Chapter Text
Dennis was gradually getting used to the silence of his half-empty apartment. Of course, it was nowhere near as luxurious as Robby’s place, which he had respectfully handed back to its rightful owner after his vacation, but the thought of having his own corner hadn’t left him since. Living there had only deepened his thirst for independence, so Whitaker had used his savings to rent a flat in a cheap neighborhood. Yes, the hospital was much further away now — he had to wake up an hour earlier and endure an hour-long bus ride — but it was worth it.
Trinity, though she didn't show it openly, was clearly stung by his move. She told Dennis to his face that she was only glad to be rid of him and that he could get lost for all she cared. Whitaker was genuinely grateful to her for taking him in and for everything else, but he couldn't live with her forever.
The evening turned out to be damp and chilly, and the corridor of the cheap apartment building greeted Dennis with the dim, flickering light of a fluorescent bulb and the stale smell of old carpeting. The elevator here only worked half the time, and the soundproofing left much to be desired. But on the bright side, this was exclusively his territory — not a ward on an out-of-service floor of the hospital, but a legitimate home.
Dennis dragged himself up the stairs, his legs humming after a grueling shift. Over the past month, ever since Robby had returned and taken the reins of the department back into his own hands, life had settled into its usual, albeit insane, groove.
Whitaker paused in front of his door, jingling his keys as he tried to find the right one. At that exact moment, the lock on the apartment door across the hall clicked loudly, and the door swung open with a nasty creak.
Frank Langdon stood on the threshold.
He was holding a trash bag, dressed in a pair of simple, slightly wrinkled sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. Over the four months they had been working together again since Frank's return from rehab, Dennis had gotten used to his new, quieter, and more subdued demeanor. But seeing him here felt entirely different.
Hearing the noise on the landing, Frank's head snapped up. He froze, staring at Dennis, clearly uncomfortable. It was one thing to endure Robby's icy tone and Trinity's passive aggression at the hospital, where Frank was trying his hardest to prove he had changed. It was quite another to be caught off guard in this overtly crappy neighborhood by the very man who had taken his place as the boss's favorite.
Langdon slowly straightened up, swallowing the lump in his throat. Out of habit, he tried to flash his signature charismatic half-smile to hide his dismay, but given his exhaustion after the shift and the heavy toll of his divorce, it came out crooked and somehow broken.
"Whitaker?.." he rasped, breaking the silence of the hallway as he awkwardly shifted the trash bag to his other hand.
He flicked his gaze from Dennis's face to the keys in his hands, then to the door he was trying to open, and back again.
"Don't tell me you... live here too?"
Frank shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. Despite the shame of his current situation, somewhere deep in his eyes, beneath the layer of awkwardness, hid a sense of relief that he wasn't alone in this depressing place. And that this neighbor turned out to be Dennis — the only person, save for Mel and perhaps Mackay, who had started looking at him without outright contempt over the past few months.
"Just for a couple of days... I literally just moved in. What about you?.." Dennis caught himself just in time, biting his tongue and grimacing slightly.
He almost asked what Frank was doing here, in this godforsaken neighborhood, in an obviously cheap and empty apartment just like his own. Why wasn't he at his place? Dennis had never been there, but he had always pictured it as large, spacious, and cozy. A real family nest, perfect for a married couple with two kids.
But the tactless question lost its meaning the moment it reached the tip of his tongue. If Frank was here, it meant the worst had happened. It probably had something to do with Abby... Who was he kidding, it was obviously because of Abby.
A memory surfaced of a conversation where Trinity had casually mentioned that on his very first day back from rehab, Frank had accidentally let it slip during an argument with her that his wife wanted a divorce. But that was a whole four months ago. Without realizing it, Dennis had assumed they still had a chance to patch things up. Now, however, looking at the rumpled Langdon on the landing of this wretched building, it was crystal clear: no miracle had occurred, and things had only gotten worse.
Frank noticed Dennis falter. He was observant enough to read the younger colleague's entire thought process right in his eyes. In another time, in his past life, Langdon might have been offended by the pity. But now, he felt nothing but a strange gratitude that Whitaker hadn't voiced what was already hanging in the air.
The man let out a heavy sigh, and the remnants of his strained smile melted away. He leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, as if there were no longer any point in hiding his state.
"You don't have to finish that, Whitaker. I get it," Frank chuckled bitterly, dropping his gaze before bringing it back to Dennis. "Abby decided it would be better for her and the kids if I... vacated the premises. So now I'm discovering the joys of budget housing."
He fell silent for a moment, closely studying Dennis's face. In the dim, flickering light of the hallway bulb, Frank suddenly caught himself thinking that Whitaker, despite his obvious exhaustion from the shift, looked somehow disarmingly soft. There was none of the judgment in his eyes that Langdon had grown so used to over the past months. Frank blinked rapidly, chasing away the sudden observation, and cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to a lighter tone.
"What about you?" Frank tilted his head slightly, grasping at the chance to change the subject from his own disaster. "Decided you'd had enough of Santos's hospitality? I can't blame you. She can be... well, let's just say, intense."
Langdon switched the trash bag to his other hand, feeling foolish but for some reason in no hurry to head for the trash chute. Standing here, in this dingy corridor, talking to Dennis without the usual hospital rush, felt unexpectedly peaceful.
"Happy housewarming, by the way," he added a bit more quietly, and this time, a genuine, albeit slightly timid, smile flickered at the corners of his lips.
A slightly nervous chuckle escaped Dennis's chest. Even after four months, their small talk with Langdon was still steeped in a thick awkwardness. And now, in the dim light of the hallway, with the sudden revelation that they were neighbors, that tension transformed into something entirely new, taking on an even stranger and more absurd flavor.
Dennis had never considered himself overly closed off, but he wasn't accustomed to blabbing about his personal life left and right either. Still, just standing there in silence, exchanging glances under the hum of a faulty lightbulb, would be even stupider.
"Something like that," Whitaker finally drawled with restraint.
He jingled his keyring, shifting the keys to his other hand, still eyeing this unusually "domestic" Frank with mild surprise.
Langdon caught that attentive, slightly surprised gaze as Dennis swept his eyes over his faded t-shirt and messy hair. He instinctively ran his free hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down a bit, and suddenly caught himself thinking that he desperately wanted to look... better in Dennis's eyes. Not like a broken loser who'd been kicked out of his house, but like the Frank that Whitaker used to know.
But there was nowhere to hide, and truthfully, he had no strength left for it anyway.
"I get it," Frank replied softly, deciding not to push. He knew perfectly well that Dennis wasn't the type to spill his guts to the first person he met in a hallway.
There was something strangely intimate about the lingering pause. The corridor with its peeling walls felt cut off from the rest of the world. Langdon looked down at the trash bag in his hand, as if just remembering why he had left his den in the first place.
"Alright," he coughed awkwardly, breaking the prolonged eye contact that had started to stir a strange, tickling flutter somewhere in his chest. Frank immediately suppressed the feeling out of habit, chalking it all up to exhaustion and stress. "I'm gonna go... get rid of this, and you go get some rest. That shift was hell."
He took a step toward the trash chute at the end of the hall, but after a few yards, he suddenly stopped and turned around.
"Listen, Whitaker..." Frank stumbled. "If you ever find out your outlet doesn't work, or... I don't know, you need a corkscrew or some salt — just knock. I'm no handyman, obviously, but hey, I'm always around now."
He gave another brief, slightly crooked smile, turned on his heel, and strode down the corridor, leaving Dennis standing by the open door of his new apartment.
"Ah... okay," Dennis replied, blinking his large eyes in confusion. "Thanks!" he added louder, finally slipping into the apartment and shutting the door behind him.
To be completely honest, it was Frank who was more likely to need help around the house. Dennis was completely unpretentious and great at handling domestic chores. Even during the four months he'd looked after Robby's apartment, Whitaker had managed to fix a couple of squeaky nightstands, reinforce the shelves, and replace all the burnt-out lightbulbs. And yet, the mere thought of Frank's awkward offer of help spread a warm wave through his chest.
The realization that his colleague was now also his next-door neighbor was slowly but surely settling in his mind. Of course, after Trinity, he was used to seeing people from work in casual settings. But living under the same roof as Trinity was one thing, and ending up in the same dingy hallway with Langdon was another entirely. It felt completely different.
With those thoughts, Dennis trudged to the shower to wash off the heavy grime of the exhausting shift, and then tried to throw together something edible from the meager supplies in his cramped kitchen's fridge. His phone was silent; Trinity barely texted him, still pouting over his move, but the quiet didn't depress Dennis in the slightest. Besides, frankly speaking, with these cardboard walls that let through every neighbor's rustle, there wasn't a hint of real silence in the apartment anyway.
Back in his own apartment, Frank shut the door, leaned the back of his head against it, and let out a heavy exhale. His new home welcomed him with unpacked cardboard boxes in the corner and the lingering scent of previous tenants. It was a far cry from the cozy, spacious house in the suburbs where Abby and the kids had stayed behind.
Suddenly, the old pipes in the wall let out a dull rumble as Dennis turned on the shower, making Langdon flinch. The walls here really were practically paper-thin. He could hear the muffled sound of running water, the creak of floorboards, and later, the clinking of dishes in the kitchen. Frank walked into his cramped kitchenette, grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge, and sat down at the empty table, listening to the sounds.
For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel absolutely alone. And that only made it more terrifying. Listening to Dennis bustling about on the other side of the wall, Frank suddenly caught himself trying to picture what Whitaker looked like right now, how the drops of water were rolling down his tired shoulders... Langdon squeezed his eyes shut and took a long swig of cold beer, as if trying to wash the thoughts away. He had spent years building the image of the perfect employee, husband, and father, only for it all to crumble to dust in a single year. And the fact that now, at rock bottom, his only anchor was suddenly becoming Dennis, scared the living hell out of him.