Chapter Text
The bar was packed, a vibrant mass of Pitt medical staff releasing a year's worth of stress, tragedies, and small victories. The music blared, laughter echoed off the walls, and the air smelled of spilled beer and hope. In a corner by the bar, Dennis clutched his beer like a lifeline.
Trinity was beside him, gossiping with Garcia and other interns. But Dennis's attention wasn't on them. It was fixed across the room, where Michael Robinavitch, impeccable even with his shirt collar unbuttoned, was talking with Dr. Heather. Robby seemed to be in his element, the respected attending, but Dennis, who had known him better than anyone, saw the tension in his jaw, the way his smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
Their eyes met through the smoke and the heads of the crowd. It was an electric instant, a clash of twelve months of silence and a Christmas Eve phone call that still echoed. Robby tilted his head slightly, an almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgment and, was it possible, of apology. Dennis looked away, his heart pounding in his ribs.
"Looks like someone's seen a ghost," Trinity murmured beside him, following his gaze.
"Something like that," Dennis replied, taking a long swig of his beer.
The minutes ticked by, dragging toward midnight. The crowd began to press forward, the countdown projected on a screen. Dennis felt a touch on his arm. He turned, and there was Robby, so close he could smell his cologne, one that was painfully familiar.
"Dennis," Robby said, his voice barely a whisper above the din. "Can we talk?, just a minute."
Dennis looked at him, seeing the vulnerability he no longer bothered to hide. He nodded, serious, and followed him down a quieter corridor that led to the restrooms, away from the epicenter of the party.
The music faded. The noise was a distant murmur.
"I'm sorry" Robby began, without preamble, his eyes searching Dennis's with desperate urgency. "I'm sorry for everything. For breaking up, for the calls I didn't answer, for... for being so scared I lost you."
"You already told me that on the phone," Dennis said, crossing his arms. A defensive gesture.
"I need to tell you to your face. I need you to see I mean it." Robby ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of frustration Dennis remembered well. "You're right. What we had became a spy operation. And I was the agent who kept the most secret. But I don't want to hide anymore, Denn. At least, not from you."
From the main room, a voice roared through the loudspeakers. "TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"
The crowd roared in unison. The count had begun.
Dennis watched him, studying every line of his face, every hint of sincerity. He saw the arrogant, scared man who had left him, but he also saw the man who made him coffee every morning. Robby's echo of "I miss you" resonated louder than any shout from the crowd.
"SEVEN! SIX! FIVE!"
"And the hospital?, your reputation?" Dennis asked, his voice trembling.
"Fuck them," Robby whispered, and for the first time, he truly smiled, a crooked, relieved smile. "I'd rather have trouble with you than a perfect career without you."
"FOUR! THREE! TWO!"
Dennis dropped his arms. The barrier shattered. In Robby's eyes, there was no trace of Dr. Robinavitch, only Michael, scared, awaiting his verdict.
"ONE!...
HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
The explosion of sound was monumental. Confetti, shouts, hugs, the popping of corks. The whole world seemed to explode in a cacophony of joy.
In the dimly lit hallway, oblivious to the celebration, Dennis stepped forward. He cupped Robby's face in his hands, cold from holding the beer bottle.
"Don't do this to me again, Robby. I wouldn't survive," Dennis said, his voice a husky whisper, heavy with warning and a plea.
"Never," Robby promised, his breath forming a warm cloud in the chilly hallway air.
And then, while the rest of the world celebrated a new beginning, they found their own. Dennis closed the distance and kissed Robby.
It wasn't a furtive or hurried kiss. It was slow, deep, filled with the anguish of a lost year and the fragile, fearful hope of all those yet to come. It tasted of beer, forgiveness, and home.
When they finally separated, panting, confetti began to seep into their hiding place like colored snow. From the living room, Trinity, who had been watching them out of the corner of her eye, winked and gave them a thumbs-up, a wide, approving smile on her face.
Dennis smiled, a genuine, light smile he hadn't allowed himself in a long time, and intertwined his fingers with Robby's.
"Happy New Year, Michael."
"Happy New Year, Dennis," Robby replied, squeezing his hand. "Here's to many more."
And for the first time in all this time, they both believed it was possible.
Hold on to the memories
They will hold on to you
And I will hold on to you — New year's day by Taylor Swift