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FOR THE LORD G-D WILL HELP ME; THEREFORE SHALL I NOT BE CONFOUNDED: THEREFORE HAVE I SET MY FACE LIKE A FLINT, AND I KNOW THAT I SHALL NOT BE ASHAMED.
Dennis would love to not be ashamed.
Dennis would love to pretend that his imagination isn’t running away with him, but he knows, even if it is deep down, that it is getting out of hand, and it’s just getting worse, especially around Robby. Everything he does at work, his shadow, one that's a little bit more fond of physical touch, drives him fucking insane. He’d very much like to pretend that the hands on his shoulders, the occasional one that slips to just below his shoulderblades- too low if you ask anyone who would witness it, even Mel, who wouldn’t dare to say that part out loud- actually mean anything, and that what it does mean, is that possibly the most handsome man Whitaker has seen in a long time, has something that resembles feelings for him back.
It’s been like this since his first day, the touching, the reassurance, all of those seem to combine themselves into a stupid little ball that, everyday, he has to shove down and pretend that there's nothing. Trin knows, but apart from that, everyone else is hopefully clueless, because however desperate, in love even, Dennis is for the man, it’s possibly one of the more embarrassing things he’s ever had to admit too.
He’d only actually said it because they’d got drunk, not even a social amount, a mind numbing kind, where nothing actually feels real enough, but also feels good enough that maybe it's okay to tell someone something like that. She knew about his entire issue- well that's what he called it anyway, an issue that wasn’t exactly going away anytime soon- and about a few of the men he’d liked before this, even the ones before med school, but actually admitting it to her, telling her that it was a crush on their attending was even more humiliating.
She’d just pushed too hard, he’d blurted out that there was somebody at work he might have had a crush on, and there only being 3 or 4 other guys, and naturally Santos might have killed him if it was Langdon, it became a lot easier to whittle down from the 2 older men that they’d met. Surprisingly, she wasn’t all too awful about it, but it was only a few days after her and Garcia had become ‘official’, at least in the sense that Dennis could definitely hear them through the walls, and they weren’t even that thin, so she couldn’t exactly be throwing stones.
Even now, what must be 5, maybe 6 months since their meeting, Whitaker is nowhere closer to what he wants, who he wants, and the touching hasn’t stopped. What’s worse is that Robby will sometimes let him sit in his chair, sitting beside him, letting their feet touch. There is something so intimate about it, the way the boot of the other man’s shoe would drag against Dennis’ trainer, every so softly, so gently. There was a, maybe two week period at most, where he did it multiple times a day, every day.
That was the only time he’d really gotten his hopes up over Dr. Robby, coming home to Santos, rambling on and on at dinner, when they watched whatever showgirls reality show was on at the time, and while waiting for her to get out of the shower. Sitting on their toilet, not letting her have a moment of peace. Then one day, it just stopped, and it wasn’t as if Robby was any different with him, sure he was a little more snappy, but he was like that with everyone, and I guess it just happens. Must be mood swings.
This is where it brings them today, their first dual shift after Robby had been off for a week or so, not a sabbatical, because it wasn’t long enough, or really planned- Dennis had just gone into work on the Tuesday, to find out from Dana and Garcia that he just wasn’t going to be there. Apparently he’d texted both of them. Individually. It sounds cliche, but Whitaker hadn’t been that jealous for a while, and he was left in a mood for the rest of his shift. And, after he’d gone home actually, with Trinity having to drag him out of bed just so he can eat his dinner, and even then, it was just takeout.
Every part of him is itching to let himself think, wondering about what could happen today, whether or not Robby will act like he even exists, because he so clearly has so much care for him, not even bothering to ask for his number, or even speak to him outside of work. Santos has a habit of bringing up the fact that Whitaker won’t even attempt to talk to him outside of work, but that’s clearly not the point, he’d much rather Robby be the gentlemen out of the pair.
“Hey Kid.” Dana could barely even get that out, never mind anything else, never mind something about Robby, not while she’s already bent over her desk, phone in the crook of her neck, as she still tries to type out something on the shitty hospital computers, so Dennis doesn’t test it with her, and even if she was available, he doesn’t feel half as comfortable asking anymore. It’s just embarrassing now. He is ashamed.
“Hey Dana.” He stops himself in front of the board, and while it does have the lists of patients and what they need, but it also might have the list of residents on call now. A quick scan does in fact reveal that Robby is on shift now, and now the real question is where he is. He’d rather not think back to it, but all he can think of is pedes, and those damn animals, and his face, and his tears. So that's where he checks, quietly, and as discreetly as possible, not just because he doesn’t want to get distracted by someone calling for him, especially before the morning rush, but also as he doesn’t want to come in all guns blazing just to see him on the floor, again.
As upsetting as it is to not find Robby, it is just slightly relieving to not find him in this room, especially not with how odd he’s been recently. Maybe odd is not the right word. He caught him in the bathroom a week before his break, not exactly crying, but sitting on the floor breathing as heavy as anything. It could definitely be inferred. He didn’t even sit down alongside him, partially because, not that anyone should know this, he’d come in to deal with a different situation, and also because he was still so damn scared of his superior. After all this time, hell especially due to all this time.
So, he continues his search, thinking back to how fucking weird he has actually been, looking back with retrospective. Maybe that break was just to lie in bed for a week. Dennis certainly wouldn’t say no to that, especially if it was in Robby’s bed. He’ll just be in Triage, working, at least that's what Dennis tells himself as his footsteps continue to get forever and ever faster and more desperate.
It’s just the way he speaks, that's what grates on him. The touches, a shoulder as they walk past each other, a hand squeezing his while doing stitches, is perfect- probably better than perfect, however much Dennis would much rather ignore it, the actual issue is what he says. Or rather, the lack thereof. It’s not like Dennis doesn’t know Robby is struggling, hell he thinks it’s pretty obvious to anyone in the department who just so happens to be conscious, but it's still just odd. Not clear enough to figure out why he’s so upset, but also way too permanent to assume it’s just mood swings. Do older guys have those?
The last time Dennis could ever identify feeling like this for someone was in med school, but even then it wasn’t for this long, maybe a month or two, and the sickness wasn’t even that bad. Both physically and well emotionally, he assumes, at least. Anything but admitting to the fact that he probably is only attracted to the male species. It was actually some kid from his theology course, one who, after a few conversations, had admitted to wanting to become a priest. That just made him more nauseous, even after all these years. After he’d long forgotten his smell, or the crook of his nose.
Dennis always found it odd that he wanted to be a priest, not with the way they looked at each other at least, but then it does make sense. Theology major, what he can only assume to be some kind of homosexuality, it does add up, more than he’d like to admit. But everyone picks their poison, and it’s not as if Whitaker isn’t doing the same thing with medicine, doing his best to focus solely on his career. A career that he isn’t all that passionate about either, but it paid the bills. And hopefully paid off the debt that is slowly trickling its way up.
They would study together, which while they did get a decent amount done, it was nothing more than a glorified ogling session. Reciting, reading, writing judgements on passages. The day they got onto Leviticus was what could only be referred to as a momentous occasion, the poor boy’s lips enunciating that damned passage with such care, while all Dennis could do was stare. He’d even asked what Whitaker had thought it meant, and he’d blanked. Eyes staring but seeing nothing, before blurting out some half-baked response on how we are all sinners, so it surely cannot be moral to judge others.
A smile. Words he can’t remember, The pressure of the other man’s knee against his.
Naturally, Whitaker didn’t study with him again. Too scared. Ashamed.
Robby is actually in triage, much to Whitaker’s poorly concealed excitement, currently wheeling what looks like to be the first of the morning rush patients, both hands gripping solidly against the frame of the gurney, not that he was looking. Obviously.
“Suspected Pulmonary Embolism.” It’s all he says to Dennis, barely looking him in the eye as he locks the wheels against the wall, unsurprising due to the sheer amount of bed shortages they’ve been seeing, especially after the flood that comes in with New Years- whether it be from actual parties, or alcohol, or poorly planned resolutions put to action. “History of DVT, Symptoms of which are..?”
“Shortness of breath, Fast heartbeat. And, uh.. wheezing.”
“And?”
Shit. That’s all Dennis can think at this point, he’s a student fucking doctor and he doesn’t know what the symptoms of a pulmonary embolism are. Surely he’d been to that lecture. Maybe it’s just Dr Robby putting him off, but either way it’s embarrassing enough for a surge of colour to run to his face, while he drops his head to feign thinking.
“Color change? Pink?” A long shot, but most of the time there's some kind of color change.
“Does he look pink to you, Huckleberry?” In what world is now a good time for Santos to butt in? She is right, for the record, and somehow Dennis had completely forgotten to look up and at the patient in question, with how red his face had become, which, once he had lifted his head up, the patient had a very obvious blue quality to his skin. The human body sure can create some miracles when it’s put under stress.
“She is right.” Robby can’t help but smile, not just about the fact it’s glaringly obvious that Whitaker knew the answer, but also because it’s glaringly obvious there’s something there. It’s embarrassing to admit, but Robby does sort of enjoy messing around with him, because it’s just a work crush. Not for him, but for the kid, and that's part of the charm. Some kind of pash, like the ones you have on a figure in your life who helps you. That’s all. Like a teacher.
Crossing his arms, letting the fabric of his jacket bunch around his elbows, almost purposefully trying to show off his arms. Not that he wants Whitaker to look, he tries not to put too much thought to the student. As that's what he is, still essentially a boy, still in school. And Robby isn’t gay. Simple as. Sure he likes to peacock, but who doesn’t?
“I’m sorry.. Boss.” Even the moment after Dennis says it, it even makes him cringe, not just because of how he said it, but simply just because it came out of his mouth in the first place. The hope is that Robby doesn’t notice, but when it’s a one-on-one conversation, it’s almost guaranteed to happen. They both know exactly why the word is said with such, purpose.
“And how do you treat an embolism?” The smile behind his voice is so obvious. “Blood thinners.” At least Whitaker knows that one is correct, so he can definitely answer the question without embarrassing himself, not too much, but if he’s frank, pretty much any heart condition or blood condition can be initially treated with blood thinners. It always comes from a blood clot, so you just rid the patient of said clot. “Good.”
Robby’s somehow already off, giving his shoulder a small shake as he walks past- one that he’s clearly revelling in, at least the way the kid responds, a little smile, which he definitely doesn’t hide as well as he thinks he does- and with that, the pair limit their interactions as much as they can for the rest of the day. That’s the formula Robby’s most fond of, and even though Dennis hates it, he’d rather not piss off his attending, not on his first day back.
It’s not as if Dennis is trying to ignore him, but he just keeps being put with completely different patients, the ones with barely anything wrong with them. No need for a higher up to monitor you when all you have to do is monitor a cut, or re-apply a dressing. Especially not when said attending is trying to ignore you. The one interaction they have is a hand, lower back, both at the nurses bay, waiting for something, or someone, while giving him a sandwich. Definitely not sweat inducing at all.
The fact that no one can see, is perfect for one, and almost deadly to the other. Even if it does make him blush, Dennis would so much rather have someone there to see what’s happening, to make sure that he’s not deluding himself, or simply making things up. It would just be a comfort to be able to have another person there to reassure him he isn’t going insane, to let himself rationalise what's happening. For Robby, the solitude, which probably isn’t aptly named, not with how constantly busy the department somehow seems to be, rather the in-between, a quick nudge while others are distracted, timing it perfectly to make sure no one notices, is exactly what he wants.
There's something almost perversely exciting about what he does to him, even if he doesn’t like to dwell on it all that much, it's very much just an extension of his peacocking. He doesn’t all mind that much about Whitaker’s crush, he’s not homophobic, simply just apathetic. It’s something to fill the gap, the in-between, a stopper to his shame, and something to tie him over until whatever woman he finds next. To put it crudely, which is something he’d rather not do.
Robby is definitely ignoring Whitaker. It’s part of the fun, is what he tells himself. However true that may be. Partially because he somehow always finds himself touching him in the strangest ways when he’s around, even if he’s so certain he’s just doing it for fun, or that he doesn’t want to do it at all- but also because of how he fears the others may react. It is, of course, incredibly inappropriate. And while Abbott is a good friend, he can still be a euphemistic little prick, who would undoubtedly jump at the opportunity of subjecting Robby to his moral superiority.
The truth is, even Robby didn’t know what was wrong with him, especially not on the issue of Dennis. Sure, he could appreciate the beauty of another man, but that’s an entirely different ballpark. He dated women, He fucked women. Nothing else. It was certainly a little bog standard, but he never complained. That didn’t erase his other issues, which, even in a scenario where he just might be attracted to, well he knows what, there's things he’d rather sort out first. Things are just a little more serious than some 20 something.
Dennis on the other hand hates the silence immensely, at first- maybe the first few shifts, a few or two in- he’d convince himself that he’d surely just read the signs wrong, and this is what a role model does, a father figure maybe? Sure his dad was fine and all, but he wasn’t exactly fully present, not with the other boys to care for too. Maybe this was just how it felt to have a dad who actually cares for just him. Now he was sure, and he didn’t want silence. He wanted Robby. This was different, he knew it. Well, at least he told himself he did, because otherwise it wouldn’t make his stomach churn as much as it did.
Even with the somewhat interesting days the two men had, well interesting is probably the incorrect word, with one being bored out of his skull- punished by his superior for something for what he’s not entirely sure, and the other distracting himself with both patient and work nonsense, in what could only be described as a desperate attempt to not think. Whether that be about Whitaker, or worse, Robby had decided he wouldn’t even entertain such silly things.
Despite literally training to be a crisis doctor, working predominantly in Emergency rooms his entire medical placements (once in obstetrics, never again with the sheer volume of fluid), Dennis had somehow been put in what is so lovingly referred to as ‘General Inpatient Care’, which actually means the lack thereof. Rather than doing any form of genuine medical work, he spent the majority of his day trying to find pillows, food and ‘fix’ the heating. Maybe that's why it's called general, because the only medical knowledge he used was to ensure his patients stayed alive. If he wanted to be a school teacher he would’ve done that. And probably not got himself in such debt.
It is surprisingly common, whenever a med student needs a straightening out, one of the attendings, Robby mainly, but Langdon also has a nasty habit of overestimating his position as a resident- sure he might be more experienced than the med kids, but he was still a dick. They’d disagree, and a med student would ‘randomly’ find themselves up in General care, on the second floor in fact, banished until home time. By grown adults.
So finally, after what had been a rather upsettingly uneventful shift, with what was most likely 7 out of his 12 hours being spent on the second floor, Dennis is finally allowed to retreat back to the ER, just so he can get his stuff. The only benefit of being put in timeout is that more often than not, you actually get out on time. His feet hurt like hell though. He lets himself sit on the little couch near the lockers, for just a few minutes.
“Whitaker, would you, uhm, do something for me tonight?” It’s as if he’s purposefully being misleading. That’s because he is, Dennis just gives him too much credit to believe that.
“Yes, of course.” They both try not to acknowledge how eager he sounds.
He’s moved in front of the couch, jeans at Whitaker’s eyeline, for no particular reason. Mainly just so he can drop his voice to a quiet enough register, “How about when you go home, you look at your textbooks for me?” Dennis had forgotten how much of an idiot he could be.
“It was one thing.”
“Attitude.” He enunciates it enough that they both know why he’s said it, and why he has. Too bad no one’s there to witness it.