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Dennis Whitaker wakes to drenched sheets on a sweltering late-June morning. His plaid bedding on the narrow twin is damp, the tips of his hair curling against his neck, and for a moment his eyes dart around the room. He blinks through the exhaustion and stares at the ceiling. The eggshell walls, chipped paint, crookedly hung paintings—they’re a welcome relief. He can finally breathe once he realizes he didn’t wake up in that tiny attic room with exposed beams back in Broken Bow.
He should have known. The constant hum of traffic, the distant wail of sirens—so unlike the soundtrack of his childhood. He swings his legs off the bed and sniffs his armpit. Yeah, he definitely needs to shower.
Exiting his room, he sees Trinity standing in their little, yellow kitchen brewing coffee.
“So Huckleberry,” she begins, “I think the AC is broken.”
“Yeah, I gathered,” he replies blankly, still half-asleep. He wipes the sweat from his brow.
“Think you can fix it, or should I call the Sup?” Trinity asks, cheekily.
“Why would I know how to fix an AC?” Dennis asks. He’s never quite sure whether Trinity is joking or not, even after all these months of living together.
“Well, you’re a farm kid. You can catch rats, fix leaky pipes, make your own apple butter. You know things.” She shrugs.
“My family didn’t even own an AC unit,” he offers. It's true. He remembers the heatwave they had back in 08’, how his older brothers begged their parents to get an AC unit, they even offered to chip in to buy a small window unit for the living room.
“We don’t need it.” Their father had simply said. And that was that. Dennis remembered the sermons about living simply, about how good Christians were meant to endure and be thankful rather than chase comfort.
“Brutal,” Trinity says, in reply. “Yeah, I’m calling the landlord. And I swear to god, if that fucker doesn’t reply in the next few hours, I’m reporting his ass to the city.”
Trinity often complains about the landlord, the leaky pipes, the perpetually weak water pressure. Dennis, though, likes their apartment. The silly art Trinity hangs, the mismatched dishware, the tiny TV where they watch Grey’s Anatomy reruns together—maybe he just likes living with Trinity.
Everyone needs a mean lesbian in their life. Not that Trinity was actually mean—anyone who’d take in a near-stranger like him was undeserving of that title. She never made him feel bad about being unhoused, never sprung that embarrassing sense of pity on him, like his other friends had done before when they found out about his living arrangements.
She simply just gave him a room. And he’s been here since. He's able to help out with the rent and grocery bill now, not that Trinity even charges him much. He's no longer a lowly, unpaid intern. Just last week, Dennis Whitaker officially started his residency at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center’s ED. It had been his first choice—and he was thrilled, still a little surprised he’d made the cut
Trinity had joked when he was applying, “You’ll match 100%, how would Dr. Robby ever survive without his golden boy at his beck and call. I'm sure his recommendation letter will get you in.”
Dennis had blushed at that. Ignored her words. It wasn’t really true. Dr. Michael Robinavitch was nice to everyone— well everyone who deserved it. He was a patient mentor, a good attending, the best Dennis had during his internship in fact.
Dennis pours a generous serving of coffee into his travel mug. Day shift today. Trinity is on too, despite her determined attempts to get more night shifts in order to see a certain Dr. Garcia. Not that she would admit it.
“We’ll head out in fifteen?” She asks.
He nods in agreement, “Yeah, I’ll just shower quickly.”
Trinity wrinkles her nose, “Please do.”
X
Coffee in hand, Dennis steps out of Trinity’s car on a warm June morning. By the time he reaches the hospital, the city hum has already seeped into his bones. Walking into the Pitt stops him in his tracks for a second: the rush of people, the constant beep of monitors, the perpetually crying child, the fluorescent lights. It’s only for a second. Then he’s wading into the shit, checking charts, trying to be useful. It’s always busy on Fridays. It’s actually always busy—period.
Dr. Robby is on today too. Their shifts tend to overlap.
“Let’s go people, we may be woefully understaffed, overworked, and underpaid but we can’t let the patients know that,” Robby addresses the team at 7 a.m. sharp.
He must be in a good mood. He doesn’t even reprimand Javadi for eating a donut behind the nurses station.
Dennis is walking towards triage, where he’s been assigned with Mohan, but he feels that familiar touch at the back of his neck.
“Walk with me, Whitaker” Robby mutters, with his hand still firmly clasping Dennis’s back. Despite the frequency of Dr. Robinavitch’s casual touches, it still makes Dennis’ a little weak in the knees every time it happens.
At least he doesn’t blush, a small mercy. Trinity had joked once, “It’s like your his own personal Malibu Ken doll— no, his stress ball!” She cackled at her own joke.
Trinity, of course, had asked him, when she first noticed the touching, “Are you comfortable with that? You can tell him to stop.”
Dennis reassured her that he is fine. He did not admit that he kind of likes the touches.
“Well,” Trinity said, unusually serious, “if that changes let me know. I’ll go to HR with you.”
Despite all her crass jokes and teasing, Trinity is a good friend. One of his few friends. He’s thankful for her coming into his life, despite her propensity for evil plots and the fact she never cleans her hair out of the shower drain.
Dr. Robby is probably telling him something important, but Dennis can’t concentrate. He’s distracted by the smell of Robby’s aftershave—it’s always strongest at the beginning of the shift.
“I need a FAST exam, stat. If that’s positive, we’re not waiting on CT. Can you handle that?”
“Yes, of course… sir— I mean, Dr. Robby,” Dennis says. Words fumbling around in his mouth, trying to find purchase.
Robby just raises an eyebrow, “Okay, Whitaker. I pulled you off triage. I’m leaving Johnson to that.” Robby just grimaces.
Dennis almost feels bad for Johnson, another first year resident, who Robby notoriously dislikes. The key word being almost. All sympathy for the man went out the window when he saw the way he treated a patient they had last week, waving off her pain, calling it anxiety, and moving on before the labs were even back. Johnson had sneered in that WASPY condescending way of his and suggested she try losing weight— maybe it would help the back pain. Turns out it was an Aortic Dissection. Another hour and she would have been dead.
Johnson’s dad is apparently a big donor at PTMC.
Robby shakes his head, hand trailing Dennis’s low back every so lightly.
“Get me immediately if the results are positive,” Robby reiterates. Then he walks away.
Dennis Whitaker hates himself a little. Knows it’s dumb, more than stupid, this little crush on senior attending Michael Robinavitch. He blames it on the daddy issues. Trinity told him you can blame a lot of things on daddy issues. He’s inclined to agree.
X
They are a few hours into their shift. Trinity passes him the bag of chips, barbecue, of course. He snagged them two sandwiches from the cart. They're eating at the nurses station. Dana chastises them about crumbs but mostly just smiles and asks them about their weekend plans. This Saturday is the first weekend day they’ve both had off in awhile. Dana’s taken to calling them Frick and Frack ever since the other staff found out their roommates. They’re now the resident Odd Couple. Perlah and Princess were gossiping about them quite loudly one day, speculating whether they were more than roommates, until Trinity swiftly informed them that Dennis was not her type.
“He’s too mopey, like he always looks like a sad little mouse. Also… he lacks tits.”
He wishes he was open like her, like it wasn’t a big deal. It isn’t, it shouldn’t be, but Dennis figures he’s a creature of habit. He’s grown accustomed to hiding.
Only Santos and Jesse know. Santos and him were talking about their childhood crushes, their sexual awakenings a few weeks after he moved in. They were getting pretty close by that point.
Huddled on their second hand couch they picked up off the curb, the pair were watching House. Their medical show of the month. They’d discuss the medical inaccuracies, how they wish they could talk to their patients like Dr Gregory House sometimes, and 2000s nostalgia.
“Olivia Wilde as Thirteen is so hot, I’m sorry. I was obsessed, I’m like ten watching the show with my parents and my god. Pretty good queer representation for the time, might I add.”
Dennis chuckles.
“Who was yours?” Trinity asks.
“My sexual awakening? Kovu from The Lion King II.” Dennis says without hesitation.
Trinity screeches, “You fucking freak.” She’s laughing. Then she stops.
“Uhh,” Trinity begins awkwardly, “You’re a part of the Alphabet Mafia, Huckleberry? Wait, oh my god, I hate that I phrased it that way. Oof cringe. But wait, like you don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to…” She eyes him warily. Like she’s treading on thin ice. It’s weird to see Santos being careful with her words.
“Uhh, yeah. Gay.” Dennis says, suddenly very interested in Season 4, Episode 7 of House M.D.
Trinity just clasped him on the back, “I knew there was a reason I liked you Whitaker.”
Jesse only figured out by chance, Dennis thinks back. In the locker room, as he was about to turn off his phone, a Grindr notification went off. Only Jesse was in there at the time and he immediately recognized the sound. Whitaker scrambled to turn off his phone.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
Jesse just smiled and closed his locker, “No problem Whitaker.”
So, no one else at Pitt seems to know that Dennis Whitaker is gay. It’s not like he’s ashamed or anything, Dennis thinks to himself. He’d answer truthfully if someone asked him point blank. It’s just… no one’s asked.
It only took Trinity a week after he came out to figure out he was crushing on Dr. Robby.
Dennis was following him around the ER, like a lost puppy, Trinity remarked. A disorientated patient bumped hard into Dennis causing him to almost faceplant onto the cold concrete. Robby caught him, like he weighed nothing, and said in his low, grumbly voice, “Be careful, Whitaker. We can’t afford to lose you to a nasty concussion today.”
Once Whitaker was on his feet, Robby immediately moved to assist the nurses with the patient. Dennis’s face burned cherry red. Luckily, Robby was too busy to notice.
Santos saw the whole thing. As soon as they were home, she pulled him into the living room.
“So,” she began, “you’re into toxic old man yaoi?” Trinity said.
“He’s not that old,” Dennis heard himself say.
“Oh my god, you’re down so bad, dude.” She laughed. “I totally get it now, you like manhandling.”
“It’s not manhandling,” Dennis said, “He’s just… personable.”
“He’s never grabbed me like that.” Trinity narrowed her eyes.
“I think you’d deck him if he did,” Dennis answered.
“Maybe,” she said, “but I haven’t seen him grab any other resident or intern like that in fact.”
Dennis remained quiet. He could not afford the luxury of impossible fantasies. He might like Robby, sure. However, Robby was seemingly straight. Moreover, his senior attending. Also, why'd Robby ever choose him?
Dennis had experience, sure. Even repressed kids from Nebraska can find someone if you look hard enough— but it was always quick hook-ups in dark bathrooms or situationships of convenience in the dorms. He was painfully aware he was never anyone’s first choice, he wasn't someone easy to love in the light of day.
Santos squirts more mustard onto her sandwich. Dennis is brought back into the present by Robby’s firm voice, “Let’s not eat in front of the patients, folks. Go to the breakroom if you need.”
His eyes narrow at Trinity and Santos and their barbecue chip dusted fingertips near the charts. He sighs and brings fingers to his greying temples.
“Santos, go consult with Dr. McKay on a case. Whitaker, follow me.”
And Whitaker follows. He tries to match Robby’s pace but the height difference leaves Dennis at a bit of a disadvantage. On their way toward the elevator, Robby stops to observe Langdon. Robby’s been… suspicious ever since his return from a sabbatical. Dennis doesn’t like Frank much, after he found out how he treated Santos on that god-awful day, but he feels bad for the guy. For those eyes constantly searching for approval. Dennis recognizes that look.
“We’re dry on flushes. Go check ICU—they always hoard.” Robby explains.
“Uhh, why me? Dr. Robby? Not that I don’t mind or anything, I’m not questioning you.. I’m just curious and—”
Robby cuts off the painful rambling and smiles, “Their charge nurse Linda likes you ever since you gave her advice on how to take care of her sick pig. You’re the only one she won’t yell at.”
One of the few perks of being a farm kid, Dennis thinks. Robby’s hand brushes his arm as they step into the elevator. Robby pushes the button for floors 3 and 4.
“Meeting with admin,” he explains.
“Good luck,” Dennis offers.
Robby sighs, and digs his hands into his pockets before rocking back of his feet, “Same old shit as always.”
Then the elevator shakes. Dennis holds onto the handrails as the elevator comes to an abrupt stop. The lights flicker and eventually turn off, leaving only the emergency backlighting.
Robby looks at the panel, adjusting the reading glasses on his face, “Shit. I think it’s the sensor.” He immediately presses the call button.
“Did it—” Whitaker begins.
“Hold on.” Robby says.
“We’re between levels 2 and 3.” He states. “It’s probably a faulty sensor. Maintenance can reset it.”
“Oh,” Dennis breathes deeply, “okay.”
Dennis swallows. Except it’s not okay. He isn’t afraid of rodents, spiders, or even tornados—but small spaces? Those make him freeze. The elevator hums around him. The air feels thick. Sweat beads at his hairline, drips down the back of his neck.
Robby doesn’t say anything. He just stands a few inches away, eyes steady on Dennis. The silence is… unnerving. Dennis keeps his hands folded in front of him, counts the ceiling tiles, and tells himself it’s fine. The elevator doesn’t care. Nobody would notice if he panicked.
Then Robby’s hands settle on his shoulders—large, warm, grounding.
“It’s okay, Whitaker. We’re fine,” Robby says. His voice is low, measured. “Let’s take a few deep breaths together.”
Dennis freezes for half a second, stunned. He’s been seen. It’s embarrassing. His palms are clammy, his chest tight. He feels like he can't breathe.
“Feet on the floor. Hands on your knees,” Robby instructs. The firm voice, the pressure of his hands, the slow cadence—Dennis focuses on that, lets it anchor him.
He inhales. Exhales. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, the panic starts to loosen its grip. The elevator hums on. Ordinary again.
Robby’s hands slide gently down his back. “You’re safe. Just breathe.” It's a command.
Robby keeps talking to him. Dennis can’t follow every word. He doesn’t need to. The voice, the touch, the unwavering gaze—it’s enough. For the first time in minutes, he feels like he can finally surface, like he’s allowed to breathe.
Eventually, Dennis feels like he won’t puke. Head still down, he stares at his white sneakers and centers himself. A little jittery, hands trembling, Dennis finally looks up at Robby.
His eyes water a little, “I’m sorry…. I’m, I’m not usually uhh like this. I just— don’t like feeling trapped in spaces like this.”
Robby just continues to stare. He doesn’t make any movements, doesn’t step away from the half embrace he has Whitaker in at this point.
“Are you okay?” He simply asks.
Dennis nods and breathes out shakily. “Again, I’m sorry. This is literally so embarrassing. I just—”
“It’s not. You don’t have to say sorry, either. You’d do the same for me.” His eyes are boring a hole in Dennis. Pittfest lingers over their heads. The Peds room. Dennis never said a word to anyone, not even Trinity. He wouldn’t betray Robby’s confidence like that.
What a shift? He supposes it all bonded them in a way. Still, sometimes Whitaker closes his eyes and all he can see is the Pitt filled with bodies and bodies and bodies.
“Will you be okay? Maintenance is really short-handed right now, I’m assuming that’s why they haven’t gotten us out yet. It might be another twenty minutes,” he says, checking his wristwatch. Dennis’s phone is in his locker. Robby must have left his in his office.
“Yeah, talking… like this helps. A distraction.” Dennis says, wringing his hands together. He slinks against the wall and sits cross legged on the ground.
Robby follows, easing himself to the floor, careful for the sake of his “old knees” as he’s joked before.
“It’s kind of funny, I wasn’t claustrophobic as a kid. It started after—” Dennis trails off.
Robby tips his head toward Dennis, eyes urging him to continue, if he wants to.
Dennis looks up at the ceiling, “My parents, my dad, really, sent me to this camp. For a whole summer, when I was sixteen, and the counselors there… had a contemplation room. Sometimes if you did something or said something or looked at them wrong, they’d lock you in there. This 3 x 2 feet room and you were supposed to pray. If you were bad enough, they’d leave you in there overnight.”
Robby’s hands ball up in fists. Dennis wants to stop the word vomit, to shut the fuck up and stop oversharing with his much older boss he totally isn’t infatuated with. Except, there’s something about Robby that does make Dennis feel safe. Makes him feel like Robby would understand.
“I guess it’s like I’m back in that room still,” he finishes.
The attending let a pause hang, nodding once. “Thanks for telling me that,” he said softly. “That should have never happened to you. I can’t imagine what that was like—but you’re okay now.” Dennis exhales, the tension melting from his shoulders.
“You handled this well, Whitaker,” Robby continues.
Dennis peers up, “Thank you sir— I mean, Dr. Robby.”
Robby exhales carefully, letting his gaze linger a moment longer than necessary, just enough for Dennis to feel it, an unspoken attention that didn’t feel 100% professional. Or at least he hopes.
“I’m not sir at work.” He says. Dennis, mortified, wants to turn away. Robby swallows dryly, “Here it’s Dr. Robby.” Dennis should be worried about the firm tone, except it creeps into his bones and settles there. The fact he likes when Dr. Robby is commanding, firm with him. Cue daddy issues again.
Dennis leans closer, chest loosening more, tension melting from his shoulders. The elevator hums on, and the attending leans slightly closer too, begrudgingly, almost as if it’s against his better judgement. Almost as if Dennis's skin will burn him.
Then, they are broken from this reverie. The elevator begins to move and they finally reach the third floor. Maintenance is waiting outside for them along with Gloria “Doctor Problem” as well, clearly waiting for the delayed Robby.
“Sorry about that. The sensor got tripped, then it was a bitch to reset…” the maintenance worker says to the pair of doctors.
“It’s alright.” Robby says, “Thanks for getting us out.”
“Yes, thank you.” Dennis adds lamely.
Robby turns to Dennis, “Remember—flushes. ICU.”
Gloria scowls. She's clearly aware the senior attending is instructing a resident to go steal from another department, but she says nothing.
Robby leans in closer. “Take a breather after, if you need. I’ll check in with you later, Dennis,” he says.
Robby walks away and Dennis is left standing awkwardly with the maintenance worker who quickly shuffles into the elevator.
It’s standing alone in the hallway that Dennis realizes two things. The first being that was the first time Dr. Robby ever called him by his first name. The second thing is that he’s really, really fucked.
X
The shift flies by. Car accident. A near drowning. Asthma attack. No fatalities. A good shift.
Trinity heard about the elevator getting stuck. Everyone in the Pitt, apparently did. He’s heard jokes and jabs all day. It’s as their walking toward Trinity’s car in the parking garage that she remarks, obnoxiously, “It’s like a fucking fanfic. Seriously, stuck in the elevator with Doctor Daddy for hours.”
“It was like thirty-five minutes.” He replies.
“Still,” she mutters, eyes twinkling with mischief and shit-starting ambitions, “did you have to start stripping because it got too hot?”
Whitaker stutters and Trinity laughs at her own joke. They’re almost at her beat-up Subaru when she checks her pockets.
“Fuck. I totally left my keys in my locker.” She sighs. “Give me a minute.” Trinity turns around and jogs back toward the door on the other side of the garage.
Dennis is standing by the passenger side door, scrolling aimlessly on his phone, when he feels a hand touch his arm. He almost jerks away until he realizes who the hand belongs to.
“Hey, Whitaker. I missed you early. It was busy non-stop… as always. How are you feeling?” Robby says.
“Oh…. I’m fine. Really. Thank you for earlier, Dr. Robby” Dennis replies.
“It's completely fine. No thank you needed....". Dennis is staring at his lips, wondering if they're as chapped as they look. Not that he'd care in the slightest.
Robby continues, "By the way, we're off shift. You can call me Robby, or whatever you prefer.” The attending’s “or whatever you prefer” lingers. Sir.
Dennis’s breath hitches. He must be misreading this situation. Except when he leans back against the car, Robby leans forward, arms resting against the roof of the car, caging Dennis.
It feels like… maybe something is going to happen.
Except Trinity returns. Dennis hears her before he sees her.
“Found em’!” She yells from across the near empty garage. Robby removes his arms from the roof and steps away from Whitaker. But not before leaning in close, close enough, Dennis wonders whether he’ll finally get to experience what his beard feels like brushing against his cheek, and whispers, “See you Sunday, kid.”
“Yes, sir.” Dennis replies, almost instinctively.
If most people looked at Dennis at this moment. They’d think he’s nervous, scared maybe. He’s excited. Robby must see that. Dennis just hopes his hard-on isn't visible. It's like he's a horny, awkward teenager again.
As Trinity comes into view, Dr. Robby says, “Good work today, Santos.”
Then he walks away, back to his bike parked a few spots over. They watch as Robby shoves the helmet on and zips off down the ramp.
Trinity eyes Dennis, “What was that about?”
“He was just checking on me after the elevator thing— I’m a little claustrophobic.”
“Oh,” she says, “I didn’t know that about you, Huckleberry.”
Dennis shrugs.
They bicker about what they should eat for dinner. Trinity wants Shrimp Scampi. Dennis would prefer Chicken Alfredo. They’ll end up eating Shrimp Scampi even though Dennis does the vast majority of cooking in their apartment.
Trinity doesn’t know about The New Horizons Camp for Troubled Youth. He doesn’t want to burden her with his own sad, fucked up stories. He’s kind of sensed she has her own. Trinity has an idea about his family. Knows they’re religious. Conservative.
She didn’t say anything either when the holidays came and Dennis had nowhere to go. She instead just invited him to get Chinese food on Christmas Day with her cousin who was visiting from out of town. They all went back to the apartment and watched Love Actually. Dennis had never seen it, which astounded Trinity, she claimed it was a terrible movie but still insisted they watch it.
He’s really thankful for her, for everyone at the Pitt, really. Whitaker finally feels like there’s a place for him. Like people are glad he’s here. It’s nothing like Broken Bow, Nebraska.
That’s the problem, really. Whitaker knows the Robby thing is probably a dead end. Even if Robby wasn’t straight—and even if he was—someone like him wasn’t the type to notice a skinny farm kid newbie from nowhere. And even if he did, it would be a bad idea. The new home he’s carved out for himself could come crumbling down.
It would be a spectacularly bad idea, but Dennis has never been good at self-preservation.