the point huck what are you gonna do?
Dennis scrolled back through his text conversations with Doctor 'Abbot', then dropped his phone down onto his chest and turned to stare at Chucky, who was perched in the middle of the coffee table.
‘Your old friend is kinda weird, buddy,’ he muttered. ‘Like you.’ Then, Dennis snorted at the idea of Robby ever sitting still enough to stare for as long as the cat did. He reached out and offered his hand to the critter, who, as was now his custom, risked a brief sniff of his fingers before backing off. Dennis smiled. It was better than the feet swiping and the early wake ups. In fact, for the last couple of days, Chucky had spent most of his time on one of the beanbags in the attic study, sleeping. That was, unless he wanted some food. With a sigh, Dennis dragged himself upright and made for the kitchen, Chucky haunting his movements, a few paces behind. He grabbed a tub from the fridge, tossed it in the microwave for his own dinner, and then made his way downstairs to the basement.
As he poured out some kibble onto a plate, and as the cat dove in to devour it, far more boldly than he ever had in the first few weeks, Dennis watched and frowned.
‘You’re getting fat, Chuck,’ he muttered, glancing at the bag of food. ‘Maybe you need a diet,’ he mused out loud, but then shrugged. ‘Oh, screw it, you’re less creepy when you’re well fed––and you’re not my damn cat,’ Dennis added, more as a reminder to himself than anything else.
Somewhere above him, the microwave beeped. Dennis turned and trudged up to the kitchen, his fingers toying with the edge of his phone case in his pocket. Why would Robby lie? Did he think that Dennis would pester him? Did he not want anyone to know where he was? Then, why give Dennis updates?
He gave his left overs a stir, then chucked them back in for another two minutes, still flipping the edge of the case off and back over his phone’s corner.
Then, it buzzed.
Not the short staccato of a text message, but the long, continuous vibration of a call. Dennis tugged it out and stared at the screen. According to the caller ID, it was Doctor Abbot.
Hesitantly, he answered.
‘Hello?’
There was a moment of silence before Dennis heard a sigh.
‘You spoke to Jack, didn’t you?’
Dennis recognised the voice immediately, and it filled him with equal parts relief and panic. It was Robby. Of course it was, but it still felt weird after so many weeks.
‘Erm, yeah.’
‘Worked out my little trick?’
‘Santos did, actually,’ Dennis admitted and Robby chuckled.
‘Smart girl. Reckon there’s any chance of her not lording that over me when I’m back?’
‘Not a snowball’s, sir,’ he said, wincing as he fell back into his old routine. He was a bit pissed off at the man. Robby had been lying to him for weeks, being weird and generally worrying for the whole department by ignoring them all, and now he was making jokes like Santos was the problem? And Dennis was right back to yes, sir, no, sir, three bags full, sir. He cleared his throat.
‘I think I deserve some kind of explanation.’
There was another sigh at the other end of the line.
‘Yeah, that’s fair. Any chance it can wait until tomorrow?’
‘Why? What’s tomorrow?’
‘Trust me, it’ll be easier.’
‘… Fine. I’ll give you a call.’
‘Great, and, erm, Whitaker?’
‘Yeah?’
‘If you could not mention this to Jack... or Dana, or Frank, or anyone, really, that would be… erm. I’d appreciate that.’
Dennis took a moment to take in just how small Robby sounded down the phone. He’d heard the man command a room full of people with medical degrees, he’d seen Robby square up to an ICE agent, and bark a cocky surgeon down into his place for the sake of his patients, his staff, and his department. But then, Dennis had also seen him spiralling in paeds on his first shift, and shed more than a tear over a little girl they just couldn’t save, and talk down a suicidal young man from the roof, and leave every day with that hollowed out look in his eyes. This small version of Robby wasn’t new, he realised, it was just well-guarded.
‘Of course,’ Dennis mumbled. ‘But, you know, they’re worried about you. It wouldn’t hurt to shoot them a text, just tell them you’re alive. Every time we get a motorcyclist in, everyone’s half convinced it’s gonna be you.’
Dennis could have sworn he heard a slight sniff, but it could have just been the reception.
‘Yeah?’ he pressed, remembering the look in Abbot’s eye.
‘Alright. I’ll send them proof of life.’
‘Great. Night, Doctor Robby.’
‘Night, Whitaker.’
When the line went dead, the house, which had seemed until then so cosy and filled with reminders and symbols of Robby, for the first time since Dennis had walked through its door, felt dead too.
‘Oh my God!’
‘But, you can’t tell anyone,’ Dennis insisted.
‘Oh my God! I was right!’
‘Trin, seriously, shut the hell up!’
‘But it’s still fucking weird,' she said, leaning across the table towards him. 'Like, why couldn’t he just talk to you last night?’
‘I don’t know, maybe he was going out somewhere?’
She gave a sceptical hum.
‘Let me know what he says, yeah?’ she insisted, as she scooped up what remained of her sandwich and shoved it in her mouth in one large bite.
‘Will do.’
’Th’ee ya ‘ound, Huck,’ she garbled and Dennis grimaced back at her.
‘This is why Garcia keeps ghosting you,’ he remarked, then snorted as she flipped him off around the break room doorframe.
Dennis was dead on his feet. He stumbled up the steps to the front door, unlocked it, and seriously considered texting Robby to just hold off until tomorrow because he just needed to sleep. In fact, he might ask the man to hold off until the day after that so he could use his day off to get a sweet thirty-six hour snooze in. Revelling in this idea, he toed off his trainers in the hallway and passed through the living room, not even noticing that there was a lamp on that Dennis was yet to actually find the switch for.
Instead, he just followed the grumbling of his stomach to the kitchen. He’d ended the day with a solid two hours, off shift, of charting, so his neck and back were killing him. Before that, he’d had to set two dislocations, so his arms ached too. Not to mention dealing with fluorescent lights, Trin’s needling, and the constant push and pull from one task to another that made up a regular day at the office for him, so his head was pounding as well. He pulled a beer and a tub from the fridge, popped the lids off both, took a swig from the can as he pushed the tub in the microwave, and then leant back against the counter with a sigh.
‘That sort of day, huh?’
Dennis jumped out of his skin. The can sloshed and started to fizz up over his hand, so he cursed, still looking around for whoever had spoken, his dead-tired brain trying to put whatever was happening together.
‘Doctor Robby?’ he all but squeaked out after a moment, finally seeing the man sitting at his own dining table across the kitchen, smiling wryly. He waved one hand half-heartedly, before using it to pick the wine glass in front of him up and drain the half-serving within it.
‘Could you…?’ Robby asked, gesturing behind Dennis, who turned and saw the open bottle. It was about half full. He picked it up and slowly approached the table, holding it out in front of him like it might bite.
‘They’re working you too hard,’ Robby muttered as he refilled his glass. ‘You look like a zombie.’
‘Nothing’s changed there then,’ Dennis muttered, then winced. ‘Not that, erm, that you- erm-’
‘Relax, kid,’ Robby said. ‘I’m the one in the doghouse here, not you.’
‘Right,’ Dennis muttered, and felt himself settle down a little at the admission. He took a swig of his beer and pulled out a chair opposite Robby. ‘You’re back,’ Dennis said, feeling like an idiot for even saying it.
‘I am. I’d appreciate you keeping that under wraps for now, though.’
‘You’re not coming back to the Pitt?’
‘I will,’ Robby said slowly. ‘Just not quite yet. Still on sabbatical,’ he explained as if it made perfect sense.
‘But, you’re back,’ Dennis replied and Robby just smiled at him with a bland and vacant expression.
‘Your food’s done,’ he said, and it took the reminder for Dennis to notice the beeping. Shaking himself a little, Dennis went back to the counter, gave it a stir, and chucked it back in for another couple of minutes.
‘Sorry for lying to you,’ Robby said as Dennis watched the small plastic box go round and round on the plate. ‘Just knew you might need some help and didn’t want everyone to know I was replying to some texts and not others.’
Dennis nodded.
‘And, sorry for scaring you.’
‘Not just me,’ Dennis muttered and heard a laugh behind him.
‘I meant just now,’ Robby explained, but then hung his head a little and sighed. ‘But, yeah, that too. I told Abbot and Dana that I’m still kicking.’
‘But not that you’re back in Pittsburgh?’
‘… Not yet.’
The microwave beeped and again and Dennis fished out the steaming tub, using his sleeve as a makeshift oven mitt, before returning to the table.
An awkward silence settled over the two of them while Dennis ate and tried to bully his mind into producing something worth saying and Robby worked his way through the rest of the wine. Eventually, Dennis leant back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I do know that people who are okay don’t behave like this,’ he continued, wincing at the impatience in his own voice. He was trying, but he was tired––so fucking tired––and this was weird. ‘So, if you need to like talk to someone, let me know. I was hoping to have another paycheque saved up by the time you came back, but I can start looking-’
‘Stay however long you like,’ Robby said suddenly, and Dennis swallowed. Some of the tension in his shoulders softened away.
‘Right,’ he exhaled. ‘Thanks.’
‘I mean it, as long as you need, even after I’m officially back,’ he added. ‘I remember med school debt, vividly. If it helps you out, the spare room’s yours. I haven’t used it much since Jake stopped coming over to hang out, anyway.’
Dennis thought back to the posters and game consoles, as well as the young man he’d told to sit back down while Robby worked on his girlfriend all those months ago. He nodded. It made a lot of sense, which was nice given how little everything else seemed to. Then, a wave of frustration welled up in his chest. Dennis wasn’t sure if it was the long day, the weirdness of whatever was going on here, or the memory of the PittFest shooting, but suddenly, his mouth opened and he found himself saying:
‘You don’t have any plants.’
Robby almost flinched.
‘Erm. No.’
‘You asked me to water your plants.’
‘I meant it, sort of, generally.’
‘Water… some plants? Like, in the neighbourhood?’
‘No,’ Robby said, rubbing his eyes. ‘I meant like, look after the place. You know.’
‘Not really. It’s a house, Robby. All I’ve done here is feed the cat and he’s not even yours.’
Neither of them said anything for a while, until eventually Robby gave a little shrug.
‘I wasn’t, erm, I wasn’t always planning on coming back, kid. I thought you could do with some breathing space. You and Santos had been driving each other crazy and I remember wanting to throttle Jack when we lived and worked together.’
‘When you say not planning to come back,’ Dennis began, not willing to let him skip over that, even in his current state.
However, Robby just shrugged.
‘It passed. Probably not forever. I just needed a break, to remind myself I’m a person outside of that fucking hospital,’ Robby said quietly, emptying the rest of the bottle into his glass. ‘Should probably book in with a shrink too. Caleb’s been nagging me about that for months.’
‘Doctor Jefferson?’
‘Yeah. I sent him proof of life too, don’t worry. He sent me back a short list of therapists he thinks I’d get on with. It wasn’t that short,’ Robby added, with a small smile. ‘I got the impression he’d been putting it together for a while.’
Then, suddenly, Robby shrugged out his shoulders, knocked back half a glass of wine in one mouthful, and stood up.
‘You need to get some sleep, I need to do some laundry. You working tomorrow?’ Dennis shook his head. ‘Okay. See you mid-afternoon then,’ Robby said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and a teasing tone. Dennis frowned.
‘You said it passed,’ he began, but Robby just waved him off.
‘Don’t worry, kid. You’re not gonna find me swinging from the rafters. I wouldn’t do that to anyone. I just rode a motorbike from here to Alberta. I did the return journey in about six days straight. I had plenty of opportunities and didn’t take them.’ He said it like it was a reassuring joke, but Dennis just stared at him.
‘Doctor Robby-’
‘Not a danger to myself or others,’ Robby insisted, pulling Dennis’s chair out with him still in it, and nudging at his shoulder until he got up too. ‘And not your patient. You’re not even a doctor right now, kid, you’re the walking dead. Get some shut eye.’
And Dennis wanted to object, he really did, but before he knew it, he was being guided into the spare room and the door was being shut behind him, and the bed just looked too inviting.
Knock knock.
Dennis turned over and pulled the covers over his head against the light clawing around the not-so-blackout curtain.
Knock knock.
‘Go away,’ he muttered and heard a snort.
A man’s snort. Not Santos- wait, he didn’t live with Trin anymore, it was-
‘Doctor Robby?’ he asked, hearing the sleep in his own voice and cringing at it as he poked his head up from the covers.
Through the door, Dennis heard a shuffling.
‘Sorry,' called a voice through the door. 'I wouldn’t normally wake a doc on his off day, but I’ve got a fairly urgent question.’
Dennis pulled himself out of bed and stumbled to the door. Robby was standing in the hall, dressed in jeans and a faded black t-shirt holding his arms out in front of him. In his hands, hoiked up under his tiny armpits, was Chucky.
‘Cat,’ Dennis mumbled unhelpfully.
‘Yeah, I see that. Yours?’
Dennis blinked.
‘What?’
‘What?’ Robby asked, looking more confused and alarmed with each passing word.
‘You, erm, you-’ Dennis cut himself off with a yawn. ‘You told me you feed a cat. I fed him on the first day,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘He didn’t leave.’
‘Whitaker,’ Robby began, his face now more amused than alarmed, but still looking confused. ‘I have never seen this cat before in my life, and it most definitely is not a he.’
Dennis frowned and studied the creature in Robby’s arms. It was definitely Chucky. No other neighbourhood cat had wondered in. But, as he scanned, he did realise that the fat that Dennis had thought he was putting on seemed focussed in one place, and those were some very prominent nipples for a male of any species. He glanced down further.
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Shit.’
‘So, I repeat, yours?’
‘He just- she just came in, like it was normal, then wouldn’t leave,’ Dennis said, starting to wake up a little more at the mystery.
‘About two months ago, huh?’
‘Uh yeah.’
‘Guessing she was smaller then.’
‘Definitely.’
‘Christ, Whitaker,’ Robby said, now grinning. ‘Didn’t you grow up on a farm?’ he asked as he set the critter down on the floor. Chucky gave a plaintive meow as he did.
‘Farm cats look out for themselves,’ he replied defensively, then stared down at the creature who was now winding herself between his legs, something she had only started to do in the last couple of days.
‘Is she gonna-’
‘Yep,’ Robby said, still smiling. ‘You know, when I asked you to housesit, I specified no parties. I didn’t think I needed to specify no cat-births.’
‘If Santos asks,’ Dennis said, though another yawn, ‘you also said specifically no Santoses.’
‘Sure, I owe you one anyway,’ Robby said. ‘Just needed to iron out that mystery,’ he added, waving down to the ginger menace between their feet. ‘Feel free to go back for another couple of hours.’
‘What time is it?’ Dennis asked, glancing around for his phone and coming to the sudden and rather mortifying realisation that he was only wearing a pair of boxers. He glanced down again and cursed internally. They weren’t the ones without holes in.
‘About nine,’ Robby said, unphased by his nearly naked resident. ‘There’s coffee downstairs if you want it.’
‘Uh, yeah, thanks,’ Dennis muttered, stepping back into the spare room. ‘I’ll, erm, I’ll be down in a bit.’
He tried to close the door, but the cat just sat on the threshold, staring at him.
‘You’ve got a friend for life there,’ Robby said, still grinning as he headed for the stairs.
‘She’s certainly something,’ Dennis replied, carefully nudging her with his foot until she picked a side of the door to stay on, at least until he’d found the pair without holes.
Huckleberry: CODE RED CODE RED
Santos: what? where are you? you okay?
Huckleberry: Sorry
Huckleberry: More like code amber?
Santos: just spit it out moron this about your call with doctor sexy yesterday?
Huckleberry: Please stop calling him that, I admire him as a professional
Santos: you admire his ASS like its your profession
Huckleberry: alright
Huckleberry: if I admit that I might actually have a bit of a crush on him, just a bit, as in he is a good doctor, an inspiring mentor, and I happen to also have noticed that he’s a good looking man, will you shut up, put your bullshit on hold, and help me here?
Santos: well shit huck that sounds serious
Santos: what do you need?
Huckleberry has shared a voice message.
Santos: OH MY GOD HES BACK
Santos: wait hell cat isnt even his??????
Santos: huck what the fuck
Santos: shit that sounds serious you think he was really gonna off himself???
Huckleberry: I don’t know. He said it passed? That he’s gonna talk to someone? But shit, Trin, I am way over my head on this one.
Santos: okokokokokokokokokok
Santos: be normal today talk to him but like rest up enjoy your day off
Santos: then tomorrow we go in a bit early and try to talk to abbot
Huckleberry: He specifically asked me not to tell Dr Abbot that he was back.
Santos: have you learned literally nothing huck???
Santos: never promise confidentiality thats like safeguarding rule one
Huckleberry: In my defence, I felt like I’d been run over and, also, like it’s ROBBY not a patient.
There was another knock at the door, and Dennis dropped his phone to his chest and cleared his throat.
‘Erm, yeah?’
The door swung open and revealed Robby, once more with cat. This time, however, it was on his shoulder looking quite distressed and it was not Chucky.
‘For the record,’ Robby said, as though there weren’t ten pounds of fluff and rage digging its claws into the meat of his back. ‘This is the cat I sometimes feed, and he does not like your girl.’
Dennis couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Uh, yeah, no, he doesn’t look happy. Need a hand?’
‘If you’re happy to lose one,’ Robby muttered, ducking down as Whitaker approached. He scooped the grey, long-haired thing up in his arms, ignored the warning hiss that was far less threatening than Chuck’s, and took a step back. Robby rolled his shoulders out and nodded.
‘Thanks. He should go back outside before the family across the street misses him. He just comes around to scrounge up extra meals. Your girl shot up into the attic,’ he said, then paused and nodded towards Dennis’s phone on the bed which was blipping incessantly. ‘You need to get that?’
‘Nah, just Santos,’ he said. At that, Robby raised an eyebrow.
‘Lucky girl,’ he muttered before turning back towards the stairs. Dennis followed, running a soothing hand over the cat’s fur.
That night, when Dennis returned to bed, having spent much of the day researching cat pregnancy, answering Robby’s questions about where all his stuff was, and frantically texting Santos, he could hear faint music coming from the floor above as well as the low rumble of Robby’s voice. The man was, unless Dennis was very much mistaken, talking to Chucky, who was likely curled up on her favourite beanbag, where she had spent most of the last few days.
As a last thought before he tried to get some sleep, Dennis pulled out his phone.
Huckleberry: Okay, I have kept an eye on him and assessed the situation. I think we can hold off on telling Abbot he’s back until Robby wants us to.
Santos: are you kidding me Whitaker? he literally made a joke about hanging himself!!!!!!!
Huckleberry: Technically, he made a joke about NOT hanging himself.
Santos: yeah because thats a very important distinction
Huckleberry: I know, but you haven’t seen him. He seems okay, not totally fixed or anything but almost… happy?
Santos: ew
Santos: yeah no I tried but I cant imagine that you must be going nuts too
Huckleberry: Trin, right now he is listening to some weird acoustic dad rock and talking to the hell cat about kitten names, I can hear him.
Santos: holy shit
Santos: okay alright fine maybe thats not a man on a ledge
Santos: but the dude needs serious help
Huckleberry: No shit, but I think he knows that. Maybe his trip actually, like, worked?
Santos: yeah because running away from your problems always just sorts them right out
Huckleberry: Maybe something happened on the trip? Maybe he had a kind of revelation?
Santos: what you think he found jesus?
Santos: or not jesus
Santos: moses or something idk
Huckleberry: I think the word you’re looking for is ‘God’, but no that’s not what I meant.
Huckleberry: I don’t know what I mean, he just seems different. More at peace.
Santos: okay but if he starts trying to give you the deed to his house we handcuff him to a radiator for his own safety
Huckleberry: Where would we get handcuffs?
Huckleberry: Don’t answer that question.
‘Mornin’,’ Dennis muttered as he came into the kitchen, still finding it odd to see someone else in it.
‘Hey. Sleep well?’
‘Like the dead,’ Dennis muttered, grabbing a mug and a flask and pouring himself a coffee for now and a coffee for work. Then, as he realised what he was doing, he paused. ‘Erm, do you mind me borrowing-’
‘Knock yourself out,’ Robby said, waving him off with a smile. ‘There’s a reason I’ve got a few of them. They go walkabouts in the break room.’
Normally, Dennis would have trundled downstairs and sat on the back step, taking in the morning air, deciding how many layers he needs for the day. One under his scrubs, and one over? Just one under? Just one over in case it gets one-layer-warm and he can take it off easily? So many decisions to make so early.
However, it would feel rude to leave Robby alone in his own kitchen, so Dennis took a seat at the table and started on his brew.
‘You a breakfast person?’ Robby asked and Dennis shook his head.
‘Not really. I always take a few protein bars and snacks though to keep me going.’
‘Smart kid,’ Robby said with a smile and Dennis snorted. ‘What?’
‘Oh, erm, don’t worry,’ Dennis muttered, waving a hand.
‘Go on,’ Robby said, nodding at him and Dennis just shrugged.
‘Do you, erm, do you know how old I am, Doctor Robby?’
The other man frowned and shrugged.
‘What, around twenty-five?’ he said and Dennis smiled, but shook his head.
'Twenty-six, then?'
‘I’m thirty-four.’
The number sat in their between them for a moment and Dennis watched the now familiar flicker of emotions run through Robby’s head. Any moment, Dennis knew, there would be the looking good, what’s your secret? Baby blood? genre of joke that always came. He’d been legal to drink for thirteen years and he still got asked for ID every time he bought a lottery ticket, let alone a round of shots. He’d heard them all before.
‘That… makes a lot of sense,’ Robby said slowly and Dennis raised his eyebrows.
‘Does it?’
‘Figured you were too wise for a twenty-something.’
Dennis laughed and nodded. He’d heard that sort of response before too, but he liked it infinitely more. His phone blipped and he fished it from his pocket as he said: ‘Yeah, well, farmer turned theology major turned doctor. I was always going to be a weird one.’
Santos: still time to go in early and get abbot to sort him out???
Huckleberry: Honestly, Trin, I think he’s good!
‘That Santos?’
‘Yeah,’ Dennis said, tucking it back away. ‘She’s about to spend twelve hours with me and still texts first,’ he joked and rolled his eyes. Robby smiled faintly again, but there was a flicker of something uncomfortable.
‘Mind if I stick my nose somewhere it doesn’t belong for a minute?’ Robby said, more into his coffee than to Dennis.
‘Sure.’
‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing there, k-’ he began, but cut himself off. ‘Erm, Whitaker. You two seem close, it’s nice, but she’s young and… intense.’
Dennis snorted and nodded.
‘Yeah, I’ve noticed,’ he replied and took another sip of his coffee, wondering where that had come from.
‘And, erm, can I ask- shit, this is gonna sound weird,’ Robby prefaced, and Dennis watched in curiosity as the man chewed over whatever he was trying to say. ‘Did you- look I don’t really mind, I’ve got cleaners I can call, and I’m not judging, I’ve just got a bit of a thing about, you know,’ he said awkwardly and waving a hand around and Dennis didn’t have a clue. ‘Obviously, the spare room’s yours as long as you want it. Your business, the sheets’ll get a wash when you, you know, move on––or whenever, your business, like I said-‘
‘Doctor Robby, what the hell is happening right now?’ Dennis asked, and Robby stopped, looking almost grateful for the interruption.
‘Okay, I’ll try again.' Dennis watched him take a breath. 'Erm, I’m a bit of a clean freak, it used to drive Jack nuts,’ Robby said and Dennis remembered his conversation with Abbot but he also remembered the crumbs all over the kitchen, the rumpled bedding, the laundry left in the dryer. ‘Not all the time, just about a couple of things. If you and Santos did anything, you know, on the sofa or whatever,’ Robby said, now very firmly talking into his coffee cup and, unless Dennis was mistake, his ears were turning pinker with each word. Oh. ‘Just, would you let me know? Shoot me a text, I’ll get the cleaners in, I don’t care,’ he added. ‘I’m not trying to you know- you know what, forget this conversation happened,’ Robby said quickly, standing up and crossing the kitchen abruptly. Dennis watched as he poured the second half of his coffee away and started to wash the cup, scrubbing at his hands in between passes of the cloth over the ceramics. ‘I’ll just call the cleaners anyway, you don’t need to tell me anything, it’s your life, kid- shit, Whitaker. Sorry,' he said, still muttering apologies and scrubbing.
‘Robby, I want to host a dinner party, how many chairs have you got?’
‘What? I don’t know, five?’
‘Great. Does it look like I’ll need a jacket today?’
‘Erm, I don’t-’ Robby began, but then looked up out of the window in front of him and shrugged. ‘There’s a woman in a coat and a guy in shorts walking by, so who knows?’
‘Typical. Is there any coffee left?’
The man turned around, shaking out his hands, which were shaking slightly, and studied the pot. He opened his mouth to answer, but then sighed and turned around, drying his hands on his t-shirt. They were shaking slightly.
After a long moment, he looked up at Dennis.
‘Thanks,’ Robby muttered.
‘Any time. You okay?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Robby said with a tense and flat smile. ‘I’ll call one of those numbers from Caleb today. Might call a couple of them, in fact.’
Dennis nodded and spoke slowly.
‘That... that sounds like a good idea. Erm, Doctor Robby, not only has Santos never been in this house, but also we aren’t dating, you know that, right?' As he spoke, Robby's hands dropped down from his front to his sides and his head tilted slightly. 'I mean, we were roommates and we’re friends––like, great friends, and we work together, but that’s… that’s all weird enough. Not to mention, we are most definitely not each other’s types,' he said, clearing his throat. Then, for good measure, he added: 'If you catch my meaning.’
In front of him, Robby blinked through another set of information to process.
‘Right,’ he muttered after a moment. ‘That, erm, that makes sense too,’ he said, then frowned. ‘She is all kinds of rude to you.’
Dennis snorted and nodded, before rising to his feet.
‘Yup. She likes them to bully her back, I think I’d prefer a hug at the end of a long day,’ Dennis teased. ‘Not to mention a few other… more physical discrepancies.’
To Dennis’s surprise, Robby let out a delayed but quite hearty laugh.
‘Okay, yeah, I get you,’ he added, reaching out and squeezing Dennis’s shoulder, like he always had. It felt warmer this time. ‘But if I hear the Grindr noise, I’m kicking you out. Santos is one thing, but I don’t want strangers in my house. Call me old fashioned, if you like.’
And, with that, the man walked away, leaving Dennis spluttering to himself.
If I hear the Grindr noise.
The, not a. Noise, not notification. The man knew. Was he-? But there had been Doctor Collins, Dennis reminded himself, as he pulled on his trainers. But bisexuality existed, he reminded himself further as he shrugged on his jacket. But he’d never said anything, Dennis thought at the bus stop. But then, neither had Dennis, he considered as he walked through the Pitt’s doors.
‘Hey, Huckleberry,’ Santos called.
But Dennis just waved a hand at her and mumbled back: ‘Not now, Trin, I’m going through something.’
Santos: what. the. fuck.
Huckleberry: I know. I know. I don’t know what to do with this information.
They were texting each other across the break room while a bored looking Jesse worked through a sandwich.
‘You Gen-Zers and your phones,’ he muttered.
‘I’m a Millennial,’ Dennis replied.
Santos: god I keep forgetting how old you are
Huckleberry: Shut up and stay on task. What the fuck do I do?
Santos: I dont know be normal
Santos: you werent this weird when I told you I was bent as a spring
Huckleberry: There is, as you well know, a quite KEY difference here, Trin!!!
Santos: oh yeah you didnt wanna bone me
Dennis looked up and glared at her.
Santos: not helpful okay sorry
Santos: but you do just have to be normal about it
Santos: like scream at me over text fine but dont be weird at HIM
Huckleberry: Do you think anyone at work knows?
Santos: that you are on the verge of chronically wet dreaming about the absentee attending????
He looked up with an even sterner glare.
Santos: not sorry about that one it was funny
Huckleberry: I hate you.
Santos: no you dont
Huckleberry: EURGH
Santos: but seriously no I dont think they do
Santos: someone would have made some snide comment by now right??? they make them about me!
Huckleberry: I think that’s more to do with who you are as a person rather than your sexuality, Trin.
Huckleberry: I say it with love.
Santos: haha very funny
‘Whitaker! Santos! With me, Trauma One,’ came a voice from the hall. Trinity rolled her eyes and Dennis snorted. She still hadn’t come around to Langdon being back.
The house was quiet when he got back except for some soft voices and sizzling from the kitchen.
‘Yeah, I know, he can take as long as he needs,’ Robby was saying to someone.
As Dennis got closer, he could hear guitar strings too. The soft, acoustic dad-rock was back.
‘That’s good,’ Robby said. When Dennis rounded a corner and saw him, he noticed the towel slung over his shoulder, the sleeves rolled up, and the phone pressed against one ear.
‘Yeah, no, I agree. Erm, me too, actually. I know! I know, better late than never though, right?’
He laughed, and it was a warm sound, filled with affection.
‘Sliding doors moments, huh? I always said you were the best thing that never happened to me.’
‘Alright, hardly happened, better?’ he replied to something, his head moving as if he was rolling his eyes at the pan in front of him, simmering on the hob. He stirred it idly with his other hand.
‘Yeah, you’re right, as always. Just, erm, let him know that I asked after him yeah?’
‘You too, talk to you later, okay, bye, bye.’
When he slid the phone into his pocket, Robby paused for a moment, all that ease and fondness leaking away. Dennis took a few steps back, then moved forward again, letting his feet land heavily this time. Robby turned around the moment he hit the kitchen.
‘Oh, hi,’ he said, smiling. ‘You don’t look completely wiped out this time,’ he added after a cursory glance.
‘They must not be working me hard enough,’ Dennis muttered. ‘Something smells good.’
‘Yeah, I made dinner. It’s a kind of… thank you. I’ve been weird, you’ve been understanding. There are some beers in the fridge, nicer than the ones you buy.’
‘It all tastes the same to me,’ Dennis muttered, dropping his bag. ‘Terrible.’
Robby chuckled.
‘Fair enough. There’s some wine too?’
‘Have I got time for a shower? I got puked on twice today.’
‘Please do,’ Robby said sternly. ‘Scrub behind the ears and everything.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Dennis called back with a grin. It was, despite the weirdness, surprisingly easy to have such normal conversations with the man. He was, technically, Dennis’s supervisor, even if he was on leave. He also owned the house that Dennis had accidentally turned into a cat-ernity ward in his absence, and he was getting through some sort of personal crisis with mediocre grounding tactics from a first year resident who only did a couple of months in psych during his first year of clinical rotations. And yet, Robby had made dinner.
Showered and feeling significantly more human, Dennis returned downstairs to find Robby spooning out some sort of stew into two bowls. Two glasses of wine were already slightly overfilled on the table.
‘Better?’ Robby asked.
‘Much. That smells fantastic,’ he said, because it did. It was like the smell of warmth itself. Earthy spices that he couldn’t quite identify mixed with something meaty and delicious.
‘I don’t make many things well that my grandmother didn’t beat into me with a wooden spoon,’ Robby muttered. Then, at Dennis’s expression, smiled. ‘Metaphorically. She was old school, but not that old school. I got a clip around the ear for calling the rabbi boring, but that was about it,’ he continued, before sitting down and waving to the chair opposite. ‘She would not have approved of the sausage, but it does spruce it up a bit,’ he added with a smile.
The food was fantastic, the snippets of conversation about their respective days were soothing, the wine was actually good––and it had been a long time since Dennis had been able to afford alcohol that didn't taste of piss––and he could feel the worries of the day melting away.
‘Who was that on the phone when I came in?’ Dennis asked, keeping his suspicions to himself.
‘Oh, you heard that? It was Janey. I was just checking on Jake. He’s seeing a therapist too, it turns out, maybe we can bond over it,’ he added bitterly and Dennis shrugged.
‘Maybe,’ he agreed. ‘Your, erm, calls go well today?’
‘Yep. Don’t worry, still not about to take the quick way down from the roof.’
‘Glad to hear it––you know, if you want people to stop worrying about you, maybe tone down the suicide jokes?’ Dennis suggested with a shrug.
‘Really?’ Robby asked, his face a picture of innocence. ‘I thought they were part of my charm?’
Despite himself, Dennis snorted, and they fell into a pleasant lull as they polished off their meals. After a while, Dennis cleared his throat and broke it.
‘About this morning,’ he began.
‘Sorry, again,’ Robby sighed.
‘No, no,’ Dennis said quickly. ‘Not that, honestly, all good. But, erm...' He decided to bite the bullet. 'Were you just gonna casually drop in that that you’d recognise the Grindr noise,' he said with air quotes, 'if you heard it, and then expect me to just… go on with my day?’ he asked, as casually and lightheartedly as possible.
Thankfully, Robby seemed to get the humour of it and shrugged with a huffed out laugh and a raised eyebrow.
‘I’m a man of the world, why can’t I recognise it?’
‘Oh, you can, you are welcome to,’ Dennis continued, matching Robby’s teasing tone. ‘But, erm, you have to admit the house doesn’t exactly scream elder gay,’ Dennis said with a grin.
‘Elder- what did you just-’ Robby spluttered through a laugh. ‘Wait a minute, my turn to ask,’ said Robby, turning more intense and curious, even as he smiled. ‘How old do you think I am?’
Dennis had, he had to admit, walked directly into it.
‘Erm.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well-’
‘Give me a number, kid.’
‘Look-’
‘Fuck,’ Robby muttered, shaking his head. ‘That old? You won’t even say it?’
‘No, I just- I’m bad at guessing people’s ages,’ Dennis floundered. ‘Call it the babyface! I always go too far one way or the other.’
‘You’re a coward, Doctor Whitaker,’ Robby said, folding his arms.
‘You really want me to guess?’ Dennis asked.
‘Yep.’
‘Okay, okay, erm… Fifty.’
Silence fell for a moment and Dennis wished that he was dead, until Robby cleared his throat and shrugged.
‘Alright,’ he admitted. ‘You’re closer than I was, but,' he said, pointing across the table. 'We both know you’d have guessed a lot higher if you weren’t trying to spare my feelings.’
Dennis winced and held up his hands in surrender.
‘Hey, I gave you a number. How far out was I?’
Robby paused for another sip of his wine––and he was sipping it this time, unlike the last time Dennis had seen a glass in his hand.
‘I am,' Robby said, swirling the glass carefully. 'I am forty-six years old.’
‘Huh.’
’So, next time someone calls you babyfaced, be grateful you’re not on the flip side.’
‘No, you don’t look-’
‘I look ten years older, at least, I know it.’
‘I mean, not ten-’
‘Be glad the Pitt hasn’t made you as haggard as me yet-’
‘Woah, woah, woah,’ Dennis said loudly, holding up his hands. ‘Hold fire, are you being serious right now? Because I can joke around and call you old man, and you can call me kid ’til the cows come home, but if you’re being serious-’
‘Then, what?’ Robby asked, eyebrows raising impossibly further.
‘Then…' Dennis began, smiling and leaning forward and meeting Robby's eyes, and suddenly the weight of the evening hit him. The dinner, the chatting, the joking around, it was all so nice, so... domestic. The confidence drained out of him and he coughed. 'Well, then, I really am gonna have to call Doctor Jefferson. Because you’re delusional,’ Dennis finished, lamely, feeling himself go a little pink.
‘You’re very sweet,’ Robby muttered into his glass.
‘I’ve just got eyes, Robby,’ Dennis said. Suddenly, with the other man looking at him over the rim of his wine glass, the remnants of their meal in between them, and the dim evening light, Dennis started to feel exposed.
‘I’ll, erm, I’ll clear up,’ he said, rising to his feet. Then, there was a hand on his shoulder and a weight pushing downwards.
‘You’re working tomorrow. I’m not. Finish your wine, then get some sleep,’ Robby instructed, pausing only to wink and add: ‘Doctor’s orders.’
Reluctantly, Dennis let himself be guided back into his chair while Robby rose and started collecting bowls and cutlery, stacking them in a dishwasher that Dennis didn’t know existed––damn those well-hidden appliances; he’d thought it was just the under-sink cabinet––and soaking pans. The conversation took a lighter tone while he did. They chatted about how Langdon was getting on, how Dana seemed more herself, how Shen was slowly sending Al-Hashimi around the bend with nothing more than slurping noises. By the time the wine was gone and the kitchen was clean, Dennis was ready for a good night’s sleep.
But, before he headed up, he paused in the kitchen and flung out his own hand to find the top of Robby’s shoulder. He found it reassuring and hoped it had the same affect on the older man––the not very much older man, as Dennis’s brain reminded him––as it did on him. He wasn't sure what prompted it, except such a wave of fondness for Robby, which had always been there in Dennis since his first little introduction speech to the emergency department, and the strangely familiar setting which was already starting to blur things between them after only a couple of days.
He felt that there should be some words to accompany the gesture. There always were when Robby patted him on the back or squeezed his shoulder or rested a hand on him as he walked past. Nice work in there, kid. Good spot on that one. Just going to grab that, breathe in. You'll get it next time.
‘You’re a good man, Doctor Robby,’ Dennis muttered. He was expecting an eye roll, maybe a shrug or a laugh. He wasn’t expecting another hand to cover his and press against his fingers.
‘Thanks, Whitaker. I’m trying.’
It was that funny, small little voice again––the same one he’d had over the phone. Dennis squeezed his shoulder and pulled his hand from Robby’s grasp, then headed up to bed, that small voice from such an impressive man circling his mind all the while.
Dr ROBBY has shared a photo.
Dr ROBBY: Whitaker, your cat pissed in my car.
Whitaker: Sorry!
Whitaker: Wait, why was Chucky in your car?
Dr ROBBY: She’s about to pop, wanted to make sure she’d be okay.
Dr ROBBY: The vet said that she should be fine but there’s going to be about a million kittens.
Whitaker: A million?
Dr ROBBY: He might have said 8, I don’t remember. No microchip though.
Whitaker: Huh
Whitaker: A proper stray then?
Dr ROBBY: Apparently. You could get her chipped and spayed after the Chucklets are born.
Whitaker: You are officially banned from naming kittens.
Dr ROBBY: You named her ‘Chucky’, and I’m banned from naming kittens?
Whitaker: I thought she was a boy, and she was a creepy ginger menace who kept staring at me from the corners of rooms.
Dr ROBBY: You should rename her Annabelle.
Whitaker: I forgot you were a horror movie buff.
Dr ROBBY: Yeah, what happened to my framed, very rare, expensive and original posters? You better not have burnt them.
Whitaker: Under the bed. Jack Nicholson and that creepy priest were staring at me.
Dr ROBBY: I thought you were a theologian?
Dr ROBBY: Anyway, must be a quiet shift if you’re texting this much.
Whitaker: You have been an emergency department doctor for longer than Ogilvie has had body hair. You know we don’t say that. Ever. Why have you cursed us?
Dr ROBBY: Because I’m not there to suffer through it. Enjoy!
Whitaker snorted at his phone, then jumped as he felt a swat over the top of his head.
‘Hey!’
‘Why are you grinning at your phone like a twelve year old girl?’
‘Why are you so mean all the time?’ Dennis grumbled, but shifted over in his chair to make room for her. When Trinity sat down, she swiped Dennis’s phone out of his hand and began to scroll.
‘Oh my god, this is adorable. He’s sending you cat pictures?’
‘Well, she is my cat- kind of- anyway, give that back,’ he muttered, taking a swing for it and missing.
‘What are these jokes about?’ she asked, holding it out of his reach, scrolling back further to yesterday and the day before and squinting at the screen. ‘You’re calling him an old man now, Huckleberry? Bold words from the late bloomer over here.’
‘I hate you, and it’s just a stupid joke, we had dinner the other night and-’
‘You had dinner?’ Santos exclaimed, her face a picture of offence. ‘And you didn’t tell me?’
‘It wasn’t a big deal!’ Dennis squeaked, still trying to grab his phone and failing. ‘He made some stew his grandma used to make, he was like, thanking me for being so chill with his whole… thing, you know? It was fine. It was... normal.’
‘No, no no no no no,’ Trinity said, pulling the move hated most by all boob-less friends of boob-havers everywhere, and shoving the phone down the neck of her scrubs, wedging it somewhere that Dennis did not want to think about. He collapsed back into his seat and glared at her.
‘I hate it when you do that,’ he muttered.
‘I don’t care. He made you a family recipe? Did he pour you some wine and light some candles too, Casanova?’ she teased and Dennis could feel his face heating up.
‘There were no candles, look it was fine, it was normal.’
‘So he did, in fact, break out a bottle of red? Was it fancy? Did it pair well with the dinner?’
‘What’s with all the questions?’ Dennis asked, looking to the break room door praying for anyone: Langdon, Shen, Al-Hashimi- hell, he’d take an intrusion from Myrna right about now.
‘Oh, God, it was, wasn’t it?’ Santos said through a grin. ‘And the old man thing?’
‘It's nothing! It's fine, I just,' Dennis began and then shrugged. 'Look, okay, I told him I was older than I look, he told me he’s younger than he looks, it’s just a- a, you know, a thing,’ Dennis tried, sounding about as carefree as a heart attack.
‘What thing?’
Both of their heads snapped around to the door and Dennis swallowed as Mel walked in.
‘Mel, can we ask your unbiased opinion about something?’ Trinity began, her voice as sly and hateful as Dennis had ever heard it.
‘Santos, shut up,’ he hissed, but it came out more like a plea and she ignored him.
‘I’m gonna run a scenario by you. I’d like you to rate whether you think this is a totally normal situation between two men: a platonic, ordinary friendship, or whether you think that Fuckleberry here has accidentally landed himself a hot, eligible sugar daddy.’
Mel looked between them, baffled but amused.
‘Erm, okay.’
‘Okay, so Whitaker has known this guy for nearly a year. He’s a little bit older, but he’s a good dude, you know?' she said, nodding emphatically. 'Things got a little bit weird a couple of weeks ago and the guy lied to him––nothing major, just weird, you know? It turns out that the guy is kind of going through it, but he came back, apologised, changed his plans for the next few weeks and has spent them hanging out with Whitaker whenever he’s not working.' As Dennis listened he could hear it the way Mel was and he cringed. 'In fact,' Santos continued, relentless, 'he took Whitaker’s cat to the vet today and sent him a cute picture.’ Here, she fished his phone out of her bra and waved the picture quickly in front of Mel's face, so quickly that Dennis didn't worry that she'd see the contact name. Trinity was many things. Psychopathic, yes. Cruel, definitely. But a bad friend? Never.
‘Aw, that’s sweet.’
‘She’s not my cat,’ Dennis muttered. ‘She’s just a cat.’
‘Then, to thank him for putting up with his weird shit, this guy makes dinner, has it ready when Whitaker comes home from work, with a wine to match and everything. It was his grandmother’s recipe,’ Santos said, really chewing over the words to Mel’s apparent delight. ‘And now they have inside jokes about how Whitaker’s older than he looks and R- and this guy’s apparently younger than we thought he was.’
‘I’m really happy for you, Dennis,’ Mel said, so sincerely that Whitaker wanted to scream.
‘It’s not- there’s nothing to be- look we aren’t-’ his words were cut off by Trinity’s hand covering his mouth.
‘Don’t lead the witness. Dr King, your diagnosis, please.’
‘Well, it certainly sounds romantic to me,’ she said, smiling. ‘You know, my sister’s boyfriend’s parent’s made a family recipe for us all the other week-’
‘You see!’ Trinity declared, triumphant. ‘Even Mel can see those signs!’
‘Even- Jesus, Trin, don’t be so-’ Dennis began, but Mel just waved him off.
‘It’s okay. She’s right. Remember when that patient asked me out to avoid the police? I hardly noticed,’ she added with a smile. ‘If you like him, you should go for it. Follow your heart.’
It was upsettingly reasonable and earnest advice. It was the sort of advice that he could imagine himself giving. It was advice that would fall apart the moment that the actual identity of his mystery man was revealed.
Dennis was not going to sleep with his boss.
Dr ROBBY: Sorry, kid. Guessing my jinx worked. Hope things calm down so you can leave on time.
Whitaker: Actually, it was okay, other than Santos being absolute pain in my ass.
Dr ROBBY: Nothing out of the ordinary then.
Whitaker: Yep. Heading out now.
Dr ROBBY: Fancy pizza?
Whitaker: Oh, God, yes.
Dr ROBBY: I’ll order now. See you shortly.
Dennis was not going to sleep with his boss.
He wasn’t. It was going to happen, as he kept reminding himself.
In fact, it became a sort of mantra to his time in the house. Each time over the next week that he came home from work to some food almost ready, or an E.T.A. on a take out order, he reminded himself. Whenever he popped his head up into Robby’s study and found him with Chucky curled up on his lap or in the beanbag beside his desk, Dennis reminded himself. Each time he heard the man softly singing along to Fleetwood or The Eagles, Dennis really, really reminded himself. He wasn’t going to do it, and there were lots of excellent reasons.
For starters, it was career suicide. Every decision made in his favour would read as special treatment from that moment on. He’d probably have to switch to the night shift, and as much as Abbot was growing on him, he’d rather die than only see the sun once a week. His coworkers would talk to him weirdly, convinced that everything they said to him would end up getting back to the boss. Plus, the man was clearly unstable. Sure, he’d stopped making jokes about topping himself, but he still had the odd spiral here and there. Dennis had found him scrubbing at a stained shirt so hard that he’d nearly worn through the cotton a couple of days ago.
Then, there was the kicker. Robby wasn’t interested.
Dennis was sure of it,
He was, mostly sure of it.
… Well, there were moments when he thought maybe, but no. Robby wasn’t interested and Dennis was okay with that, really.
Okay, so he patted Dennis’s back, or shoulder, or arm pretty much every time he walked past him. That was normal, wasn’t it? Robby was a touchy-feely guy in a vulnerable state. It was fine.
And, he kept cooking things for Dennis––for them both––to eat after work, and buying nice wines to go with it, and asking Dennis about the wines, and buying the ones he said he liked again.
But, Robby probably felt weird, hosting someone in his own house. He probably felt like he had to cook and buy stuff for him, right?
Alright, there was the time that, after dinner, the two of them had sat in companionable silence for a while, not even really doing anything, just enjoying the wine and the music that Robby had put on. Sure, things had felt a little charged that evening, but Dennis had just gone to bed, rubbed one out as quietly as he could, and got an early night, like a responsible resident on a twelve-hour shift schedule.
But, now, Dennis was on his last shift in a run of at least eighteen thousand (ten) and was coming up to a wonderful three day run of lie-ins. He just needed to get through one last shift.
‘How’s the boy-toy?’
‘Good morning to you too,’ he grumbled.
‘Boy-toy?’ Javadi asked, looking between Dennis and Trinity, who smirked.
‘Oh, you haven’t heard? Huckleberry's got a new squeeze.’
‘I do not,’ Dennis began, but then sighed and settled on: ‘I hate you.’
‘No, you don’t. It’s very unfortunate for you but, you actually love me, you tell me when you’re drunk,’ Santos said with a grin.
‘You’re the sister I never wanted,’ Whitaker mumbled, then took a mouthful of coffee. It was good, as always. Robby had actually made extra and sealed up a second flask for him.
Fuck, he wanted the man.
Dennis pushed this thought from his mind and focussed on the board. It was seven in the morning, and he needed to focus n something for the next twelve hours. There was a mystery rash in North Six, that would do. If he was lucky, it would be something tropical and he’s have to quarantine. He could sleep in quarantine.
At nine o’clock, Dennis broke out the second flask of coffee and threw himself into his charting. The rash was, unfortunately, just a weird reaction to the poison ivy the kid fell into last night. It would have been great for the parents to mention that on intake.
‘Whitaker, Trauma Two, five minutes, pedestrian versus auto, Al-Hashimi wants you and King.’
‘Thanks, Dana,’ he called back and sighed. You never got to have coffee breaks in the trauma bays.
By half ten, he was standing in the break room, still covered in blood and reeling, while Mel stared at the wall.
‘That was… horrible,’ Mel said after a long silence.
‘Yeah,’ Whitaker agreed. It had been.
‘So,’ Shen said, pausing for a dramatic drag on his straw. ‘Who’s this boyfriend that Santos keeps giving you shit about?’
Dennis checked his phone. It was nearly twelve. He’d nearly made it to the half-way mark.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ he said, shrugging and trying to focus on the computer.
‘Nothing? Huh. Poor guy.’
‘No,’ Dennis corrected quickly. ‘He’s not nothing, he’s just… just a friend. He’s a friend.’
‘Uhuh,’ Shen muttered. ‘Aren’t you staying in Robinavitch’s house while he’s gone?’
‘Yep.’
‘Don’t fuck on his couch. He’ll never forgive you,’ Shen stated blandly, and Dennis choked on his lukewarm coffee.
‘Erm, what?’
‘Yeah. Talk to Abbot about it. Apparently he’s got a thing about fluids.’
Dennis spluttered further.
‘He’s a doc- look,’ Dennis interrupted himself with a deep breath. ‘Look, this doesn’t matter, because we’re just friends, okay?’
Shen shrugged.
‘Whatever, Huckleberry,’ he muttered as he walked away. ‘Finish that chart, then go to chairs and help out McKay.’
‘Sure thing,’ Dennis muttered, and wished that he could make Trinity call that stupid nickname back out of existence.
‘Ever seen a qualified doctor put an idiot through a wall?’
Dennis snorted.
‘The parents in Exam Four still giving you trouble?’ Dennis asked with a smile. It took a lot to rile up McKay, but when she went, she went big.
‘Can you try to get through to them?’ she asked. ‘Use your farm boy superpowers.’
‘Pretty sure they only work on colts and rats,’ he replied. ‘But I can try.’
‘Please, and thank you. I’ll take the next gross one for you,' she said, then sighed. 'In fact, I’ll take gross any day over those two morons,’ she muttered.
‘Still got five more hours, Cassie,’ he teased. ‘Don’t go making promises you can’t keep. That’s a whole lot of time for a whole lot of gross.’
‘I said what I said, kid.'
Dennis gritted his teeth and checked the chart, then nodded. Taking a deep breath, he turned and headed for the right curtain.
‘Good afternoon, I’m Dr Whitaker,’ he began.
‘I don’t care who you are,’ declared one very cross father. ‘You’re not giving my kid whatever the hell’s in those pills!’
Dennis checked the chart again.
‘Tylenol?’
‘Not. A. Chance.’
‘Okay, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here.’
It was three in the afternoon and Dennis’s head hurt… or, was it four?
‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘I wasn’ givin’ her anythin’,’ Dennis mumbled.
‘Some asshole in triage,’ Perlah explained. ‘Whitaker was taking blood and the patient's dad took a swing at him, now this one’s concussed and the other guy has a needle buried in a knuckle.’
‘Jesus,’ Langdon breathed out. ‘Okay, Mel?’ he called out, and a head appeared from behind a computer by the hub. Dennis grinned. He liked Mel. She was sweet.
‘That’s nice, Whitaker,’ Perlah said, patting his arm.
‘Fuck, he is out of it, okay,’ Langdon carried on. ‘Mel, I need you to take a look at our resident punching bag here. Where’s Santos? Actually, bad idea,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘She’ll kill him. Anyone seen Javadi? Someone send her to triage. There’s an angry dad with a needle in his hand––Jesse,’ he added in the direction of the taller nurse. ‘Go with her, would you? Try to keep things calm. Maybe take Donnie.’
He sounded just like Robby sometimes, Dennis thought. Not quite as good at it though.
‘Occupational hazard,’ Langdon muttered, taking his weight from Perlah and heading down the corridor. ‘Spend enough time with the guy, and he rubs off on you.’
Dennis sniggered, thinking that he wouldn’t mind that, and Langdon shook his head.
‘You’re a child,’ he said.
‘’m thir’y-four,’ Dennis slurred, and Langdon frowned at him.
‘Mel, check him really thoroughly, okay. I’m worried that punch knocked something loose.’
‘Can anyone come by to pick you up?’ Al-Hashimi asked, and Dennis resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
‘I’m fine, honestly!’
‘You were unconscious for at least few seconds. You seem to be recovering, but I’m not comfortable putting you back out there. You’ve got a few days off coming up, yes?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Well, start them early,’ she said, with an air of finality, before standing up. ‘This is an excellent job, Dr Whitaker,’ she added as she made for the door. ‘But don’t kill yourself for it.’
When it shut behind her, Trinity, from her spot lurking in the back of the room, gave him a pointed look.
‘Sounds like someone else we know could have done with that advice at your age,’ she said, just as pointedly.
Dennis tried to roll his eyes this time, and winced. Every movement hurt.
‘Look, you know who the only person I could ask to pick me up is, and you know why that’s a terrible idea.’
‘Hey, quick question, Huckleberry,’ Santos said, and Dennis did not like her grin. ‘Where’s your phone?’
He patted himself down and then began to panic. This panic was cut off by the phone in question hitting him squarely in the chest, then promptly restarted by the words: ‘He’s on his way. Meet him around the corner from the ambulance bay.’
‘I hate you,’ he groaned, opening the phone and scrolling through her messages. At least she had told him that it wasn’t Dennis typing. But, then, as he read through, he wondered if that was a good thing after all.
Whitaker: hey dr robby, this is santos on hucks phone
Dr ROBBY: Hello, Dr Santos. Is he okay?
Whitaker: some moron took a swing at him and hes out of it like goooone but hell probs live
Dr ROBBY: … Reassuring. Did someone deal with the moron?
Dr ROBBY: And, was he ‘out’ as in unconscious?
Whitaker: briefly unconscious and I helped crash fish a blood draw kit out of the guy’s fist
Whitaker: I may not have used strictly as much pain relief as the rec dose
Dr ROBBY: Who’s with him now?
Whitaker: uh donnie and jesse I think? weird question
Dr ROBBY: Santos, I mean Dennis, obviously, not the moron.
Whitaker: oooooooooh yeah makes sense
Whitaker: mel checked him over then lamedon double checked
Whitaker: aaaaaand now alhashimi is giving him the final super duper once over
Dr ROBBY: She’ll send him home. Tell him I’ll pick him up. Can he walk?
Whitaker: oh yeah hes up and trying to get back into the pitt as i type
Dr ROBBY: That sounds like our Huckleberry. Tell him I’ll meet him just around from the ambulance bay. Help him, even if he says he doesn’t need it, please? No more head wounds today.
Whitaker: ay ay capn
‘So, ready to go?’
‘Is it just me, or does Robby seem, like-’
‘Like he's way too disgustingly over protective and worried for a landlord letting his subordinate leech off him? Yeah. He does. The man wants a piece of Huckleberry pie, we’ve been over this,’ she said, coming to the bedside and scooping an arm under his shoulders. ‘Your chariot awaits,’ she added, dragging him upright.
Leaving early was a revolutionary concept. It was not even four o’clock and Dennis was on his way home.
Well, he was being driven home, which was to say that he was being driven back to Doctor Robby’s house, by Doctor Robby, who was keeping his eyes very resolutely on the road and had not looked at Dennis once.
He had, however, been talking.
‘You’re not too sleepy? Not feeling funny or sick?’
‘Just the headache, Robby, I promise,’ Dennis repeated.
‘Know any poems? Song lyrics? Recite something for me, I need to hear your voice isn’t slurred.’
‘I have spent the last half an hour being prodded and interrogated like this. I’m fine.’
For a moment, Dennis thought that Robby was going to let it go, but then he shot a glance Dennis's way and gritted his teeth.
‘Just... humour me.’
‘Oh, for-’ Dennis sighed, shut his eyes, and started talking.
‘In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. Then God said: let there be light, and there was light. And God saw that the light was good, and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light day, and the darkness he called night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day. Happy?’ he quipped when he’d hit the end of what he could remember seamlessly. The rest of that first page was in there somewhere, but he’d need a prompt. Water, maybe? It was water before grass but the firmament was in there too, mixed up with the rest.
But, Robby didn’t reply, he just nodded and kept driving.
It didn’t take long to get back to the house, and it wouldn’t have taken long to get into the house either, if Robby had just let him walk without hovering around him. It was weird, and Dennis still had Santos’s words bouncing around his head.
Unhelpfully, the words that his concussed brain had chosen to loop for him were: he wants a slice of huckleberry pie, which was a ridiculous sentence and he kept almost muttering it out loud.
In the end, when Robby had deposited him on the sofa, Dennis reached out and grabbed the man by the arm, stopping his path across the room as he muttered about getting his first aid kit.
‘I appreciate the concern, Doctor Robby, seriously,’ he began, as patiently as he could. ‘But I grew up getting kicked by horses and cows, practically for fun––not to mention shoved around by my brothers. I’ve had a few concussions and none of them have killed me yet. I have been checked over by three different, incredibly competent doctors. I am fine,' he said, really labouring the word. 'Can you just sit down and relax for a minute?’
In front of him, Dennis could see the nervous energy within Robby broiling, but, to the man’d credit, he nodded slowly and lowered himself to perch on the edge of the coffee table.
‘You are, almost definitely, fine,’ he agreed. ‘I know that. You’ve been checked, but just-’ the man gave a frustrated and breathy grimace for a moment, then shook himself. 'Al-Hashimi’s great, but I would have kept you in for observation and she just sent you home, and Langdon’s great, but I’ve had good reason not to trust his judgement all that much lately, and Doctor King- look, Mel is fantastic, she’s great, but she’s also only a year two resident. Would you just-’ there was another little huff off restlessness before he continued. ‘Let me check their work,’ he said, as if it was a compromise. ‘I want to see if they’ve started getting sloppy without me.’
It was a thin excuse, and one that Dennis could see all the way through with ease, but he let Robby do it anyway. The man produced a penlight for him to follow, tilted his head from side to side with gentle hands, probed at his neck, studied his scalp, parting his hair gently, and asked a series of repetitive but softly-spoken questions.
Dennis had seen Robby with hundreds of patients and he must have done a million exams like that in his career, but Dennis had never once before seen Robby do it so carefully.
‘What’s the diagnosis, doctor?’ Dennis asked with a smile when Robby sat back on the coffee table and exhaled.
‘You’ll probably live,’ he replied. ‘I give it sixty-forty odds.’
‘Ha. Ha.’
‘Yeah, I am very funny, actually,’ Robby muttered.
‘I know, I could tell from my very sincere laugh. Can I lie down in a dark room with a bucket of Advil yet?’
‘Nope, but you can lie down here and I’ll shut the curtains.’
‘Robby, your couch is a very lovely and expensive-looking one, but it is not even slightly comfortable. I’d rather a beanbag than this thing,’ he said, shimmying from side to side gently to demonstrate the unforgiving squeak of the leather.
For a moment, Robby looked around, but then nodded.
The beanbags were not in fact more comfortable than the sofa, but that was mostly due to the heavily pregnant cat who resented giving up her nest for the big lanky human with the sore head.
‘Sorry, Chuck,’ Dennis muttered as he settled down, but it wasn’t long until she came back and settled on his lap as a replacement. The purring was almost too loud. ‘She is a whole different beast to when she first arrived.’
‘They always are,’ Robby muttered. ‘Give them a while to settle in, then they show their true colours.’
‘You had cats before?’
‘A couple, growing up. My grandmother liked to take in strays,’ he added by way of explanation, then waved a hand over himself. ‘Hence, you know, me.’
Dennis nodded slowly and added this to the very short list of things that he knew about Robby.
‘When do you think it’ll be?’
‘Any day now,’ Robby said, then leaned over from his seat at his desk and handed a pair of headphones over to Dennis. ‘Here, put these on.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I have a therapy session and I don’t want you listening in.’
‘What? Oh, I can just go,’ Dennis said, getting ready to shift Chucky off to the other seat, but he felt a hand on his shoulder again, holding him there.
‘You’re staying where I can see you. Al-Hashimi might have sent you home, but I’m keeping you in for observation,’ he said firmly. ‘Just put the headphones on. They’re noise cancelling and playing from my phone. I’ll know if you pause it. Give me a thumbs up if I kick you.’
The hour went surprisingly quickly. He scratched Chucky behind the ears, since the last trimester seemed to have turned her into an affectionate monster rather than an lurking one. He listened to music he recognised but couldn’t have told you the name of if you’d paid him. He dozed in and out of awareness, occasionally flashing a thumbs up when Robbie kneed him in the shoulder.
And, though he felt bad for it, he listened.
He didn’t get much, of course, the headphones were good quality and he didn’t dare pause the music, even though he’s sure it would have just taken a tap to the side easily disguised as a head scratch. But, there were snippets of silence in between songs when he caught fragments of Robby’s words.
…worried about him…
…want to go back in that fucking place…
…trying to forgive him but, hell, trust is…
…eight kittens and a first year res…
…I know that it’s ridiculous but I…
…all I have right now and exactly what I…
…too much for one person…
…just like with…
…people would say about…
…closer to fifty than forty, I mean, who am I kidding?…
…he’s certainly less likely to kill me than the bike was…
…I know. You’re right, it’s not about…
…feel useful, you know? Not just in there but…
…but then, what would I even be?…
…thanks. I appreciate your…
Suddenly, the dad rock was gone. Dennis blinked rapidly, trying to clear away whatever fog had collected in his eyes in case Robby demanded another recitation. But, when he glanced up, Robby was just smiling at him.
‘You okay?’
‘Yeah,’ Dennis muttered. ‘I think I dozed off there for a bit.’
‘You did, yeah. I told her it was a malfunctioning garbage disposal and I think she bought it.’
Dennis rolled his eyes and it hurt less this time.
‘I do not snore.’
‘No, you sort of snuffle,’ Robby said, still grinning.
‘I do not,’ Dennis began, then recognised his expression. ‘Oh, Jesus, you’re worse than Santos.’
‘You wound me,’ Robby deadpanned, before turning back to his laptop. ‘You’re not the only one making noise by the way. You hear that purr? Louder than my bike.’
‘I bet she’s ready to be rid of them,’ Dennis muttered, rubbing a finger under her chin and smiling as she tilted her head up and pressed into the gesture.
‘Yeah, cats aren’t always the best mothers,’ Robby said, then reached over the edge of his desk and joined Dennis in the gentle cat-harassment. The warmth of his arm seemed to seep into Dennis’s shoulder and he too found himself leaning into it, stopping just short of resting his head on the inside of Robby’s elbow.
‘Do you want to talk about anything?’ Dennis asked quietly.
‘Just did a lot of that,’ Robby replied, and kept brushing his fingers between her ears and down to the scruff of her neck.
‘I know but, you know, any revelations?’
Robby scoffed.
‘It’s probably all down to my mother? Or maybe my ego? Some other Freudian shit,’ he said and Dennis shrugged.
‘Alright, forget I asked.’
But, to his credit, Robby paused and sighed, pulling his arm back and resting his hand on Dennis’s shoulder again, his fingers just brushing where his shirt hem circled his neck, almost curling under the fabric. Dennis resisted the impulse to hold his breath.
‘It doesn’t come easily to me,’ Robby muttered. ‘But, thanks for trying.’ Then, after a pause, he added: ‘I like her. Caleb was right.’
And, to Dennis’s mind, that was enough of a win for the day. But, if some traitorous little part of him was thinking not so unstable now, is he? Well, you wouldn’t have been able to waterboard it out of him.
Mike: Your shift finishing on time?
Jack: Are you fucking kidding me, Robby?
Jack: Nearly three months of diddly squat other than one stupid ‘proof of life’ message after all that ‘if I come back’ bullshit, and now you’re making small talk?
Mike: I know, I’m the worst. Let me make it up to you?
Jack: That’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than small talk, brother.
Mike: How about an open tab that I’ll cover in Murphy’s?
Jack: You know I try not to go out drinking on my lonesome, even with a promise like that. That way lies madness.
Mike: Just trust me. Also, don’t hit me.
Robby tucked his phone back into his pocket and waved at the bartender from the booth he’d chosen for this particularly difficult conversation.
‘Hey, erm, hi. My friend’s going to get here soon and he’s not going to be happy, do you mind having a couple of glasses of top shelf scotch ready, just to save me when he gets here?’
The young women raised an eyebrow and glanced pointedly at her watch, but nodded.
‘Thanks, and whatever he orders, put it on my card,’ he added, leaning over and passing it to her. ‘And every time he’s an asshole, you can put something on it for you as well. Call it my penance for pissing him off that much.’
At that, she snorted but took the card and tapped it on the bar.
‘I take it you did something pretty bad then?’ she asked with the casual apathy of bartenders everywhere.
‘You could say that,’ Robby replied with a weak smile. His phone was buzzing incessantly in his pocket, but he didn’t check it.
It didn’t take long for Abbot to arrive.
He flung open the door and scanned the otherwise mostly empty bar. Not many people went drinking at seven, going on eight in the morning but Jack was a creature of the darkness, and Murphy’s didn’t give you too much shit for having a nightcap when everyone else in the world was getting up for work.
When his eyes landed on Robby, they narrowed. He raised one hand and pointed at him firmly.
‘What the hell are you up to, Mike?’ he demanded, and Robby winced. He hadn’t been Mike since med school, unless he was in some deep shit.
‘Good things, I promise,’ he said, raising his hands in surrender. ‘Better things, anyway.’
‘Two scotches?’
Jack’s attention was instantly diverted. He’d just worked a twelve hour shift and he was only human, no matter how pissed off he was. As Jack grabbed them both, Robby winked at the bartender who rolled her eyes and got back to cleaning something.
Still radiating his irritation, Jack brought the drinks over and sat down across from Robby, who was still working his way through his previous glass. This was a good thing, because Jack necked one of them, then took a sip of the second and fixed Robby with an unimpressed look. Jack was upsettingly good at unimpressed looks.
‘Start talking,’ he said quietly, so Robby took a deep breath and did as he was told.
He told Abbot all about the first leg of his journey: how he’d felt lighter and more free than he had in years, just him and the road; how he thought it was exactly what he needed. Then, he told Jack about Chicago, when he’d flown past the city and started to doubt that, how it was just him and his thoughts for far too long and, sure, he was making small talk in diners and chatting to other tourists at sites, but the rest of the time it was just him.
‘I was still the same person, I guess, just further away.’
‘No shit.’
‘I know,’ Robby said, running a hand over his face and draining the rest of his glass. ‘Stuff got real, and it got real dark. I don’t know how to be a person outside of that fucking hospital, Jack.’
‘Idle hands, brother.’
‘I didn’t need the devil involved,’ Robby muttered. ‘I made enough trouble all by myself.’
‘So, what happened?' Jack asked, gesturing with his glass. 'You clearly didn’t take a dive off a bridge.’
‘Almost did,’ Robby whispered. ‘Scared the shit outta me.’
‘But you didn’t,’ Jack repeated, leaning in. ‘What stopped you?’
He’d known this part of the conversation was coming, and his therapist had been very clear that he’d be a damned coward to leave it out––Robby really did like her, she didn’t take any of his shit; he owed Caleb his own open tab––but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to the way Jack’s face was going to change the moment he said it.
Robby sighed.
‘You know I asked the kid to housesit?’ Jack nodded, his lips slowly twisting into a cruel smile as he put the pieces together. ‘Well, he texted me. My washer broke, started flooding the place, he panicked, didn’t know what to do.’
‘Oh, Robby,’ Jack muttered, his smile slowly spreading.
‘I know.’
‘You absolute sad fuckin' sap.’
‘I know.’
‘That’s still a thing?’ Jack asked, his voice going up. ‘That was months ago, I figured you’d got over it.’
Robby dropped his head between his shoulders and let it hang there. He deserved it. Abbot was right. It was pathetic.
‘What is wrong with me, Jack?’ he muttered. ‘He’s my fucking student.’
‘Resident, he graduated.’
‘He was my student.’
‘Yeah, now he’s your resident.’
‘I’m forty-six, I can’t keep doing this.’
‘It’s never been a guy before,’ Abbot observed, and Robby looked up at him with a frown.
‘There have been plenty of guys before, you know that.’
‘No,’ Jack said slowly. ‘You’ve been absolutely hell for leather over a couple of guys before,’ he continued, now smirking at him openly. ‘You’ve nearly ruined your entire life over a couple of guys before.’
‘Yes, thank you, I recall,' Robby muttered bitterly.
‘But you’ve never had your head turned by a pretty boy at work,' Abbot said and Robby resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The man was so straight it hurt to hear him talk sometimes.
‘Yeah,' he explained. 'Yeah, because it’s a lot easier not to. You don’t have to out yourself and risk getting a black eye––speaking of, what happened to the guy that socked Whitaker?’
‘Oh, I know that face,’ Jack said, lifting an accusatory finger. ‘I’m not telling you shit, or you’ll have another drink and hunt the bastard down.’
‘I will not.’
‘That’s what you said when that bouncer got too handsy with- what was his name?’
‘Ben, and no I didn’t, and that was fifteen years ago!’
‘Brother, level with me here,’ Jack said and so Robby finally lifted his head properly and waved a hand for him to continue. ‘What I’m hearing is, you were ready to take your final bow, then this kid reminds you that there are some good things in this hellscape we call life, and so you turned your ass around and came home for him.’
‘Actually,’ Robby began, but Jack just glared at him and he closed his mouth with a snap.
‘Okay, maybe you pissed around up north some more, I don’t care. The truth is, that kid walked through the Pitt’s doors and you saw something in him,' Jack said and Robby struggled to find anything to object to. 'Then, you saw a lot more in him. Then, you started drunkenly telling me how much you saw in him,' he continued and Robby winced, 'and we both know you never did that when you had your little man crush on Langdon. We also both know you swing one way a hell of a lot more than the other, and that you’re a sucker for someone who cares too much and looks at you like you hung the moon. Unfortunately, we also both know you’re an absolute fucking mess, and if you don’t get your head on right, it won’t just be your own life you’re ruining this time. So, what are you going to do?’
Robby smiled.
‘Nice speech.’
‘I asked you a question, idiot.’
‘I did not have a man crush on Langdon.’
‘What, you didn’t actually want to screw him, did you?’ Abbot asked, mock-horror on his face.
‘Good God, no,’ Robby shot back, cringing, then felt a little bad for it. ‘Sure, he’s a good looking guy but-’
‘He’s an asshole. A good doctor, but an asshole, like someone else I know: someone who is currently avoiding a question.’
With a nod, Robby leant back and shut his eyes.
‘I’m talking to someone. Caleb recommended me this woman, she’s good.’
‘Okay.’
‘She’s got me giving her lists of stuff to keep going for, stuff that makes me a person, and has nothing to do with work.’
‘Sounds like the sort of thing Caleb thinks works.’
At that, Robby smiled, then took in a deep breath.
‘She’s got me thinking about whether to come back.’
‘After your three months are up?’
‘At all, Jack.’
Silence hung in the air between them for a moment.
‘You’ll miss seeing your boy squeezed into scrubs two sizes too small,’ Jack muttered and Robby snorted.
‘Probably for the best. I’m one bad day away from doing something highly unethical.’
‘I hear the eighth floor’s still empty.’
Robby let out a chuckle, then sat up properly and shrugged.
‘It’s only a thought.’
‘What else would you do?’
‘I don’t know. ICU maybe? Or just back to internal. I liked my rotation with them.’
‘It bored you half to death,’ Jack reminded him but Robby shrugged again.
‘That was twenty years ago. I think I could do with being bored these days.’
‘If you try any of your McGuyvered shit up there, they’d take your license.’
‘I’d save them thousands. I’m used to working with a staple gun and some dental floss. Imagine what I could do up there,’ he said, letting the hypothetical take him over for a short while. Until, of course, Abbot brought him back down to Earth.
‘What about the kid?’
Robby hummed.
‘Did you know he’s thirty-four?’
‘In your dreams, creep.’
‘No, really,’ Robby insisted. ‘He is.’
‘He looks twelve.’
‘He does not look twelve.’
‘Alright, I’ll push to twenty, for your sake, but there’s no way that kid’s in his thirties.’
‘Check his file tonight,’ Robby said. ‘I have it on good authority.’
But, Jack just smirked at him and waved to the bartender. ‘Two more, please. Anything for you?’ He asked Robby who just snorted and shook his head.
When the drinks arrived, Jack nursed the first one slowly before repeating himself.
‘So, what about the kid?’
Robby rubbed his eyes and shrugged.
‘I don’t know, man.’
‘Is he into guys?’
‘Yeah. I don’t know if he’s into me though.’
Jack just scoffed at that.
‘Brother, that boy would do anything you asked him to, and I’m telling you that knowing you won’t use that power for evil. If he’s on your team, he’s in your corner, trust me,’ he said, taking another sip.
‘Doesn’t mean I should do anything––in fact, what I should do, is go back home and help him find a place to rent, maybe help him with the bills for a couple months as a thank you for putting up with all my shit.’
The sip must have gone down the wrong hole, because Jack started coughing and fixing Robby with a look, wide eyed and horrified.
‘What?’
‘He’s at your- shit, he’s still at your place?’
‘Well, yeah. I told him three months, I wasn’t going to kick him out.’
‘Robby, you haven’t lived with another person since you lived with me, and I still had two feet and a sense of humour back then. You didn’t even move in with Janey.’
Beneath the table, Robby started tapping a foot nervously. The thought had occurred to him. It was out of character for him to be quite so… calm about someone else in his house, in his space, touching his things. He hadn’t stress bleached any furniture for a good few years but he still wasn’t exactly chill about someone else using his shit.
But, then there was Dennis using his coffee cups, borrowing his shower gel, sleeping between his spare sheets, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
‘I know that look too,’ Jack said, and when Robby snapped back to the present, he saw the man smiling at him––not cruelly or smugly this time, just smiling. ‘Haven’t seen it in a long time.’
‘I just, I like having him around,’ Robby muttered, but it sounded weak even to his own ears. ‘His cat’s about to have kittens,’ he added, but he wasn’t sure why, it was just on the list that he kept trying to mentally expand. He could add making this all up to Jack, he supposed.
‘Oh, brother,’ Abbot said, still smiling. ‘This is gonna be a wild couple of weeks, isn’t it?’
Coming back home to finding evidence of a sleepy Whitaker’s morning routine was not something Robby ever thought he’d enjoy. There was a slipper abandoned at the bottom of the stairs, and a dressing gown slung over the back of one of the dining chairs, as well as a half-drunk cup of coffee sitting stone cold on the table.
However, there was no man himself.
‘Whitaker?’ Robby called up the stairs.
‘Oh, thank fuck for that,’ he heard from somewhere near the top of the house. ‘Robby? The cat popped!’
He had been planning to make himself a coffee and some food to soak up the eight am whisky, but instead he dropped his jacket on the stairs and hurried up to his study.
When he got up there, he couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
Chuck was taking up most of one of his beanbags, laying on her side, uncomfortably like she had twisted and crawled around half-heartedly for a while. There were towels covering quite a lot of the floor, and quite a lot of stuff covering his towels. And, then there was the small, wriggling, helpless little pile of creatures taking up the second beanbag.
Crouching in the middle of the chaos, was Whitaker, looking worriedly between the mess, the cats, and Robby. Very worriedly.
‘I, erm, I tried to keep her off the- but she just- and whenever I put the kittens on the floor she just kept yelling-’
‘Dennis!’ Robby called over him, coming to crouch with him on the floor. ‘It’s fine,’ he said, surprising himself because he meant it. One cat, eight kittens, and a first year resident. And making it up to Jack. And paying Caleb back for the introduction. And reaching out to Heather to apologise for all his shit over the years. And hugging Dana, telling her to find a cushty desk job somewhere she was respected and valued. And coming to terms with Langdon. And maybe finding a job in medicine that didn’t take every bit of what little soul he’d had to begin with. His list was growing, and needing to take his beanbags and all his towels into work to throw them in the biohazard incinerator wasn’t putting a dent in it.
‘Oh, good,’ Whitaker muttered, then looked around. ‘Robby, she ate so many placentas.’
‘Yeah. They do that,’ he replied. ‘Is she okay?’
‘I think so. There were already like three out when I heard her. They seem fine––one was a little quiet, but she licked him back to wriggling.’ Then, Dennis turned and fixed him with a strange look. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you grin like that. It’s weird.’
‘Have I told you that I love cats?’ Robby said, settling down beside the pile of fur and goo. He reached over to scratch the new mother behind the ears and nodded. ‘Good job, Chuck,’ he whispered, then turned around. ‘And, good job, Whitaker. Do we have all eight?’
‘There must be at least thirty,’ Dennis groaned. ‘They just kept coming.’
Still feeling himself grin like an idiot, Robby gently separated and counted the kittens. Sure enough, whenever he tried to put on one the floor, the new mother made her objections known. However, unlike Dennis, it took more than a complaining meow, or even yowl to dissuade him. When he had them lined up, Robby frowned and counted again. Then, he looked at Whitaker, who was also frowning and counting.
‘Are there… are there ten of them?’
‘I count ten, do you count ten?’
‘I count ten.’
‘Shit,’ Robby muttered, looking, in particular, at the two smallest of the litter, the runts at the end of his little row.
One cat, ten kittens, a first year resident, and all the other shit he’d added on since he first started repeating it.
‘You know, Doctor Robby,’ Dennis began. ‘Everyone thinks you’re a dog person.’
‘How long have you been in the Pitt now, Whitaker? You know everyone’s an idiot.' At the slightly outraged look, Robby corrected himself: 'People are amazing, but everyone is stupid.’
Beside him, the kid gave a quiet chuckle, the cat filed another loud complaint, and that constant static in the back of Robby’s head, the one that had been there, ebbing and flowing but never disappearing for good, ever since he first saw a news report about a respiratory virus in Wuhan, settled down a little.
Cats were, as Robby well knew, not always the most caring of mothers. Within the first twelve hours of motherhood, Chucky had pushed two off her beanbag, then shouted at them for being on the floor, sat on one, and abandoned the whole lot of them to take a quick jaunt around the neighbourhood for a couple of hours.
When Whitaker found her trying to drag a dead rat back in through the window, he dealt with it remarkably well––by which Robby meant that he didn’t tell Robby there had been rat guts on his basement counter until the guts were already long gone.
That night, lying in bed, Robby ran through his list and added a few more. There was a concert in a few months that he’d thought Jake might like to go to. Reconnecting with Jake would be good. Janey had said she thought he was about ready, to see Robby at least. Maybe not to go to a concert, but Whitaker might like it. There was another of his grandmother’s old recipes that he wanted to try again too. He hadn’t made it for years, not since she died, actually, but Whitaker had liked the last one. Ian McEwan had a new book out and Robby had liked a few of his other ones. Maybe he could lend Whitaker Atonement. Maybe he’d like it like Robby did. Maybe he’d hate it for interesting reasons and they could argue it out.
He rolled over and stared out into the darkness. Robby had very carefully planned out and organised his bedroom. When he pulled the blind and curtains, it was pitch black. When he rolled over in bed, there was an acre of sheets left for him to toss and turn in. When he opened his eyes and stared out at the walls there wasn’t a damn thing in the room to catch his attention or keep his mind occupied. His bedside lamps slowly dimmed and rose with his alarm. It hit every item on the anti-insomnia checklists that he’d found online.
But, he still rarely got to sleep in less than three hours.
That night, as he turned, and tucked his arm under his pillow, and stretched out his legs, and then brought them in tight again, he couldn’t help but feel the acres of bed around him.
Robby thought about Dennis in the room next door. Was he asleep? Did he ever have trouble sleeping? Was he a cuddler, given the chance? Robby squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on something conducive to sleep. His commute to work was nice and repetitive, sometimes he walked himself along it in his mind, but then usually he was assaulted by his brain’s version of Gloria when he got there. He’d stripped and reassembled his bike’s engine a good few times when he was working on it with Duke. He could more or less do that from memory now, but then he’d get flashes of ambulances wiping her out, or his own idiocy and weakness sending her off the edge of something.
Whitaker always calmed him down. Hearing him recite some bible verse under his breath when he was stressed at work, or coming out with some chipper rustic saying in a bad moment, the sort of thing that the kid's mom probably embroidered on pillows back at the ranch, that always did the trick. Or there were the questions he sometimes fired at Robby. Four dining chairs, cold enough for a jacket, always more coffee if he wants it.
Would Whitaker do that now, if he were there? Would he fire off questions at Robby, keep the man out of his own head until he could drift off?
How many sets of scrubs are in your closet?
At least a thousand.
How long have you lived here?
Since I got a pay bump and made attending. Six years.
Ever get lonely?
Yes. God, yes. All the time.
Somewhere in the house, there was a loud and unapologetic meow and Robby smiled to himself softly. Jack had been right. It was going to be interesting.
‘Is it okay if I invite Trinity over? I’m hoping I can persuade her to take a couple of the new arrivals.’
Robby shrugged.
‘The no-Santos rule was all you, kid. Go for it,’ he said, turning back to his laptop. The same email to Gloria had been sitting in his drafts for the last hour. He kept rewriting it. One version said that he was going to need an extension on his sabbatical––unpaid, of course, he wasn’t unreasonable––and the next would say that he was never walking back through those fucking doors and they could burn whatever he’d left in his locker. Then, he’d write one about coming back in just over two week’s time, as planned. Then, he’d draft a reasonable resignation message and stare at it for a while, before deleting the whole lot and starting all over again.
None of them felt right.
Robby paused and shut the lid of his computer, then turned to watch the increasingly mobile kittens as they crawled over each other to reach their apathetic mother, who was lounging on her beanbag throne as always.
Beside her, crosslegged on the floor and texting, was Whitaker.
‘When’s she coming?’ Robby asked.
‘She’s just getting her stuff together, about half an hour?’
‘Great,’ Robby said. ‘And, erm, when’s she back at work?’
‘Tomorrow I think.’
Under his breath, Robby cursed and reached for his phone. He couldn’t ask Santos to lie to her colleagues for him. Whitaker was one thing. He probably shouldn’t be asking him to either, and he knew that he’d already told Santos that Robby was back, but actually seeing him, coming into his house, meeting the new arrivals, and then asking her to shut up about it felt harsh.
Robby: Hi, Dana. I just wanted to let you know that I’m back in Pittsburgh a little earlier than intended, but I’m taking at least the rest of my break off still to figure out what I’m going to do next. Sorry for being a disaster and thanks for holding the Pitt together without me. I hear you’re smashing it out the park as always. I owe you a few bottles of something fizzy and at least five fancy coffees. Let me know when you’ve got a night off.
Robby: Hey, Frank. Sorry about the way we left things when I went. I’m back in Pittsburgh a little earlier than intended but I’m still staying off for a while longer. If you want to grab a coffee and talk things over, let me know.
Doc: Duke! I’m back in the city, the bike’s still in one piece. If I hear you’ve been dodging your appointments, I’ll tear you a new one and start dragging you to them myself. Let me know when you’re free for a beer.
Robby: Hey, Caleb. Thanks for the list. Your number one pick was a stand out. I’m back in the city and taking some more time off, but I owe you a drink for putting up with me ignoring you for the last God knows how long. Let me know when you’re around for a catch up.
In the swing of whittling down the endless notifications he’d been ignoring for the last few months, Robby got through a few more while he wondered down the stairs and put a new pot of coffee on. By the time the bell rang, he was into single digits and proud of himself.
One cat, ten kittens, a first year resident, and getting all those drinks he’d just promised, he thought as he headed for the door. There were footsteps hurrying down the stairs, so Robby called up: ‘I got it!’ as he swung it open.
On the other side was, unsurprisingly, Santos.
She looked different out of scrubs: hair down, some tatty plaid shirt hanging loose over a vest and baggy jeans, a set of over-adorned keys jangling from a belt loop. Suddenly, Robby remembered the few times he’d caught her and Garcia talking in the break room, the way they’d gone all quiet when he came in, and he smiled.
‘Doctor Santos,’ he said with a nod, and stepped aside. ‘Do come in.’
‘This is weird,’ she muttered, but passed him by and stared around the place like she was going to be tested on it later.
‘You’re telling me,’ Robby replied, and shut the door. Thankfully, Whitaker appeared in the living room doorway.
‘Hey, Trin,’ he said, grabbing her by the shoulder and squeezing before letting her go and hurrying away. ‘A couple of them just woke up, so we’ve only got like ten minutes before they’re out again,’ he said, leading her away.
As they disappeared upstairs, Robby heard at least three complaints from Santos about the number of stairs, the decoration, and how much bigger the house was then her apartment. He smiled again and took his time filling three mugs with coffee before following at a slow and noisy pace.
‘Oh my God, they’re so small, I gonna puke.’
‘Please don’t,’ Robby said as he poked his head up into the study. ‘And get outta my chair,’ he added, for good measure. As expected, Santos rolled her eyes, and joined Dennis crouching on the floor among the litter, but she looked a little less nervous as she did.
He passed Whitaker a coffee with cream but no sugar, and Santos one with sugar but no cream, and then sat at his desk with his own, black and bitter as his heart.
While the two residents––because he had to stop calling them kids in his head––chatted and cooed over the wriggling bags of milk and fur, he opened his laptop and redrafted his email a few more times. He was coming back, he had to, just not yet. Then, he was leaving, but looking for other opportunities within the hospital. Then, he was definitely leaving and giving Gloria a piece of his mind: the piece, in fact that he’d been holding back for all eight years that she’d been in charge of the place.
That one was swiftly deleted, in case he accidentally sent it.
‘I would literally kill and die for all of them,’ Santos muttered and Robby kept his eyes on his laptop and smiled. She was going to take at least two when they were ready, he’d bet on it. ‘Just look at this little guy,’ she continued, gently lifting one of the two runts up to make a fuss, running her finger over his head and cheeks. Robby had seen Whitaker holding that one before, gently scratching under his chin, looking at him with big, enamoured eyes.
‘Don’t get attached,’ Robby interrupted. ‘You’re not getting that one, try the bigger calico, she’s the bravest of the lot.’
Pouting, Santos set down the little ginger one down, and scanned through the others in their sleeping pile for the one Robby had meant.
‘Oh, she is adorable,’ Santos admitted, scratching her behind tiny ears. ‘Wait, can you even tell he or she at this age?’
‘Something do with the genes, Robby looked it up,’ Dennis said with a shrug.
‘Weird that you know stuff that’s not motorbikes and crikes,' she said and Robby snorted.
‘Yeah, and I just curl up under the hub to sleep when I’m not on shift.’
‘You look like you do,’ she shot back, but then shrugged. ‘Well, you normally do anyway. Good trip?’ she asked, her voice laced with unspoken irony and Robby wondered how much Dennis had told her.
‘I’ve got pictures of them when they first popped out,’ Dennis said quickly. ‘They’ve already grown a lot. Let me grab my phone,’ he added, before heading for the stairs at a gentle jog, leaving Robby and Santos alone.
Now, in Trauma Two, this would have been fine. In the break room, this would have been fine. But, they were in Robby’s house, and it was... strange.
However, it did give Robby a chance. With Jack’s words swirling around his head, he cleared his throat and typed nonsense into his draft email, trying to look as casual as possible.
‘So, erm, has Whitaker mentioned anything about how he’s, you know, how he’s feeling about all this?’
In the corner of his eye, Robby saw Santos look up with a raised eyebrow.
‘All this?’ she replied.
‘You know,’ Robby repeated, waving a hand vaguely around the room, trying to encompass the house itself and his own presence in it. ‘This.’
‘Life, the universe, and everything?’
‘I was thinking a slightly narrowed down area, but sure,’ Robby said, still typing out the alphabet and his grandmother’s old discontinued house phone number.
Instead of replying, Santos just snorted and shook her head. After a moment, she picked up the calico she’d been fussing over and held her at eye level.
‘You’re lucky I’m gonna get you out of this house, baby girl, because men are so very, very stupid.’
Robby filed this away but let himself grin.
‘Yep,’ he muttered, then smiled wider as he felt a wave of mild cruelty wash over him. ‘But at least we get to blame it on the junk. When your side are idiots, it’s all you.’ She huffed out a laugh and rolled her eyes at that, so Robby added: ‘By the way, how’s Yolanda?’
Her face shot up to stare at him, suddenly all narrowed eyes and suspicion.
‘What do you know?’ she demanded.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he said, still tapping away the lyrics to the Fresh Prince opening.
’This is serious, Robby. I’ll tell you what Huckleberry told me. What do you know?’
Robby stopped typing and met her eyes. She looked serious.
‘You are a… terrible friend, Doctor Santos.’
‘He’ll forgive me. Deal, Doctor Cradle-Robber?’ she asked, and Robby blinked at her, trying to think of anything at all that he knew about Garcia that could work. Unfortunately, he’d been bluffing and Yolanda was more private than Banksy. All he actually knew about her was that she was a good surgeon and enjoyed taking the piss out of Frank. But, he doubted that would count for anything.
Fortunately, he was saved by approaching footsteps on the stairs. Robby turned back to his laptop and deleted his nonsense before rewriting his current favourite draft. It was a holder email and it could be summed up as: I’d like to extend my sabbatical and enquire about opportunities in other departments.
While Dennis flicked through the thousand photos he’d taken on the first day of the kittens’ brief lives, Robby could see Santos glaring at him whenever Whitaker wasn’t looking.
Then, when the slide showing was done, she cleared his throat and Robby braced for impact.
‘You know, Langdon was asking after you and your head,’ she said, and Robby relaxed a little. ‘He said that you came out with some weird shit about the boss though, when they were checking you over.’
Robby saw Dennis tense up and put on a fake cheery tone to say: ‘Ha. Yeah, I was out of it. Much better now though.’
‘He thought you were haemorrhaging when you told him how old you were,’ she added. Then, she fixed Robby with a look and a smirk that could only be described as evil. ‘And when you said you wouldn’t mind Doctor Robby rubbing off on you.’
Everything in the room seemed to stop for a moment. Even the cats seemed to understand that something had been said which could not, under any circumstances, be unsaid.
The look that Whitaker was giving Santos was nothing short of complete betrayal and confusion. As if unaware of this, Santos stood up.
‘Anyway, I should be going. I’ve got to head to grab some groceries before tomorrow. Let me just jot down a quick list,’ she said, coming over to Robby’s desk and plucking a pen from the pot in the corner. On his open notebook in front of him, she scribbled down a phone number, followed by the words: you owe me big time. don't fuck it up.
With that, she left.
Neither Dennis or Robby moved as the footsteps receded and the sound of the front door opening and slamming reverberated through the house.
‘What the fuck?’ Dennis whispered, and Robby cleared his throat.
‘That… that may have been… my fault,’ he mumbled.
‘Wha- how?’
‘I may have… implied that I had information about… Yolanda, just to make a… point.’
Now, the younger man was just blinking, still betrayed and confused but this time in Robby’s direction. With a final shake of his head, he rose to his feet and made for the stairs, mumbling about needing some air, clinging to the bannister as he went.
Before he scooped up the two still-warm coffee cups, Robby added a sentence to his draft email, took a deep breath, and hit send.
When Dennis heard the footsteps behind him, he sighed again. Robby came to sit beside him on the back step, then held up the coffee cup that Dennis had abandoned upstairs.
‘What was the point you were trying to make?’ Dennis asked, not taking the cup. Robby paused for a moment, and set it down between the two of them, then took a sip of his own.
‘I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you probably already know that,’ Robby said quietly, and Dennis scoffed. It was a non-answer. It was accurate. Dennis had his suspicions, he wasn’t an idiot, but he’d hoped that Robby would have the guts to actually say it to his face.
‘In Santos’s defence,’ Robby added. ‘I don’t think she’d have done that if I hadn’t been fairly obvious myself.’
‘What was the point, Robby?’
‘No one ever calls me Michael anymore,’ he muttered and Dennis turned to glare at him. ‘Oh, come on, kid, you have to know,’ he exhaled, his voice coming out plaintive and weak, and Dennis almost took pity on him. Almost.
After a longer silence stretched out, Robby grimaced, cleared his throat, and stared out into the courtyard. The sun was nearly at its height. The shadows of the buildings around them were at their shortest. Dennis watched Robby’s throat bob as he swallowed, and the muscles in his jaw twitch as he seemed to rehearse whatever was coming next.
‘I was trying to make the point that... stupidity around attraction isn’t limited to men. I asked her how you were feeling about me being back, living with me, all my bullshit.’
‘Why didn’t you ask me?’
‘I could ask you the same question,’ replied Robby, as he took a sip of his coffee.
‘That’s not fair,’ Dennis insisted, shaking his head. ‘That’s not even slightly fair. You really think that I’d bring up some… some dumb workplace crush to you now? It’s completely inappropriate. You’re my supervisor, now basically my landlord, and you’re dealing with some shit that scares the hell out of me, let alone how you must feel about it-’ Dennis garbled, pausing only when he felt the coffee cup being pressed into his hands once more. He sighed, and stared into it. Cream, no sugar. He’d never told Robby how he had his coffee, but the man had seemed to just know. Taking the cup, Dennis shut his eyes.
‘I’m not, actually,’ Robby said.
‘What?’
‘I’m not your supervisor. I resigned.’
His eyes snapping open, Dennis turned to stare at the man next to him.
‘You what?’
‘Yep. Just this morning. I’ll probably find something else in the hospital, something with less pressure, less responsibility, but I resigned. Abbot will probably be asked to brush up his CV and interview for the chief of emergency medicine post sometime in the next week. I’d bet that Al-Hashimi and Shen will keep hold of the day-shift permanently. They’ll probably promote one of the senior residents up to on-call attending to cover Shen. Langdon would be good for that, so long as he keeps his shit on track.’
Throughout the speech, Dennis just gaped.
‘But, you’re not coming back,’ he said finally.
‘No.’
‘Shit.’
They both took another sip of coffee and stared out into the sliver of sky that was visible between the buildings that loomed on the other side of the courtyard. Dennis had been reminding himself for weeks about all the reasons why this exact conversation was a terrible idea. How would he be able to look Robby in the eye on shift, knowing that he’d laid himself bare and been rejected? How would he be able to cope with working side-by-side with the man if they made a go of it and it didn’t work out? Worse still, what if Dennis wasn’t making things up, what if all those little moments he’d felt really did mean something, what if Robby returned his feelings, however ill-advised and unhelpful they were, but neither of them were prepared to risk the hit to their careers? What if he had to see him command the Pitt every God-damned day wondering what could have happened if they’d been braver?
‘So, I’m not your supervisor,’ Robby repeated, as if reading Dennis’s mind. ‘And I’ll help you find somewhere to live, give you the money for a couple of months rent up front, if you want. You don’t have to pay me back or rely on me for anything. Call it thanks for keeping me sane these last few weeks.’
‘Sane? Is that what you’re calling it?’ Dennis asked, aiming for a joke but falling short of it by some way. The returning smile from Robby was a sad little thing.
‘Trust me. I owe you more than you know. I’ll tell you all about it sometime.’
Those jokes about finding him hanging from the rafters flicked back through Dennis’s mind and, almost without realising it, his arm found itself reaching around Robby’s back, his hand finding purchase on his bicep and squeezing gently. They both leant into each other, just a little. The warmth of Robby’s shoulder seemed to seep into Dennis’s chest.
‘Do you want to have dinner?’ Robby asked quietly and Dennis frowned.
‘It’s barely midday.’
‘Alright, lunch then. I’ll put on a shirt and everything.’
‘You mean, like a date?’
‘Yes, Dennis, obviously, like a date. You can say no, that’s fine-’
‘No, I-’
‘Right, okay, that’s-‘
‘No! I’m not saying no, I just meant-‘ Dennis paused and huffed out a bitter laugh. ‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘Yes, I- I think I would like that.’
He wished that he could bottle the look that Robby gave him in that moment. His face was a little lined and, despite the time off, he looked perpetually exhausted, but Robby’s eyes still had a glimmer of something in them, something vulnerable and precious. It was the same look that Robby had given him on his first day when he’d found him in paeds and Dennis had tried to talk him through it. There was hope in that look, not much but enough to light the man up from the inside.
So, of course Dennis kissed him.
Their lips met gently at first, neither quite sure if it was real, if it was welcome. Robby’s were chapped and dry, but his hand, when it abandoned the coffee and grasped at the front of Dennis’s shirt, was warm and firm, tugging him closer.
They parted briefly, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the small space between them.
‘You didn’t quit, just because of this, did you?’ Dennis asked. ‘Because I couldn’t forg-’
‘I should have quit years ago,’ Robby whispered. ‘Damn job nearly killed me. I wasn’t ready for it when Adamson- when I got given it, still not now.’
‘You were amazing at it,’ Dennis replied, because it was true. ‘But you’ll be great at whatever you do next too,’ he added. With his eyes shut, and his lips mere millimetres from Dennis’s own, Robby smiled.
‘I hope so, kid.’
‘I’m thirty-four,’ Dennis grumbled and Robby let out a slightly breathless laugh.
‘Did I tell you at the time that was the best damn news I ever heard? Abbot thought I might have dreamt it.’
Dennis chuckled, enjoying the closeness for a moment longer.
‘That’s what Trinity said when I told her about you.’
‘Yeah, you two remind me of Jack and I. She’d do well on nights, I think.’
‘Did you tell Jack that you half-convinced me he had D.I.D. with your little texting scheme?’
‘No,’ Robby whispered. ‘You should though, he’d get a kick out of that.’
Then, after a moment's quiet, Dennis whispered: ‘Are we really doing this, Robby?’
His eyes flickered open and met Dennis’s.
‘I think,’ he began slowly, ‘that if I have to see you come out of the shower with my towel around your waist one more time, your hair all wet, giving me that awkward little smile when you walk past me in the hall, and I can’t stare openly, I’m going lose my God-damned mind, Dennis.’
A crossroads presented itself in Whitaker’s mind. He could, as his instincts were leading him, chuckle, turn pink, and make a self-deprecating little comment. They would have lunch, and Dennis would pretend that he didn’t want to know if he could make that little blush on Robby’s cheek spread, if he could turn that look of hope in his eyes into something darker. Or, he thought, squeezing Robby’s arm a little tighter, he could just try and go for it.
‘Well,’ Dennis muttered, and cleared his throat. ‘That’s not exactly a one way street. Those sleep shorts don’t leave much to the imagination.’
Robby laughed and raised an eyebrow.
‘Those shorts aren’t much younger than you,’ he said.
‘I… I should find that less attractive than I do,’ Dennis admitted.
‘I,’ Robby said, his own hand flattening to Dennis’s chest, his fingers slightly spreading and brushing over the flannel. ‘Personally,’ he continued, ‘am glad that you do.’
This time, the kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t exactly rough or bruising or any of the other words that Dennis had read in Santos’s secret cheesy rom-com collection, but it was definitely eager. At some point, both cups of coffee were nudged away and Dennis found himself pressing Robby to the doorframe behind him, his tongue gently teasing the other man’s lower lip. Then, there were hands on his hips and there was an awkward and definitely bruising tangle of legs and knees and stairs until Dennis found himself in Robby’s lap, his right leg hanging between the step’s railings on ones side while his left curled awkwardly back into the house, his heel pressed to the basement door. They parted again, briefly.
‘Jesus,’ Dennis muttered.
‘That okay?’ Robby asked, still gripping Whitaker’s hips tightly.
‘God, yes.’
There was a flash of a grin before the distance closed again. One of Robby’s hands came up to bury itself in Dennis’s hair, not pulling or holding him in place, just running his fingers through it, his thumb brushing through the curls at the nape of his neck. His other smoothed over the small of his back, brushing the waistband of his jeans. Each time Dennis sucked Robby’s lower lip into his mouth, worried it with his teeth, or flicked his tongue over the sensitive flesh, the man huffed out a shaky breath, almost a whimper, and fingers dug in to Dennis’s back ever so slightly.
They moved together in tandem. Robby was soft and pliant beneath Dennis’s roaming hands, his head tilting into Dennis’s touch when he cupped his cheek and jaw, but then chasing Dennis’s mouth whenever he pulled away.
Whenever he’d thought about it––and Dennis had thought about it––he’d imagined Robby in bed as he was at work: commanding the room, knowing just what was needed and when, always pushing but never too far. However now that he had the man between his thighs, little gasps and curses coming from his chest as Dennis pressed kisses to his jaw, sank blunt teeth into the meat of his neck, and enjoyed the scratch of beard and stubble against his cheek, the reality made a lot more sense.
Robby kissed like he wasn’t sure he deserved it––like he knew he didn’t, but he wanted it anyway.
Dennis shifted his hips forward and grinned into Robby’s neck when the man’s head slammed back against the doorframe, his jaw dropped open, and a quiet oh fell from his mouth. There were at least four layers in between them, two of which were thick denim, but Dennis could still feel how hard Robby was. He shifted again, letting out his own muted curse as the pressure and dulled friction sent a spark through his own nerves. Robby’s hand gripped low on Dennis’s back, and pulled, grinding them together more firmly, and dragging a groan from both of them.
‘That okay?’ Dennis whispered, and Robby gave a bark of laughter. Instead of replying, the man’s hands dropped and found their way under Dennis’s thighs. It wasn’t exactly a smooth and effortless procedure, but Dennis almost preferred this laboured but committed way that Robby heaved them both upright, and staggered to the other side of the threshold, pressing Dennis’s back against the opposite frame, the basement counter jutting out sharply into his ass and the latch catching on his belt loop, but none of it mattered when he wrapped his legs around Robby’s hips and found his lips with his own. This time, it wasn’t just Dennis’s tongue and teeth getting involved. Robby licked into his mouth, nipped at his lips and jaw, still almost reverent as he rolled his hips forward, both of them shaking and gasping at the effort and the sensations.
It wasn’t long before Robby dropped one of Dennis’s legs, and he found the floor again, taking his own weight, before nudging Robby to step back and release him fully.
When he did, Dennis took a second to stare. Robby’s lips were parted, his breath coming in shallow bursts as his eyes roamed over Dennis just as blatantly. Hair stuck up at odd angles and a red mark glowed on his neck. As Robby reached for the basement door and swung it shut, Dennis closed the distance again, wrapping his arms around Robby’s neck and dragging him down enough to kiss him once more.
Then, Dennis pulled back.
‘Upstairs?’ he asked.
‘I thought we were having lunch?’ Robby replied, the tease somewhat undercut by his breathlessness.
‘There’s a joke in there somewhere,’ Dennis muttered, thinking it quite clearly in his mind but knowing he’d never have the guts to say it.
Thankfully, Robby just grinned and kissed Dennis again, this time slowly, and interspersed with stumbling towards the stairs.
The kid-–Dennis, Robby corrected in his mind––was going to be the death of him. As they reached the hall, Robby still following Dennis, dragged along by the hand on the back of his neck, cupping and urging him onwards, Robby caught Dennis by the shoulder and stilled his movements, his mind whirring even as Dennis’s tongue flirted with his own, his other hand working itself into Robby’s back pocket and squeezing. Reluctantly, Robby broke the kiss and swallowed, taking in the hungry look in those blue eyes, the flush of Dennis’s cheeks, and the way his lips hung slightly parted, not in the awed expression of some inexperienced twenty-something, the theorised look that had haunted Robby’s guilty daydreams, but the studied gaze of someone who was planning how to get Robby just where he wanted him.
Fuck it, Robby thought. He’d find the spare sheets later, he promised himself, and surged forward, guiding Dennis backwards towards his own room. The bed was bigger, the sheets were softer, the lights were dimmable, and Chucky never came demanding food at its door, unlike Whitaker’s room––and suddenly Robby couldn’t wait until it was the spare room again, not because he lost his houseguest, but because he relocated him.
As he walked Dennis across the room, the other man hummed into the kiss, huffing out a laugh when the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Robby’s fingers found the front of Dennis’s shirt and fumbled for his buttons, brushing the skin beneath as he undressed him, hearing himself almost whimper into Dennis’s mouth as he felt the same thing happening down his own front.
Shirts cast aside, Robby tried not to give the younger man a chance to take in his own hair-strewn and soft-edged torso. He leaned forward over him, nudging him to sit back, to let Robby lower him down to the bed, press kisses to his neck, feel the contours of his chest and stomach, but Dennis foiled him. One hand found the back of Robby’s head, tangling in his hair, a pleasant feeling and made Robby hum into the kiss. Then, his fingers closed and Dennis had a firm grip in his hair.
Without thinking, Robby ducked, pulling against the grasp, chasing Dennis down onto the bed as he laid back. The noise that came out of Robby’s mouth when the hand holding him remained solid, when he could feel himself stuck between Whitaker's hand and the air where he'd been trying to go, when he felt that deliciously sharp tug at the back of his head, was utterly mortifying. Or, at least, it would have been if he hadn’t heard the whispered fucking hell from Dennis and seen the way his eyes widened at it.
The two of them paused for a few moments, Dennis still holding Robby’s head just out of range, his fingers flexing at the nape of Robby’s neck.
There was a reason that Robby always went for women who didn’t take any of his shit or men who seemed ready to carry the whole damned world on their shoulders. He’d go to war for them, lose friends, get himself in debt, ruin his fucking life, all so he could feel the lightness that came from letting them have him just how they wanted him, from not having to call the shots or perform a role, from knowing he’d brought that blissed out look to their face.
‘… that okay?’ Robby whispered after a moment, hoping beyond hope that Dennis knew what he meant, that he wouldn’t have to say it. He could turn it back on, could tell Whitaker to take his jeans off, could pin him to the bed and take him apart. He’d enjoy it, too, but not as much as this.
Wordlessly, Dennis’s fingers flexed, and his hand withdrew a little, tugging Robby’s head back, exposing his throat, as if testing the rules of some new game. Robby felt Dennis’s eyes on him, then felt a hand pushing at his hip, rearranging them until the two were reversed, Robby now laying back on the bed, Dennis holding himself up over him. His free hand tracing over Robby’s chest, his thumb brushing his nipples, then his fingers dipping under the waistband of his jeans. Dennis’s mouth joined the exploration and Robby let his eyes fall shut, his head fall back on the sheets, and his own hands gripping weakly at Dennis’s sides.
When a thigh worked its way between Robby’s leg, he moaned at the pressure. When Dennis’s cock, hot and hard even through his trousers, pressed against Robby’s hip and the man above him groaned, Robby felt himself buck up and swear. But then, when lips bushed his ear, and Dennis whispered a question to him, Robby’s mind went blank.
‘What do you want?’
Robby blinked up at the ceiling past Dennis’s shoulder, his breath coming in short pants as Dennis kept rolling his hips, dragging his thigh over Robby’s erection and grinding his own down, huffing out little gasps as he did. What did he want? He wanted this, he wanted Dennis taking up every sense, he wanted to hear the noise Dennis made when he came, he wanted to feel Dennis’s hands on every part of him, he wanted, above all, Dennis inside him––he’d always loved that, the fullness, the overwhelmed curses over his shoulder, the bruises on his hips from those last few frantic almost-too-hard thrusts––but he couldn’t ask for that. It had been too long, he was too old, too desperate, and this was far, far too new.
‘Robby?’ Dennis muttered, now looking at him with a concerned expression, his body now still. ‘You okay?’
With a nod and a swallow, Robby blinked against the slowly spiralling thoughts.
‘Give me a second,’ he whispered, smoothing his hands over Dennis’s back, feeling the smooth skin under his fingers. One cat, ten kittens, all the promises he’d made, and this, this man above him, his brow a little furrowed, but his eyes wide and observant, studying Robby for some sign to back off to come closer, to call the whole thing off or change tack. Fuck me, Robby wanted to say. Hold me down, fuck me until you come, and tell me it feels good, tell me I feel good, tell me I am good- but the words were caught in his throat.
Instead, Robby lifted his head and caught Dennis in another kiss, savouring the gentle press of swollen, sensitive lips, and slow return of the shifting and entangling of their legs.
‘Ask me,’ Robby muttered between kisses. Questions, he could answer. Then, he wouldn’t ask for something he couldn’t have.
Smiling against his jaw, Dennis hummed.
‘Want to get naked?’ he asked, and Robby let out a breathless laugh.
‘Yes.’
‘Want to go further than hands?’
‘Yes.’
‘Want to go further than mouths?’
‘Fuck, yes.’
Above him, Dennis groaned, his hips moving in more resolute and grinding circles, each move sending sparks behind Robby’s eyes. Then, there were fingers at his flies, and Dennis was laughing and asking for a little help as he tried to drag Robby’s legs free from his jeans while awkwardly shimmying out of his own. They came back together, legs interlocked, only two thin layers of cotton between them as Dennis mouthed the juncture of Robby’s neck and shoulder, teasing the skin with his teeth, soothing it with his tongue.
‘Thank- shit, thank God you quit,’ Dennis muttered, as he lifted himself up and shamelessly stared at Robby’s nearly naked body. ‘Because I wouldn’t be able to focus on another damn thing at work if you hadn’t.’
Robby laughed and felt himself melt back into the mattress, a wave of boldness hitting him as he saw Dennis’s tongue run over his own lips, then his teeth sink into the bottom one as he fixed Robby’s clothed erection with a hungry look.
‘You’re telling me,’ Robby said, then gasped as Dennis’s hand crept lower, brushing his abdomen and the trail of hair that disappeared into his boxers. ‘I’d be on my knees in the bathroom at least twice a shift,’ Robby added and grinned as Dennis’s hand stilled and his hips twitched forward.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Do you have-’
‘Night stand,’ Robby interrupted, nodding his head towards it. ‘Top drawer.’
When Dennis moved away to rummage, Robby shifted himself around and up the bed, watched Dennis’s ass as he bent over the edge of the mattress and reached for the drawer, and grinning as the man crawled back over him, a foil packet between his lips and a bottle in one hand.
He dropped the condom onto the sheets by Robby’s side, abandoned the bottle there too, and smirked as Robby spread his legs and made room for him to settle between. It wasn’t subtle.
‘You’re full of surprises,’ Dennis whispered, running his hands up Robby’s thighs, his fingers creeping up his underwear, his thumbs finding the divot in his hips and rubbing small circles there.
‘Good ones, I hope,’ Robby replied, aiming for cocky and hearing the insecurity in his own voice. When Dennis answered, his voice was low, his lips back at Robby’s ear, and his hands had worked their way under his hips, groping his ass beneath his boxers with a demanding grip.
‘Michael,’ he breathed out, and Robby felt his cock twitch at the sound of his name, the first time he’d heard it from Dennis’s mouth, and the first time he’d heard it like that in several years. ‘I’d have to be fucking crazy not to want you like this,’ Dennis continued, and Robby squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Naked?’ he asked, hearing the shake in his own voice.
‘Naked.’
It took them a couple moments of fumbling and laughing at each other’s eagerness to kick their underwear to the floor, a few more to get over the initial rush of skin-on-skin, the too-dry press of their cocks together, and the uncoordinated attempt by Robby of taking them both in hand and stroking them at an awkward angle, before Dennis caught his wrist, panting, and pressed it into the sheets at Robby’s hip.
When he let it go, Robby could still feel his grip encircling his arm like a shackle to the bed.
Dennis moved down Robby slowly, stopping at his chest to suck bruises into his sternum. He peppered the sensitive skin of Robby’s belly with gentle brushes of his lips, flicks of his tongue, and quick, sharp nips, drawing out gasps and curses as he went, looking all together far too smug as he did. When he settled between Robby’s legs, he ran his fingers up and down Robby’s inner thighs, staring up at him with an intense expression.
‘Still okay?’
‘Yes, fuck, yes, Dennis,’ Robby garbled out, fumbling at his side and pushing the bottle of lube down the bed towards him. He felt the puff of air against his cock as Dennis let out a laugh and nodded, rubbing Robby’s legs again.
‘Alright,’ he muttered. ‘Alright, I’ve got you.’
The once-familiar but now strange press of fingers was softened by the gentle mouthing at his length: the jaw-slackening sensation of Dennis taking the head of his cock between his lips, as he slipped one slick finger inside him dragged a groan from Robby that he hardly recognised.
It had been so long. He’d picked up the odd stranger here and there after a rough day, and turfed them out by dawn. Some men, some women, but no one he’d trusted enough for this, not for years. He hadn’t kept this part of himself secret from Heather, or Janey, but it wasn’t something they’d done more than talk about, and the last time he’d been with a man long enough to broach the subject, it had proved the final straw in an already-dying relationship.
Robby glanced down, then felt his eyes roll back up into his head at the sight. Dennis’s lips were sealed around him, his eyes were locked on Robby’s, his brow furrowed in concentration as his hand moved slowly between Robby’s legs.
‘Fuck,’ Robby hissed out, then gasped as another finger teased at his entrance. Nodding, Robby breathed through it, willing himself to relax, not to tense up with sheer need and fuck it up. Then, he felt the hands and the tongue lapping at the underside of his cock slow down, and a hand close over his fingers.
‘Not in a rush,’ Dennis whispered, kissing along Robby’s length and the crease of his hip. ‘I’ve got you,’ he said again, and Robby realised that he believed it. Nodding again, Robby focussed on the drag of those two fingers inside him as he stretched around them, and the ever-so-gentle brush of them over his prostate. Despite himself, Robby let out a laugh, then glanced down at Dennis and saw a questioning look.
‘Not done this with a doctor,’ Robby admitted breathlessly, ‘since med school. So much less fumbling,’ he added with a wry smile, and Dennis rolled his eyes, but chuckled as he kissed the inside of his thigh. After that, Dennis’s movements gained in confidence. Each curl of his fingers practically stopped Robby’s breath, and within a few moments, or possibly years, he had Robby choking through ragged moans, rolling his hips back against three fingers that were thrusting inside him with ease now. He felt around the bed with his free hand until he found the condom, and tossed it down at Dennis, who scoffed and nipped at Robby’s belly.
‘Impatient,’ he teased.
‘Yes,’ Robby replied.
Before he could roll over, hide his face in a pillow, and grip the bedsheets in anticipation, Dennis’s hands were on his shoulders, pinning Robby down with his bodyweight as he rearranged himself between Robby’s legs. One hand moved off, hooking under one of Robby’s knees, lifting up his lower half and moving it where Dennis wanted it. Robby let out a shaky breath and watched as Dennis spread his own stance, his knees bracketing Robby’s ass, his face focussed and concentrating as he tore open the packet with his teeth and rolled the condom over himself and slicked it up one handed with a practiced ease that would play out in Robby’s head in each and every free moment he had until he expired.
He lined himself up with Robby’s entrance, Dennis’s eyes flickering shut and huffing out a breath through his nose as the head of his cock pressed at Robby’s hole. Then, he looked up at Robby’s face.
‘Yeah?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ Robby muttered, gasping as Dennis pushed forward slowly. For an eternity, the world narrowed to the slow slide in, then the slight rock back out, each push driving Dennis further inside, each slight withdrawal dragging along sensitive nerve endings and pulling whimpers and moans from both of them.
‘Too much?’ Dennis asked, as he flattened himself to Robby at last, their hips flush, his arm shaking as Dennis held himself up and over him.
Robby shook his head.
‘No, it’s- it’s fine, it’s good, just give me a- fuck, it’s been a minute.’ Dennis rubbed soothing circles into Robby’s hip, muttered reassuring nonsense into his ear.
You feel amazing. No rush. Take your time. Fuck, you look good like this. So tight, Michael, relax. I’ve got you.
When Robby tapped at Dennis’s hip and nodded, and when Dennis finally rocked out a little further, they both whimpered. When he thrust back inside, a little more sharply, Robby choked out a curse and watched Dennis’s eyelids and jaw drop with pleasure. He did it again, a slow, almost teasing pull back, and then a rougher drive back home, and again. His pace increased slowly and Robby hooked his ankle over Dennis’s hip to tug him in harder, to encourage that little slip in control each time.
‘Oh God, Robby,’ Dennis whispered as he snapped his hips forward and Robby groaned, rocking back to meet him.
He let himself get lost in it: the deep, satisfying impact of each thrust, the overwhelming drag of his cock over Robby’s prostate, the friction against his own cock, caught between their stomachs, and the steady fall of curses and prayers from Dennis’s lips.
‘Fuck, that’s good, you’re so- Michael, God, you sound amazin’, I wanna hear you come,’ he panted out, and Robby groaned, distracted momentarily by the idea of mess, before he felt Dennis pull all the way out, and drop down between his legs again.
‘Fuck,’ Robby cried out as Dennis swallowed him down, his head bobbing mercilessly. ‘Fuck, Dennis, I’ll- I want you-‘ he tried to articulate, feeling his orgasm start to build in his bones, rising steadily. He didn’t want it to end, he didn’t want trade oral and then lie there panting, his jaw aching, and the itch inside him buzzing with want. ‘-inside,’ he choked out, but Dennis just ran a soothing hand over his stomach and nodded around his cock. Then, he pulled his mouth off and stared up at Robby.
‘I’ve got ya,’ he said, a country twang infiltrating his voice. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,’ he repeated, before taking him back into his mouth and sucking hard. Robby’s head slammed back into the pillows and he let it take him. He didn’t try to stop his hips from bucking up or his legs from twitching. He didn’t even try to fight the stave of his orgasm as he felt it swell.
‘I’m so- fuck, Dennis, I’m so close,’ he warned, but Dennis just swallowed around him, took him in deeper, and pressed a mysteriously slick hand back to his entrance, fingers slipping inside him with ease. As Dennis rubbed over his prostate, Robby gasped, his breath cutting off as every muscle seemed to seize at once, a shock of pleasure running through him as he jerked up, half folding himself in two around Dennis’s head. He moaned long and low as he came, so grateful for the way Dennis swallowed and licked, and kept pumping his fingers through it. But then, when Dennis was suddenly gone, Robby heard a grunt escape him and he opened his eyes.
He saw Dennis climbing back up him rapidly, the hand on his shoulder back and forcing him down against the bed again, and Robby felt the press of Dennis’s cock at his hole.
‘Yeah?’ Dennis asked, breathy and hopeful.
‘Yes, fuck, yes,’ Robby gasped, bearing down and groaning as he pushed back inside.
This time, Dennis set a harsher pace, but his eyes never letting Robby’s, even as Robby’s rolled back and squeezed shut, and blinked away the lightheaded haze that threatened to overwhelm him. Dennis used the leverage of his hand at Robby’s shoulder to pull him down to meet each thrust, burying himself to the hilt each time before snapping back and driving in again straightaway.
‘Good?’ Dennis asked again and Robby moaned back, nodding, forgetting words in lieu of the tingling lightness that was creeping up his hands and arms where they weakly held onto Dennis’s arms. ‘More?’ Dennis asked, his voice dropping lower and Robby nodded again.
It punched a shout out of him when Dennis pulled Robby’s leg up, pressed his chest against it, and fucked into him even harder. The air filled with their moans and the sound of each impact.
‘Oh fuck, you’re incredible, you feel- shit, I’m close, Robby,’ Dennis groaned, hanging his head down in between his own shoulders and staring down at where he was entering Robby with deep, punishing thrusts. All he could do was try to catch his breath and stay there, stuck between the hand still gripping his shoulder and the one under his opposite knee, listen to the filth falling from Dennis’s lips, and take it.
It was perfect.
‘You’re so- fuck, Michael, you’re beautiful, made for it,’ Dennis whispered, and Robby felt himself twitch at the words. ‘Shit,’ Dennis whined. ‘You like that?’ he asked quietly and Robby shut his eyes as he nodded, feeling his face burn. ‘Good,’ he panted. ‘Cause I can’t shut my fuckin’ mouth- you’re perfect,’ he mumbled. ‘Look so good, feel- feel incredible, I’m so-‘ Dennis said, then cut himself off with a short cry and screwed his eyes shut.
Robby stared, his mouth hanging open, while Dennis gripped him harder, fucked him faster, dragged him down to meet each thrust more sharply, then stuttered over his pace, pausing after he buried himself inside.
‘Fuck, fuck, oh fuck,’ Dennis mumbled under his breath, then pulled out and slammed back in, punching a grunt from Robby, who could feel himself prickling with overstimulation and too-much, but couldn’t tear his eyes away as Dennis buried himself in deeper than Robby thought possible three more times, each thrust bordering on just the right side of painful.
When Dennis opened his eyes, they were dark and glazed over. He rolled his hips inside Robby again, shuddering as he did, face full of awe and affection, and Robby felt a stinging in his eyes.
‘That was-’ Dennis began, breathless and panting, then frowned. ‘You okay?’
‘I’m good,’ Robby said, nodding and blinking. ‘I’m good.’
‘Sure? I wasn’t too-’
‘No,’ Robby insisted, shaking his head, and wrapping an arm around Dennis’s back. ‘No. You weren’t,’ he whispered, willing away the sting and the tears it heralded. Why was he like this? Couldn’t just have a fucking phenomenal shag without whatever the hell this was, he thought, cursing himself, but Dennis was just rubbing his hands along his ribs gently.
‘I’ve got you,’ Dennis mumbled, and that did it. The floodgates burst and Robby choked through a sob that ripped through his chest.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered, but Dennis just kept holding him and stroking his skin, carding his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t know-‘ he got out through a cluster of sobs, ‘what’s- what’s wrong with me.’
But Dennis, Robby’s patron saint, just hummed and held him.
‘Endorphins,’ Dennis muttered, still a little breathless, but so calm. ‘Massive rush of endorphins, intense feelings of overwhelm, and an already shaky mental state.’ It could have sounded so patronising. It would have if Robby had said it, but from Dennis it was a simple explanation, absolution from any embarrassment, and complete understanding. Another sob wracked through him. ‘I’ve got you,’ Dennis added again, and Robby believed him.
Epilogue
‘Hey, Doctor Whitaker?’
Dennis looked up from the work station, half a protein bar sticking out of his mouth, one hand typing in a patient’s date of birth and the other holding the driving license he’d found in the guy’s pocket, and raised his eyebrows at Emma.
‘Your paeds consult just got here.’
He nodded and garbled out a thanks around his snack bar. The poor little patient was stable, her temperature back to normal, her parents calm, so there was no rush but they needed to check a few things before they discharged. Al-Hashimi had been very keen on that. So, he refocussed on the card in his hand and tapped out a few more details. They could really do with finding the guy’s medical records, wherever they were.
‘You have been a senior resident,’ began a voice behind him, ‘for barely a month, Doctor Whitaker, and you are already keeping consults waiting and getting crumbs all over the workstations.’
Around the bar, Dennis grinned, turning his chair slowly to face the speaker, chewing obnoxiously as he did.
‘Ah! ‘ou ‘an’ ‘ell ‘e off a’y’ore,’ Dennis attempted, and grinned further at the disgusted expression.
Slowly, Doctor Robby leant forward and plucked the bar from Dennis’s mouth.
‘Want to try that again, kid?’
‘Pretty sure I sent for paeds,’ Dennis said. ‘But it looks like they sent geriatrics,’ he continued. Across the hub, he heard a handful of snorts and one quiet ooh.
But, Robby just nodded and smiled wryly.
‘Very nice. Nothing seems to be on fire down here, good job.’
‘Thanks,’ Dennis muttered, then nodded to the computer. ‘Give me thirty seconds,’ he muttered before checking the details and sending off the enquiry. ‘Okay! We’re in South Sixteen. How come they sent you, and not Allens?’
‘Beauty over wisdom,’ Robby replied, waving for Dennis to lead the way. ‘And his actual kid got sick, he had to go home.’
‘Is he still trying to get you into the clown scrubs?’
‘Every day,’ Robby sighed, then tapped the rainbow clip on his stethoscope. ‘But this mostly keeps him off my back.’
Dennis chuckled and pushed open the door to South Sixteen.
‘Hello again! This is Doctor Robinavitch from Paediatrics, but you can call him Doctor Robby. He has a few things to go over with you before we can get you both and little Erika on your way home,’ Dennis said brightly.
Robby smiled warmly, and stepped into the room. Dennis watched him crouch by the side of the bed and hold out his hand to the sceptical four year old sitting in its middle, crosslegged.
‘Good morning, Erika. I’m Doctor Robby,’ he said, shaking her very small and slow moving hand. Then, he nodded to the cartoon wristwatch on her arm. ‘Do you like cats, Erika?’ Dennis grinned and she nodded eagerly. ‘I love them,’ he sighed. ‘You know, I’ve got three,’ Robby continued, earnestly.
On pure reflex, Dennis cleared his throat.
‘Two and a half,’ he muttered and Robby rolled his eyes at the parents sitting on the other side of the bed.
‘Alright. One’s sort of part-time,’ Robby admitted. ‘They’re all wild at heart. Anyway, Erika, tell me what you understand about what brought you here today.’
Later, standing in the corridor with Erika’s parents, Dennis listened to Robby walk them through the medication once again, answer the same question that he’d already been asked twice, again, and even addressed a common misconception with the words I can see why you’d think that.
It wasn’t often that Dennis got to see Robby work, not for a few years now, but he loved every opportunity he got. The few times they’d crossed paths during Robby’s year in the ICU had been high pressure but gave Dennis back that flash of pride from watching the man command a room, save a life, and teach a skill all at the same time. The one time that there had been a mass casualty incident while Robby was working the next floor up, Dennis had felt instantly relieved to see him walk through the doors, already gloving up, completely ignoring the worried internal medicine intern trailing behind him.
But, his favourite times had been the last few. Watching the man he loved settle into the only specialism since emergency medicine that didn’t bore him, depress him, or burn him out––or, at least, not more than any job in the sector would––had been a privilege. Dennis had always known there was a soft side to Robby, even when he was at his worst, snapping at his own employees in the Pitt like a cornered animal, but paeds had really brought it out of him, even if Allens still hadn’t persuaded him to wear the comic-book scrubs.
With Erika and her family heading out, Dennis walked Robby back to the elevator.
‘So, other than a really annoying consult that dragged you all the way down here,’ Dennis began. ‘Good morning?’
‘Not bad,’ Robby said, and Dennis nodded. ‘You?’
‘Had worse,’ Dennis replied, and Robby grinned.
Neither of them ever jinxed it or looked a good day in the mouth, but they both knew what the other looked like when they had one of those days, the days where you just keep losing, where you lost the ones you shouldn’t have, where not losing them is sometimes worse than letting them go. It wasn’t one of those days.
Dennis pressed the button to call the lift and glanced around before squeezing Robby’s shoulder and leaning in closer to press a kiss to his cheek.
‘Come by before you leave? I might be ready to go.’
‘You haven’t left a shift on time since you got here,’ Robby said, raising one eyebrow.
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Dennis replied. ‘Maybe third year’s the charm.’
‘Sure, kid,’ Robby chuckled, stepping through the sliding doors. ‘Whatever you say.’
‘See you later, old man,’ Dennis called and then whipped his head around as he heard a familiar sound.
At the corner of the hall, Trinity was standing, retching loudly.
‘Very funny,’ Dennis muttered.
‘Get a room, losers.’
‘I hate you.’
‘No, you don’t.’
‘How’s Yolanda?’
‘Eat shit and die.’
Dennis snorted and shook his head. The two had been seeing each other for over a year now, but they were still cagey as anything at work. He hadn’t worked out if that was coming from one or both, but he’d forgive whoever it was. In the four years he had known Santos, she’d never looked to happy, so at peace, and so herself. As for Garcia, well, she’d almost stopped bickering with Langdon whenever they were on shift together, on Al-Hashimi, Shen, or Abbot’s rare days off, which probably meant something good for her too.
‘Whitaker!’
He turned to the hub and saw Dana, a phone clasped between her shoulder and ear, and a tablet in hand, waving at him.
‘Trauma One, four minutes, cyclist versus taxi. Shen wants you to run point.’
‘Thanks, Dana,’ Dennis called back, before swinging past the workstation that he had been disgracing and shoving the rest of the protein bar into his mouth.
‘Have fun, Huck,’ Santos said as she swung in front of the computer and brushed crumbs off the desk. ‘Were you born in a barn?’ she added.
Dennis waved an arm behind him and grinned.
‘You know I was,’ he called back. ‘All the best people are.’